“Are you ill?” she asked; noticing, faint as the light now was, something strangely altered in Hester’s manner.

Without looking up, Hester shook her head.

“Has any thing happened to vex you?”

The negative sign was repeated.

“Have I offended you?”

She suddenly advanced a step, suddenly looked at Anne; checked herself with a dull moan, like a moan of pain; and hurried out of the room.

Concluding that she had inadvertently said, or done, something to offend Hester Dethridge, Anne determined to return to the subject at the first favorable opportunity.  In the mean time, she descended to the ground-floor.  The dining-room door, standing wide open, showed her Geoffrey sitting at the table, writing a letter—­with the fatal brandy-bottle at his side.

After what Mr. Speedwell had told her, it was her duty to interfere.  She performed her duty, without an instant’s hesitation.

“Pardon me for interrupting you,” she said.  “I think you have forgotten what Mr. Speedwell told you about that.”

She pointed to the bottle.  Geoffrey looked at it; looked down again at his letter; and impatiently shook his head.  She made a second attempt at remonstrance—­again without effect.  He only said, “All right!” in lower tones than were customary with him, and continued his occupation.  It was useless to court a third repulse.  Anne went into the drawing-room.

The letter on which he was engaged was an answer to Mrs. Glenarm, who had written to tell him that she was leaving town.  He had reached his two concluding sentences when Anne spoke to him.  They ran as follows:  “I may have news to bring you, before long, which you don’t look for.  Stay where you are through to-morrow, and wait to hear from me.”

After sealing the envelope, he emptied his glass of brandy and water; and waited, looking through the open door.  When Hester Dethridge crossed the passage with the tea-tray, and entered the drawing-room, he gave the sign which had been agreed on.  He rang his bell.  Hester came out again, closing the drawing-room door behind her.

“Is she safe at her tea?” he asked, removing his heavy boots, and putting on the slippers which were placed ready for him.

Hester bowed her head.

He pointed up the stairs.  “You go first,” he whispered.  “No nonsense! and no noise!”

She ascended the stairs.  He followed slowly.  Although he had only drunk one glass of brandy and water, his step was uncertain already.  With one hand on the wall, and one hand on the banister, he made his way to the top; stopped, and listened for a moment; then joined Hester in his own room, and softly locked the door.

“Well?” he said.

She was standing motionless in the middle of the room—­not like a living woman—­like a machine waiting to be set in movement.  Finding it useless to speak to her, he touched her (with a strange sensation of shrinking in him as he did it), and pointed to the partition wall.