He came into the room looking pale and shivery; a sure sign that he was
suffering; that it was not an invented excuse. Yes, the pain was better,
he said, in answer to his wife's question; and might be much better
after a strong cup of tea; he could not imagine what had brought it on.
_She_ could have told him though, had she been gifted with the magical
power of reading minds, and have seen the nervous apprehension that was
making havoc with his.
Mrs. Hamlyn gave him his tea in silence, and buttered a dainty bit of
toast to tempt him to eat. But he shook his head.
"I cannot, Eliza. Nothing but tea this morning."
"I am sorry you are ill," she said, by-and-by. "I fear it hurts you to
talk; but I want to have it out with you."
"Have it out with me!" cried he, in real or feigned surprise. "Have what
out with me?"
"Oh, you know, Philip. About that woman who has been watching the house
these two days; evidently watching for you."
"But I told you I knew nothing about her: who she is, or what she is, or
what she wants. I really do not know."
Well, so far that was true. But all the while a sick fear lay on his
heart that he did know; or, rather, that he was destined to know very
shortly.
"When I told you her hair was like threads of fine, pale gold, you
seemed to start, Philip, as if you knew some girl or woman with such
hair, or had known her."
"I daresay I have known a score of women with such hair.
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