WYLJDER'S HAND.
95
but that her voice for some seconds totally failed her; and
recognising her brother, she rose up, and with an awful
ejaculation, she approached the window.
"Let me in, Radie; d— you, let me in," he repeated,
drumming incessantly on the glass. There was no trace
now of his sleepy jeering way. Rachel saw that some-
thing was very wrong, and beckoned him toward the
porch in silence, and having removed the slender fasten-
ings of the door, it opened, and he entered in a rush of
damp night air. She took him by the hand, and he shook
hers mechanically, like a man rescued from shipwreck,
and plainly not recollecting himself well.
"Stanley, dear, what's the matter, in Heaven's
name? " she whispered, so soon as she had got him into
her little drawing-room.
"He has done it; d—him, he has done it," gasped
Stanley Lake.
He looked in her face with a glazed and ashy stare.
His hat remained on his head, overshadowing his face; and
his boots were soiled with clay, and his wrapping coat
marked, here and there, with the green of the stems and
branches of trees, through which he had made his way.
"I see, Stanley, you've had a scene with Mark Wylder;
I warned you of your danger — you have had the worst
of it."
"I spoke to him. He took a course I did not expect.
I'm not well."
"You've broken your promise. I see you have used me.
How base; how stupid!"
"D— him; I wish I had done as you said. I wish I
had never come here. Give me a glass of wine. He has
ruined me."
"You cruel, wretched creature!" said Rachel, now
convinced that he had compromised her as he threatened.