They were in Walnut Tree Walk by this time.

‘Don’t come any farther,’ Lydia said.  ’Thank you for being so kind to me.  Here, take these things of your sister’s; you can just carry them back—­or I’ll leave them, if you like.’

’No, you shan’t have that trouble.  If Gilbert’s home you ought to tell him now.  He’ll go to the police station, and ask them to help to find her.  Let me know at once If you hear anything.  She may come back.’

‘No, she won’t.’

‘Run into the house at once.’

The parlour door opened as she entered the passage.  Gilbert came out.

‘Where has Thyrza gone to?’ he asked, after examining her for an instant.

She could not speak, and could not stir from the place.  Her hope had been to have time before she saw him.

‘Lydia. where has Thyrza gone?’

She stepped into the room.  The piece of paper was still crushed within her hand; she held it closer still.

’She’s gone away, Gilbert.  I don’t know where.  I had to go out, and when I came back she was gone.  Perhaps she’ll come back.’

Mrs. Grail was in the background.  She was supporting herself by a chair; her face gave proof of some agitation just experienced.  Gilbert was very pale, but when Lydia ended he seemed to master himself and spoke with an unnatural calm.

‘Have you heard anything,’ he asked, ’of a calumny the Bowers have been spreading, about your sister and Mr. Egremont?’

‘Yes.  I have heard it.’

‘When did it first come to your knowledge?’

‘On Wednesday night.  Mr. Ackroyd told me.’

‘And did Thyrza hear of it?’

‘No, Gilbert.  I think not.’

He moved in surprise.

‘You say she has gone?  What makes you think she has left us?’

To hide anything now was worse than useless.  Without speaking, she held to him the scrap of paper.  He, having read, turned to his mother.

‘Will you let us be alone, mother?’

The poor old woman went with bowed head from the room.  Gilbert’s voice dropped to a lower note.

’Lydia, as you have shown me this, you must have decided that you cannot keep the promise which is spoken of here.’

’I can’t keep it, Gilbert, because you might think worse of Thyrza if I do.’

’Think worse?  Then you suppose I believe what is said about her—­ about Thyrza?’

’I can’t think you believe what Mr. Bower wishes people to, but you can’t know how little she’s been to blame.’

He was silent, then said: 

’I came home a few minutes ago, thinking that what Bunce has just told was a mere lie, set afloat by someone who wished us harm.  I thought Thyrza knew of the lie, and that it had made her ill—­that she could not bring herself to speak to me of it.  But I see there’s something more.’

She stood before him like one guilty.  His calmness was terrible to her.  She seemed to feel in herself all the anguish which he was repressing.  He continued: