‘Had I better try to find him?’

‘Write, if you like, and see what answer you get.’

‘A gloomy business for that poor fellow in Lambeth.’

’Yes, it’s hard that one can give so little thought to him.  If I speak the very truth, I still have a secret hope that she may marry him.  But all in good time.  What a blessed thing Time is!  It makes everything easy.’

‘It does.  Most of all, when it destroys itself.’

He said it with a sad smile.  Mrs. Ormonde turned again to the subject of Annabel.  They decided that it was better to say nothing to her as yet.

In a fortnight Thyrza went to Eastbourne.  She had written a letter to Lydia a few days after her establishment with Mrs. Emerson—­a letter without any address at the head of it.  Mrs. Emerson posted it in a remote district, that the office stamp might give no clue.  Mrs. Ormonde provided her with lodgings at the side of Eastbourne farthest from The Chestnuts, in the house of a decent woman who did sewing for the Home.  That her days might not become wearisome for lack of occupation, it was arranged that Thyrza should give her landlady occasional help with the needle.

Her main task, however, was to recover health and strength.  The sea air helped her a little, but the heaviness of her heart kept her frame languid.  At first she could walk only the shortest distances; as soon as she reached the sands, she would sit down wearily and fix her eyes seawards, gazing with what other thoughts than when that horizon met her vision for the first time!  She had great need of uttering all her sorrow, but could not do so to Mrs. Ormonde; it seemed to her that it would be an unpardonable presumption to speak of Mr. Egremont as she thought of him, and perhaps she could not have brought herself to tell such a secret, whoever had been involved in it, to one who, kind as she was, remained in many senses a stranger.  To Lyddy, and to her alone, she could have poured out all her heart.  The longing for her sister was now ceaseless.  She grieved that she had left London without seeing her.  In the night she sometimes cried for hours because Lyddy was so far from her.

Mrs. Ormonde came to see her every other day.  Though nothing had been said on the point, Thyrza understood that, for some reason, she was not expected to go to The Chestnuts.  And, indeed, it was too far for her to walk in her present weak state.

But one evening she was drawn in that direction.  Her landlady had gone to Hastings, and would be absent till the next day.  It was not the day for Mrs. Ormonde’s visit, and rain since morning had made it impossible to leave the house; the hours had dragged wearily.  After tea the clouds broke, and soon there were warm rays from the westering sun.  Thyrza was glad to leave her room.  She walked into the main street of the town, for her solitude was become a pain, and she felt a desire to be among people, even though she could speak to no one.  She came to the tree-shadowed road which, as she well remembered, led to Mrs. Ormonde’s house.  It tempted her on:  she would like to look at the house.  A friend lived there, and her heart ached to be near someone who cared for her.  The prime need of her life was love, and love alone could restore her strength and give her courage to live.