It was nearer than she thought.  Though troubled by the consciousness that she ought not to have come so far in this direction, and that perhaps her strength would be overtaxed before she could reach home again, she went still on and on, until, reaching the point where another road joined that by which she had come, she found The Chestnuts just before her.  Beyond the house, the hill rose darkly and hid the setting sun.  As she stood, a man issued from the adjoining road and walked straight towards the entrance of the garden.  Her eyes followed him, and, though for a moment she did not believe their evidence, they told her that Egremont had passed so near to her that a whisper would have drawn his attention.

She was in the shade of thick trees; perhaps that circumstance, and the dark colour of her dress, accounted for his not observing her.  He was walking quickly, too, and was looking fixedly at the house.

She followed.  Had her voice been at her command, in that instant of recognition she would have called to him.  But all her powers seemed to desert her, and she was rather borne onwards than advanced by any effort of her own.

He had passed through the gate when she reached the end of the garden wall.  Losing him from sight, she understood what she was doing, and stayed her steps.  A sense of having escaped a great danger made her tremble so that she feared she must fall to the ground if she could not find some place in which to rest.  A few steps brought her into a piece of common ground, which lay in the rear of the garden, and here, at the foot of the wall, were some pieces of timber, the severed limbs of a tree that had fallen in the past winter.  Here she could sit, leaning against the brickwork and letting her heart throb itself into quietness.

The wall was a low one, and above it in this place rose a screen of trellis, overgrown with creepers, making the rear of a spacious summer-house, which Mrs. Ormonde had had constructed for the use of children who had to be sheltered from too much either of sun or breeze when they were brought out of doors.  Thyrza had not been resting for more than a minute or two, when a voice spoke from the other side of the wall, so plainly that she started, thinking she was observed and addressed.  The voice was Mrs. Ormonde’s.

‘So at last,’ she said, ‘you have come.’

There was a brief silence, then the tones for which she waited once more fell upon her ear.

‘You are alone to-night?’ asked Egremont.

’Quite.  I have been reading and thinking.  Shall we go into the house?’

‘If you will let me, I had rather sit with you here.’

Again there was silence.  When Mrs. Ormonde spoke, it was in a lower voice, and such as one uses in reply to a look of affection.

‘Why have you kept me in anxiety about you for so long, Walter?’

’I have had no mind to speak to any one, not even to you.  I had nothing to tell you that would please you to hear.  Often I have resolved to leave England for good, and give no account of myself to any one.  It seemed unkind of you not to write.  I waited till I knew you must have heard all that people had to say of me, and then every day I expected your letter.  You could only be silent for one reason.’