When the spring came, Thyrza knew a falling off in her health.  The pain at her heart gave her more trouble, and she had days of such physical weakness that she could do little work.  With the reviving year her passion became a yearning of such intensity that it seemed to exhaust her frame.  For all her endeavours it was seldom during these weeks that she could give attention to her books; even her voice failed for a time, and when she resumed the suspended lessons, she terrified her teacher by fainting just as he was taking leave of her.  Mrs. Ormonde came, and there was a very grave conversation between her and Dr. Lambe, who was again attending Thyrza.  It was declared that the latter had been over-exerting herself; work of all kind was prohibited for a season.  And when a week or two brought about little, if any, improvement, Thyrza was taken to Eastbourne, to her old quarters in Mrs. Guest’s house.

There Lydia spent two days with her.

The elder sister could not give herself to full enjoyment of these days.  Much as she delighted to be with Thyrza, there was always one and the same drawback to her pleasure in the meetings.  Thyrza was so unfeignedly cheerful that Lydia could by no effort get rid of her suspicion that she was being deceived.  She shrank from reopening the subject, because it was so disagreeable to her to pronounce Egremont’s name; because, too, she could not betray doubt without offending Thyrza.  It was hard to distrust Thyrza, yet how account for the girl’s most strange apparent happiness?  Even now, though under troubled health, her sister’s spirits were good.  Far more easily Lydia could have suspected Mrs. Ormonde of some duplicity, yet here she was checked by instincts of gratitude, and by a sense of shame.  Mrs. Ormonde did not certainly impress her as likely to be deceitful.  Still, though she would not specify accusation, Lydia felt, was convinced indeed, that something very material was being kept from her.  It was a cruel interference with the completeness of her sympathy in all the conversation between Thyrza and herself.

‘So you are friends again with Mary Bower,’ Thyrza said, soon after they had met.  ’Do you go and have tea with her on Sundays sometimes?’

‘No, she comes to me.’

‘And you go to chapel?’ Thyrza laughed, seeing Lydia look down.

’Poor Lyddy, what a trial it always was to you!  Do you mind it so much now?’

They were sitting on the beach.  Lydia picked up pebbles and threw them away.

‘I don’t think about it as I used to, Thyrza,’ she replied, quietly, after a short pause.  ‘I go now because I like to go.’

‘Do you, dear?’ Thyrza said, doubtfully, feeling there was a change and not understanding it.  ‘You always liked the singing, you know.’

’Yes, I like the singing.  But there’s more than that.  I like it all now.’

‘Do you?’ said Thyrza, in yet a more uncertain voice.