She allowed herself to be led to the seat.  Her eyes rested on the ground for a while, then strayed to the leaves about her, which were golden with the sunlight they intercepted, then turned again to Mrs. Ormonde’s face.

’He knew where I lived.  How could you be sure he wouldn’t come to me?’

Mrs. Ormonde sunk her eyes and made no reply.

‘Did he promise you that he would never come?’

‘He made me no promise, Thyrza.’

‘No promise?  Then how do you know that he won’t come?’

A gleam shot to her eyes.  But upon the moments of hope followed a revival of suspicion.

’You say you can’t prevent me from seeing him.  Tell me where he is —­the place.  You won’t tell me?’

‘And if I did, how would it help you?’

’Cannot I go there?  Or can’t I write and say that I wish to speak to him.’

’Thyrza, I asked no promise from him that he wouldn’t go to you.  I don’t think you would really try to see him, knowing that he has your address.’

’You asked no promise, Mrs. Ormonde, but you persuaded him!  You spoke as you did two years ago.  You told him I could never make a fit wife for him, that he couldn’t be happy with me, nor I with him.’

’No; I did not speak as I did two years ago.  I know you much better than I did then, and I told him all that I have since learnt.  No one could speak in higher words of a woman than I did of you, and I spoke from my heart, for I love you, Thyrza, and your praise is dear to me.’

That fixed, half-conscious gaze of the blue eyes was hard to bear, so unutterably piteous was it, so wofully it revealed the mind’s anguish.  Mrs. Ormonde waited for some reply, but none came.

‘You do not doubt this, Thyrza?’

Still no answer.

’Suppose I give you the address, do you feel able to write, before he has——?’

There was a change in the listener’s face.  Mrs. Ormonde sprang to her, and saved her from falling.  Nature had been tried at last beyond its powers.

Mrs. Ormonde could not leave the unconscious form; her voice would not be beard if she called for help.  But the fainting fit lasted a long time.  Thyrza lay as one who is dead; her features calm, all the disfiguring anguish passed from her beauty.  Her companion had a moment of terror.  She was on the point of hastening to the house, when a sign of revival cheeked her.  She supported Thyrza in her arms.

‘Thank you, Mrs. Ormonde,’ was the latter’s first whisper, the tone as gentle and grateful as it was always wont to be.

‘Can you sit alone for a minute, dear, while I fetch something?’

‘I am well, quite well again, thank you.’

Mrs. Ormonde went and speedily returned.  Thyrza was sitting with her eyes closed.  They spoke only broken words.  But at length Mrs. Ormonde said: 

’You must come into the house now, Thyrza.  You shall be quite alone; you must lie down.’