’No, I can’t stay here, Mrs. Ormonde.  I must go back before it gets too late.  I must go to the station.’

Even had Thyrza’s condition allowed of this, her friend would have dreaded to lose sight of her now, to let her travel to London and thereafter be alone.  After trying every appeal, she refused to allow her to go.

’You must stay here for the night, Thyrza.  You must.  I have much more to say to you.  But first you must rest.  Come with me.’

Her will was the stronger.  Thyrza at length suffered herself to be taken into the house, and to a room where she could have perfect quietness.  Mrs. Ormonde alone waited upon her, brought her food, did everything to soothe body and mind.  By sunset, the weary one was lying with her head on the pillow.  On a table within her reach was a bell, whose sound would at once summon her attendant from the next room.

At ten o’clock Mrs. Ormonde entered silently.  Three nights of watching, and the effects of all she had endured this afternoon, were weighing heavily on Thyrza’s eyelids, though as yet she could not sleep.  Foreseeing this, Mrs. Ormonde had brought a draught, which would be the good ally of Nature striving for repose.  Thyrza asked no question, but drank what was offered like a child.

’Now you will soon rest, dear.  I must not ask you to kiss me, Thyrza?’

The lips were offered.  They were cold, for passion lay dead upon them.  She did not speak, but sank back with a sigh and closed her eyes.

Again at midnight Mrs. Ormonde entered.  The small taper which burnt in the room showed faintly the sleeping face.  Standing by the bed, she felt her heart so wrung with sorrow that she wept.

In the morning Thyrza declared that she did not suffer.  She rose and sat by the open window.  She fancied she could hear the sea.

‘You said you had more to tell me, Mrs. Ormonde,’ she began, when the latter sat silently by her.

‘To speak with you and to try to help you, my child, that was all.’

’But you told me very little yesterday.  I am not sure that I understood.  You need not be afraid to tell me any. thing.  I can bear anything.’

‘Will you ask me what you wish to know, Thyrza?’

‘You say you persuaded him—­and yet that you said good of me.’

The other waited.

‘Didn’t he come from America, to see me?’

‘He did.’

’You mean that he came because he thought it was right to.  I understand.  And when you told him that I was not thinking of him, he —­he felt himself free?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you think—­is it likely that he will ever wish to see me now?’

’If he knew that you had suffered because he did not come, he would be with you in a few hours.’

Thyrza gazed thoughtfully.

‘And he would ask me to marry him?’

‘Doubtless he would.’

’So when you persuaded him not to see me, he was glad to know that he need not come?’