They were silent again for a long time, then Lydia went to speak with Gilbert.  Alone, Thyrza tried to recall the mind with which she had gone down to have tea with the Grails on a Sunday evening.  It used to cause her excitement, but that was another heart-throb than this which now pained her, In those days Gilbert Grail was a mystery to her, inspiring awe and reverence.  How would he meet her now?  Would he have bitter words for her?  No, that would be unlike him.  She must stand before him, and say something which had been growing in her since the dark days of winter began.  Only the utterance of those words would bring her peace.  No happiness; happiness and she had nothing to do with each other.  She thought she would not live very long; she must waste no more of the days that remained to her.  There was need of her here at all events.  The parting from her sister would be at an end; Lydia would rejoice.  He too, yes, he would be glad, for he would know nothing of the truth.  It might be that his whole future life would be made lighter by this act of hers.  Mrs. Ormonde alone would understand; it would give her pleasure to know that Gilbert Grail’s sorrow was at an end.

So many people to be benefited, and the act itself so simple, so merely a piece of right-doing, the reparation of so great an injury.  Strange that her whole mind had undergone this renewal.  Half a year ago, death would have been chosen before this.

Lydia returned.

’Mrs. Grail will be gone in half an hour.  He will see you then, Thyrza.’

Very few words were interchanged as the time passed.  They held each other by the hand.  At length Lydia, hearing a sound below, went to the door.

‘You can go now,’ she said, returning.  ‘Shall I come down with you?’

‘No, Lyddy.’

‘Oh, can you bear this, Thyrza?’

The other smiled, made a motion with her hand, and went out with a quick step.

The parlour door—­entrance so familiar to her—­was half open.  She entered, and closed it.  Gilbert came forward.  His face was not at all what she had feared; he smiled pleasantly, and offered his hand.

‘So you have come to see me as well as Lydia.  It is kind of you.’

The words might have borne a very different meaning from that which his voice and look gave them.  He spoke with perfect simplicity, as though no painful thought could be excited by the meeting.  Thyrza saw, in the instant for which her eyes read his countenance, that he did not often smile thus.  He was noticeably an older man than when she abandoned him; his beard was partly grizzled, his eyes were yet more sunken.  There was some change, too, in his voice; its sound did not recall the past quite as she had expected.

But the change in her was so great that he could not move his eyes from her.  When she looked up again, he still seemed to be endeavouring to recognise her.

‘I didn’t know whether you would see me,’ she said with hurried breath.