‘I am very, very glad to see you.’

He seemed about to ask her to sit down.  His eyes fell on the chair which was always called hers.  Thyrza noticed it at the same time.  From it she looked to him.  Gilbert averted his eyes.

‘I did not come to see Lyddy,’ Thyrza said, forcing her voice to steadiness.  ’It was to speak to you.  I didn’t dare to hope you would be so——­’

‘Don’t say what it pains you to say,’ Gilbert spoke, when her words failed.  ’It will pain me even more.  Speak to me like an old friend, Miss Trent.’

‘Can you still feel like a friend to me?’

‘I don’t change much,’ he said.  ’And it would be a great change that would make me have any but friendly thoughts of you.’

She raised her face.

’I behaved so cruelly to you.  If I could hope that you would forgive that——­’

A sob broke her voice.

‘Don’t talk of forgiveness!’ Gilbert replied, with less self-control.  ’I have never thought a hard thought of you.  I can’t bear to hear you speak in that voice to me.’

The tenderness he had concealed found expression in the last words.  Her wonderful new beauty, the humility of her bowed head, her tears, overcame the show he had made of easy friendliness.  He saw her eyes turned to him again, and this time he met their gaze.

‘Do you know all of my life since I left you?’ Thyrza asked.  ’Lyddy knows how I have lived all the time, from that day to this.  Has she told you?’

‘Yes, she has told me.’

’Will you let me fulfil the promise I made to you?  Can you forget what I have done?  Will you let me be your companion—­do all I can to make your home a happy one?  I have no right to ask, but if—­if not now—­if some day I could be a help to you!  I will come to live with Lyddy.  We will find a room somewhere else.  I will work with Lyddy, till you can let me come——­’

Her pallor turned to a deep flush.  She spoke brokenly, till her lips became mute, the last word dying in a whisper.  She had not known what it would cost her to say this.  A deadly shame enfolded her; she could have sunk to the ground before him after the first sentence.

Gilbert listened and was shaken.  He knew that this was no confession of love for him, but of the sincerity of what she had said he could have no doubt.  There was not disgrace upon her; she humbled herself solely in grief for the suffering she had caused him.  He loved her, loved her the more for the awe her matured beauty inspired in him.  That Thyrza should come and speak thus, was more like a dream than simple reality.  And for all his longing, he durst not touch her hand.

‘What you offer me,’ he said, in low, tremulous accents, ’I should never have dared to ask, for it is the greatest gift I can imagine.  You are so far above me now, Thyrza.  I should take you into a life that you are no longer fit for.  My home must always be a very poor one; it would shame me to give you nothing better than that.’