Thyrza gazed at them, and the longer she gazed the more merrily she laughed.

’Poor ducks!  I never saw anything so ridiculous.  There, look!  The one with the neck all bright colours!  He’ll be down again; there, I said he would!  Why will they try to go so quickly?  They wouldn’t stumble half so much if they walked gently.’

Thyrza had thought that nothing in the world could move her to unfeigned laughter.  Yet as often as she thought of the ducks it was with revival of mirth.  She laughed at them long after, alone in her room.

It was as bright a day on the morrow, and still she knew that lightness of heart, that freedom of the breath which is physical happiness.  Had she by the mere act of redeeming her faith to Gilbert brought upon herself this reward?  It was so strangely easy to keep dark thoughts at a distance.  She had not lain awake in the night, for her a wonderful experience.  Could it last?

There was a letter this morning from Gilbert.  She did not open it at once, for she knew that there would be more pain than content in reading it.  Yet, when she had read it, she found that it was not out of harmony with her mood.  He wrote because he could say things in this silent way which would not come to his lips so well.  The gratitude he expressed—­simply, powerfully—­moved Thyrza; not as the words of one she loved would have moved her, but to a feeling of calm thankfulness that she had it in her power to give so much joy.  And perhaps some day she could give him affection.  She had, in her belief, spoken truly when she said that he was above her.  He was no ignorant man, without a thought save of his day’s earnings.  She could respect his mind, as she had always done, and his character she could reverence.  It was well.

She told Mrs. Emerson that she was going to see her sister again, and that probably she would not return till Sunday night.

On setting forth, she had a letter to post.  It was to Mrs. Ormonde.  Purposely she had delayed writing this till Saturday afternoon; she wished to show that there had been a couple of days for thought since the step was taken, and that she could speak with calm consciousness of what she had done.  The posting of this letter was like saying a last good-bye.

Lydia was again waiting just at the door, and again they reached the room without having been observed.

‘I shall go down at once,’ Thyrza said.  ’Gilbert expects me.  I am going to speak to Mrs. Grail.’

Lydia was pleased to see that the pale face had not that terrible look to-night.  To-night there were smiles for her, and many affectionate words.  During Thyrza’s absence of half an hour, she sat puzzling over the mystery, as she had puzzled since Thursday night.  Would all indeed be well?  It was so sudden, so unthought of, so hard to believe.  For Lydia had by degrees come to think of her sister as raised quite above this humble station.  Though she could not reconcile herself to it; though she would above all things have chosen that Thyrza should still marry Gilbert, yet there was a contradictory sort of pride in knowing that her sister was a lady.  Lyddy, we are aware, was little given to logical processes of thought; her feelings often got her into troublesome perplexities.