‘Isn’t Mrs. Grail in?’ she asked timidly, looking about the room.

’Yes, she’s in, Miss Trent, but she doesn’t feel very well.  She went to lie down after tea.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

She hesitated, just within the door.

‘Would you like to go to her room?’ Gilbert asked.

’Perhaps she’s asleep; I mustn’t disturb her.  Would you lend me another book, Mr. Grail?’

‘Oh, yes!  Will you come and choose one?’

She closed the door and went forward to the bookcase, on her way glancing at Gilbert’s face, to see whether he was annoyed at her disturbing him.  It was scarcely that, yet unmistakably his countenance was troubled.  This made Thyrza nervous; she did not look at him again for a few moments, but carried her eyes along the shelves.  Poor little one, the titles were no help to her.  Gilbert knew that well enough, but he was watching her by stealth, and forgot to speak.

‘What do you think would do for me, Mr. Grail?’ she said at length.  ‘It mustn’t be anything very hard, you know.’

Saying that, she met his eyes.  There was a smile in them, and one so reassuring, so—­she knew not what—­that she was tempted to add: 

‘You know best what I want.  I shall trust you.’

Something shook the man from head to foot.  The words which came from him were involuntary; he heard them as if another had spoken.

‘You trust me?  You believe that I would do my best to please you?’

Thyrza felt a strangeness in his words, but replied to them with a frank smile: 

‘I think so, Mr. Grail.’

He was holding his hand to her; mechanically she gave hers.  But in the doing it she became frightened; his face had altered, it was as if he suffered a horrible pain.  Then she heard: 

‘Will you trust your life to me, Thyrza?’

It was like a flash, dazzling her brain.  Never in her idlest moment had she strayed into a thought of this.  He had always seemed to her comparatively an old man, and his gravity would in itself have prevented her from viewing him as a possible suitor.  He seemed so buried in his books; he was so unlike the men who had troubled her with attentions hitherto.  Yet he held her hand, and surely his words could have but one meaning.

Gilbert saw how disconcerted, how almost shocked, she was.

‘I didn’t mean to say that at once,’ he continued hurriedly, releasing her hand.  ’I’ve been too hasty.  You didn’t expect that.  It isn’t fair to you.  Will you sit down?’

He still spoke without guidance of his tongue.  He was impelled by a vast tenderness; the startled look on her face made him reproach himself; he sought to soothe her, and was incoherent, awkward.  As if in implicit obedience, she moved to a chair.  He stood gazing at her, and the love which had at length burst from the dark depths seized upon all his being.

‘Mr. Grail—­’