r he shouldn't see me! Oh, what right had you to say that? Where
is he now? You say you arc not cruel; let me know where I can find him.'

There was but one answer to make, yet Mrs. Ormonde dreaded to utter it.
The girl's state was such that it might be fatal to tell her the truth.
Passion such as this, nursed to this through two years in a heart which
could affect calm, must be very near madness. Yet what help but to tell
the truth? Unless she feigned that Egremont's failure to come on
Saturday was her fault, in the sense Thyrza believed, and then send for
him, that this terrible mischief might be undone?

If only she could have time to reflect. Whatever she did now, in this
agitation, she might bitterly repent. Only under stress of the direst
necessity could she summon Egremont back; there was something repugnant
to her instinct, something impossible, in the thought of undoing all
she had done. Egremont's position would be ignoble. Impossible to
retrace her steps!

'I have no wish to prevent you from seeing him, Thyrza,' she said,
making her resolve even as she spoke. 'He is not in London now, but he
will be back before long, I think.'

'Is he in England?'

'Yes; in the North. He has gone to see friends. You don't know that he
has been in America during these two years?'

Something was gained if Thyrza could be brought to listen with interest
to details.

'In America? But he came back at the time. How could you refuse to keep
your promise? What did he say to you? How could he go away again and
let you break your word to him in that way?'

Mrs. Ormonde said, as gently as she could:

'I didn't break my word, Thyrza. I gave him your address. He had it on
Friday night.'

She, whose nature it was to trust implicitly, now dreaded a deceit in
every word. She gazed at Mrs. Ormonde, without change of countenance.

'And,' she said, slowly, 'you persuaded him not to come.'

Mrs. Ormonde paused before replying.

'Thyrza, is all your faith in me at an end? Cannot I speak to you like
I used to, and be sure that you trust my kindness to you, that you
trust my love?'

'Your love?' Thyrza repeated, more coldly than she had spoken yet. 'And
you persuaded him not to come to me.'

'It is true, I did.'

Mrs. Ormonde had never spoken to any one with a feeling of humiliation
like this which made her bend her head. Thyrza still looked at her, but
no longer with hostility. She gazed with wonder, with doubt.

'Why did you