do that to me, Mrs. Ormonde?'

There was heart-breaking pathos in the simple words. Tears rushed to
the listener's eyes.

'My child, if I had known the truth, I should have said not a word to
prevent his going. I did not know that you still loved him, hard as it
is for you to believe that. I was deceived by your face. I have watched
you month after month, and, as I knew nothing of your reason for hope,
I thought you had found comfort in other things. Cannot you believe me,
Thyrza?'

'And you told him that?'

'Yes, I told him what I thought was the truth. Thyrza, I _have_ been
cruel to you, but I had no thought that I was so.'

Thyrza asked, after a silence:

'But you told him where I was living?'

'I told him; he asked me, and I told him, as I had promised I would.'

Thyrza stood in deep thought. Mrs. Ormonde again took her hands.

'Dear, come and sit down. You are worn out with your trouble. Don't
repel me, Thyrza. I have done you a great wrong, and I know you cannot
feel to me as you did; but I am not so hard-hearted that your suffering
does not pierce me through. Only sit here and rest.'

She allowed herself to be led to the seat. Her eyes rested on the
ground for a while, then strayed to the leaves about her, which were
golden with the sunlight they intercepted, then turned again to Mrs.
Ormonde's face.

'He knew where I lived. How could you be sure he wouldn't come to me?'

Mrs. Ormonde sunk her eyes and made no reply.

'Did he promise you that he would never come?'

'He made me no promise, Thyrza.'

'No promise? Then how do you know that he won't come?'

A gleam shot to her eyes. But upon the moments of hope followed a
revival of suspicion.

'You say you can't prevent me from seeing him. Tell me where he is--the
place. You won't tell me?'

'And if I did, how would it help you?'

'Cannot I go there? Or can't I write and say that I wish to speak to
him.'

'Thyrza, I asked no promise from him that he wouldn't go to you. I
don't think you would really try to see him, knowing that he has your
address.'

'You asked no promise, Mrs. Ormonde, but you persuaded him! You spoke
as you did two years ago. You told him I could never make a fit wife
for him, that he couldn't be happy with me, nor I with him.'

'No; I did not speak as I did two years ago. I know you much better
than I did then, and I told him all that I have since learnt. No one
could speak in higher words of a woman than I did of yo