u, and I spoke
from my heart, for I love you, Thyrza, and your praise is dear to me.'

That fixed, half-conscious gaze of the blue eyes was hard to bear, so
unutterably piteous was it, so wofully it revealed the mind's anguish.
Mrs. Ormonde waited for some reply, but none came.

'You do not doubt this, Thyrza?'

Still no answer.

'Suppose I give you the address, do you feel able to write, before he
has----?'

There was a change in the listener's face. Mrs. Ormonde sprang to her,
and saved her from falling. Nature had been tried at last beyond its
powers.

Mrs. Ormonde could not leave the unconscious form; her voice would not
be beard if she called for help. But the fainting fit lasted a long
time. Thyrza lay as one who is dead; her features calm, all the
disfiguring anguish passed from her beauty. Her companion had a moment
of terror. She was on the point of hastening to the house, when a sign
of revival cheeked her. She supported Thyrza in her arms.

'Thank you, Mrs. Ormonde,' was the latter's first whisper, the tone as
gentle and grateful as it was always wont to be.

'Can you sit alone for a minute, dear, while I fetch something?'

'I am well, quite well again, thank you.'

Mrs. Ormonde went and speedily returned. Thyrza was sitting with her
eyes closed. They spoke only broken words. But at length Mrs. Ormonde
said:

'You must come into the house now, Thyrza. You shall be quite alone;
you must lie down.'

'No, I can't stay here, Mrs. Ormonde. I must go back before it gets too
late. I must go to the station.'

Even had Thyrza's condition allowed of this, her friend would have
dreaded to lose sight of her now, to let her travel to London and
thereafter be alone. After trying every appeal, she refused to allow
her to go.

'You must stay here for the night, Thyrza. You must. I have much more
to say to you. But first you must rest. Come with me.'

Her will was the stronger. Thyrza at length suffered herself to be
taken into the house, and to a room where she could have perfect
quietness. Mrs. Ormonde alone waited upon her, brought her food, did
everything to soothe body and mind. By sunset, the weary one was lying
with her head on the pillow. On a table within her reach was a bell,
whose sound would at once summon her attendant from the next room.

At ten o'clock Mrs. Ormonde entered silently. Three nights of watching,
and the effects of all she had endured this afternoon, were weighing
heavily on Th