Mrs. Ormonde had followed the working of the girl's mind with intense
observation. She knew not whether to fear or to be glad of the strange
tranquillity that had succeeded upon such uncontrolled vehemence. What
she seemed to gather from Thyrza's words she scarcely ventured to
believe. It was a satisfaction to her that she had avoided naming
Egremont's address, yet a satisfaction that caused her some shame.
Indeed, it was the sense of shame that perhaps distressed her most in
Thyrza's presence. Egremont's perishable love, her own prudential
forecasts and schemings, were stamped poor, worldly, ignoble, in
comparison with this sacred and extinguishable ardour. As a woman she
felt herself rebuked by the ideal of womanly fidelity; she was made to
feel the inferiority of her nature to that which fate had chosen for
this supreme martyrdom. In her glances at Thyrza's face she felt, with
new force, how spiritual was its beauty. For in soulless features,
however regular and attractive, suffering reveals the flesh; this girl,
stricken with deadly pallor, led the thoughts to the purest ideals of
womanhood transfigured by woe in the pictures of old time.

'I will go by the train at twelve o'clock,' Thyrza said, moving at
length.

'I want you to stay with me till to-morrow--just till tomorrow morning,
Thyrza. If my presence pains you, I will keep away. But stay till
to-morrow.'

'If you wish it, Mrs. Ormonde.'

'Will you go out? Into the garden? To the shore?'

'I had rather stay here.'

She kept her place by the window through the whole day, as she had sat
in her own room in London. She could not have borne to see the waves
white on the beach and the blue horizon; the sea that she had loved so,
that she had called her friend, would break her heart with its song of
memories. She must not think of anything now, only, if it might be, put
her soul to sleep and let the sobbing waters of oblivion bear it
onwards through the desolate hours. She had no pain; her faculties were
numbed; her will had spent itself.

Mrs. Ormonde brought her meals, speaking only a word of gentleness. In
the evening Thyrza said to her:

'Will you stay a few minutes?'

She sat down and took Thyrza's hand. The latter continued:

'I shall be glad if they would give me the sewing to do again, and the
work at the Home. Do you think they will, Mrs. Ormonde?'

'Don't you wish to go on with your lessons?'

'No. I can't stay there if I don't earn enough to