be a great change that
would make me have any but friendly thoughts of you.'

She raised her face.

'I behaved so cruelly to you. If I could hope that you would forgive
that----'

A sob broke her voice.

'Don't talk of forgiveness!' Gilbert replied, with less self-control.
'I have never thought a hard thought of you. I can't bear to hear _you_
speak in that voice to me.'

The tenderness he had concealed found expression in the last words. Her
wonderful new beauty, the humility of her bowed head, her tears,
overcame the show he had made of easy friendliness. He saw her eyes
turned to him again, and this time he met their gaze.

'Do you know all of my life since I left you?' Thyrza asked. 'Lyddy
knows how I have lived all the time, from that day to this. Has she
told you?'

'Yes, she has told me.'

'Will you let me fulfil the promise I made to you? Can you forget what
I have done? Will you let me be your companion--do all I can to make
your home a happy one? I have no right to ask, but if--if not now--if
some day I could be a help to you! I will come to live with Lyddy. We
will find a room somewhere else. I will work with Lyddy, till you can
let me come----'

Her pallor turned to a deep flush. She spoke brokenly, till her lips
became mute, the last word dying in a whisper. She had not known what
it would cost her to say this. A deadly shame enfolded her; she could
have sunk to the ground before him after the first sentence.

Gilbert listened and was shaken. He knew that this was no confession of
love for him, but of the sincerity of what she had said he could have
no doubt. There was not disgrace upon her; she humbled herself solely
in grief for the suffering she had caused him. He loved her, loved her
the more for the awe her matured beauty inspired in him. That Thyrza
should come and speak thus, was more like a dream than simple reality.
And for all his longing, he durst not touch her hand.

'What you offer me,' he said, in low, tremulous accents, 'I should
never have dared to ask, for it is the greatest gift I can imagine. You
are so far above me now, Thyrza. I should take you into a life that you
are no longer fit for. My home must always be a very poor one; it would
shame me to give you nothing better than that.'

'I want nothing more than to be with you, Gilbert. I am not above you;
you are better in everything. I broke a promise which ought to have
been sacred. If you let me share your life, that i