red brain there was no more doubt. Had
existence been to her but one song of thanksgiving, even then to lie
thus had been more desirable. For to sleep is better than to wake, and
how should we who live bear the day's burden but for the promise of
death.

On Monday at noon there arrived a telegram, addressed to 'Miss Thyrza
Trent.' Gilbert received it from Mrs. Jarmey, and he took it upstairs
to Lydia, who opened it. It was from Mrs. Ormonde; she was at the
Emersons', and wished to know when Thyrza would return; she desired to
see her.

'Will you write to her, Gilbert?' Lydia asked.

'Wouldn't it be better if I went to see her?'

Yes, that was felt to be better. It was known that Thyrza had written
to Mrs. Ormonde on Saturday, so that nothing needed to be explained;
Gilbert had only to bear his simple news.

Arrived at the house, he had to wait. Mrs. Ormonde was gone out for an
hour, and neither Mr. Emerson nor his wife was at home. He sat in the
Emersons' parlour, seldom stirring, his eyes unobservant. For Gilbert
Grail there was little left in the world that he cared to look at.

Mrs. Ormonde came in. She regarded Gilbert with uncertainty, having
been told that someone waited for her, but nothing more. Gilbert rose
and made himself known to her. Then, marking his expression, she was
fearful.

'You have come from Miss Trent--from Thyrza,' she said, giving him her
hand.

'She could not come herself, Mrs. Ormonde.'

'Thyrza is ill?'

He hesitated. His face had told her the truth before he uttered:

'She is dead!'

It is seldom that we experience a simple emotion. When the words,
incredible at first, had established their meaning in her mind, Mrs.
Ormonde knew that with her human grief there blended an awe-struck
thankfulness. She stood on other ground than Lydia's, on other than
Gilbert's; her heart had been wrung by the short unaffected letter she
had received from Thyrza, and, though she could only acquiesce, the
future had looked grey and joyless. To hear it said of Thyrza, 'She is
dead!' chilled her; the world of her affections was beyond measure
poorer by the loss of that sweet and noble being. But could she by a
word have reversed the decision of fate, love would not have suffered
her to speak it.

They talked together, and at the end she said:

'If Lydia will let me come and see her, I shall be very grateful. Will
you ask her, and send word to me speedily?'

The permission was granted. Mrs. Orm