glorious altarpiece, one does
not feel unhappy because one cannot carry it off from the church and
hang it up at home. Thyrza's mood was purely of admiration, and of joy
in being deemed worthy to visit such scenes. And all the time she kept
saying to herself, 'Another whole day! I shall be by the sea again
tomorrow! I shall sleep and wake close by the sea!'

Presently Mrs. Ormonde had to absent herself for a few minutes.

'You heard what the children said about 'good-night.' I always go and
see them as soon as they are tucked up in bed. I don't think they'd
sleep if I missed.'

The kind office over, she spoke with Mrs. Mapper about the evening's
singing.

'Did you know,' the latter asked, 'what a voice Miss Trent has?'

'She sings? I didn't know.'

'I was so delighted that I had to stop singing myself. I'm sure it's a
wonderful voice.'

'Indeed! I must ask her to sing to me.'

She found Thyrza turning over the leaves of a volume of photographs.
Without speaking, she sat down at the piano, and began to play gently
the air of 'Annie Laurie.' Thyrza looked up, and then came nearer.

'You are fond of music?' said Mrs. Ormonde.

'Very fond. How beautiful your playing is!'

'To-morrow you shall hear Miss Newthorpe play; hers is much better.
Will you sing this for me?'

When it was sung, she asked what other songs Thyrza knew. They were
all, of course, such as the people sing; some of them Mrs. Ormonde did
not know at all, but to others she was able to play an accompaniment.
Her praise was limited to a few kind words. On leaving the piano, she
was thoughtful.

At ten o'clock Mrs. Mapper came to conduct Thyrza to her bedroom.

'We have breakfast at half-past eight to-morrow,' Mrs. Ormonde said.

'If I am up in time,' Thyrza asked, 'may I go out before breakfast?'

'Do just as you like, my dear,' the other answered, with a smile. 'I
want you to enjoy your visit.'

In spite of the strangeness of her room, and of the multitude of
thoughts and feelings to which the day had given birth, Thyrza was not
long awake. She passed into a dreamland where all she had newly learnt
was reproduced and glorified. But the rising sun had not to wait long
for the opening of her eyes. She sprang from bed and to the window,
whence, however, she could only see the tall chestnuts and a
neighbouring cottage. The day was again fine; she dressed with nervous
speed--there was no Lyddy to do her hair, for the very first time in
her li