knew what his first word to her would be.

He sought her now, sought her that she might never leave him again. The
flood of passion was too strong; that moment of supreme restraint had
but massed the waters into overwhelming power. It was the thought of
danger to her that had ended all pity for Gilbert.

She was not in sight. Could she have passed the bridge so quickly? He
ran forward. True, it must be more than five minutes since he had left
her, much more, perhaps, for he could not judge how long he had stood
battling with himself behind the wharfs.

A policeman stood at the end of the bridge. Egremont asked him if a
young girl had just passed. Yes, such a one had gone by a minute or two
ago.

He ran on, past the church, into High Street. But would she go this
way? A girl crossed the road a little way ahead, into Paradise Street.
He overtook her, only to be disappointed.

At the end of Newport Street a man stood, waiting. It was Gilbert
Grail; he had come in the hope of meeting Thyrza, who, Lydia had told
him, was gone to see Totty Nancarrow. He was greatly anxious about her.

Egremont, coming up at a swift pace recognised Gilbert and stopped.
They shook hands. Grail was silent, Egremont began to stammer words. He
had been to see Bunce, just now, for such and such reasons, with such
and such results. But he could not stop, he had an engagement.
Good-night!

The shame of it! He found himself in Lambeth Walk, no longer searching,
anxious only to get away from the sight of men. Thyrza must be home by
this time. That speech with Gilbert had chilled him, and now he was hot
with self-contempt. He made his way out into Westminster Bridge Road,
thence walked to his own part of the town.

CHAPTER XXIII

CONFESSION

This Wednesday morning Lydia went to her work reluctantly. Thyrza was
so strange; it looked as if she was going to have an illness. Again
there had been a night of sleeplessness; if the girl fell for a moment
into slumber she broke from it with an inarticulate cry as if of fear.
It was now nearly a week since Thyrza had really slept through the
night, but it was growing worse. She was feverish; she muttered, so
that Lydia was terrified lest she had become delirious. And there was
no explaining it all. The excitement of the concert, surely, could not
have such lasting results; indeed, Thyrza seemed no longer to give a
thought to the music. All she begged for was that she might be allowed
to remai