a one the world was
a sorry place. He had no mind to taste such pleasures as it offered to
a rich man with no ideal save physical enjoyment; he no longer cared to
search out its beautiful things, to probe its mysteries. To what end,
since all pleasure and all knowledge must end in himself? ...

Where at this moment was Thyrza? The thought had mingled with all those
others. Did she then love him so much that marriage with Grail had
become impossible--that she would rather face every hardship and peril
of a hidden life in some dark corner of London? For she lived; proof of
it seemed to be in the refusal of his mind to contemplate a fatal issue
of her trial. She lived, and held him in her heart--the strong,
passionate heart, source of music and of love. And he--could he foresee
the day when he should no longer love her?

But of that she knew nothing, and must never know of it. The one
outlook for his life lay yonder, where love was beckoning; grant him
leave to follow, and what limitless prospect opened in place of the
barren hills which now enclosed him! But follow he must not. In that
respect nothing was altered. When he thought of Thyrza, it must still
be with the hope that she would return and fulfil her promise to
Gilbert Grail.

At a late hour he went to his bedroom. He lay down with a weary brain,
and, in trying to ask himself what he should do on the morrow, fell
asleep.

CHAPTER XXVII

FOUND

Mrs. Ormonde waited anxiously for Annabel's first letter from London.
Neither of them had spoken of Egremont after Annabel's visit with the
news from Paula. The girl gave no sign of trouble; she appeared to
continue her preparations with the same enjoyment as before. It was
doubtful whether, in writing, she would make any reference to Egremont,
but Mrs. Ormonde hoped there would be some word.

The letter came five days after Annabel's arrival in London, and was
short. It mentioned visits to the Academy and the Grosvenor, made a few
comments, spoke of this and that old acquaintance reseen; then came a
concluding paragraph:

'Father called at Mr. Egremont's two days ago, but did not see him. He
learnt that Mr. Egremont had been at home for one day, but was gone out
of town again. My aunt, as I gather from a chance word, takes the least
charitable view; I fear that was to be expected. We, however, _know_
the truth--do we not? It is sad, but not shameful. I have no means of
hearing anything about the library. I