ver have ventured upon that! To be
sure, it meant nothing, nothing; but she liked that 'Believe me.' He
said he was very glad indeed that Thyrza had written, and he hoped
earnestly that more satisfactory news would come before long. Very
short. Lydia put away the note with that she had received from the same
writer one sad morning in the work-room. How long ago that seemed!

More than a month of summer went by, and Lydia waited still for another
word from her sister. After each day's disappointment, she closed her
eyes saying, 'It will come to-morrow.' During the hours she spent at
home the only event that interested her was the passing of the postman.
She watched constantly from the window at the times when letters were
delivered, and if, a rare chance, the man in uniform stopped at the
door below, she sprang to the top of the stairs and hung there
breathless, to see if someone would come up. No, the letter was never
for her. On coming home from work she always threw open her door
eagerly, for perhaps she would see the white envelope lying on the
floor again. The defeat of hope always made the whole room seem barren
and cold. Sunday was of all days in the week the longest and gloomiest;
on that day there was no postman.

But at length came the evening when, looking down by mere dull habit as
she opened her room door, behold the white envelope lay there. She
could not believe that at last it was really in her hand. As she took
the letter out, there fell from it a light slip of paper; with surprise
she saw that it was a post-office order. This time a full address stood
at the head of the page.

'Eastbourne!' she uttered. 'Then she is with Mrs. Ormonde, and Mrs.
Ormonde is _his_ friend.'

Hastily her eyes sought the sense of what was written. Thyrza said that
she was well, but could not live longer without seeing her sister.
Lydia was to come by as early a train as possible on the following
morning; money was enclosed to provide for her expenses. No news could
be sent, but in a few hours they would talk to each other. Finally, the
address was to be kept a secret, to be kept even from Gilbert; she
depended upon Lydia to obey her in this. A postscript added: 'You will
easily find the house. I would come to the station and meet every
train, but I couldn't bear to see you there first.'

Lydia had deep misgivings, but they did not occupy her mind for long.
She was going to see Thyrza; that, as she realised it, rang a peal