n effort over himself. The nearest lamp showed him that she
was very pale.

'Only one word, Thyrza. Is there really any one else?'

'No; but that doesn't alter it.'

She walked quickly on. Ackroyd, with a great sigh of relief, went on by
her side. They came out into Lambeth Walk, where the market was as
noisy as ever; the shops lit up, the stalls flaring with naphtha lamps,
the odour of fried fish everywhere predominant. He led her through the
crowd and a short distance into her own street. Then she gave him her
hand and said: 'Good-night, Mr. Ackroyd. Thank you for bringing me
back. You'll be friends with me and Lyddy?'

'You'll come out with her to-morrow?'

'I can't promise. Good-night!'

CHAPTER V

A LAND OF TWILIGHT

It happened that Mrs. Jarmey, the landlady of the house in which the
sisters lived, had business in the neighbourhood of the 'Prince
Albert,' and chanced to exchange a word with an acquaintance who had
just come away after hearing Thyrza sing. Returning home, she found
Lydia at the door, anxiously and impatiently waiting for Thyrza's
appearance. The news, of course, was at once communicated, with moral
reflections, wherein Mrs. Jarmey excelled. Not five minutes later, and
whilst the two were still talking in the passage, the front door
opened, and Thyrza came in. Lydia turned and went upstairs.

Thyrza, entering the room, sought her sister's face; it had an angry
look. For a moment Lydia did not speak; the other, laying aside her
hat, said: 'I'm sorry I'm so late, Lyddy.'

'Where have you been?' her sister asked, in a voice which strove to
command itself.

Thyrza could not tell the whole truth at once, though she knew it would
have to be confessed eventually; indeed, whether or no discovery came
from other sources, all would eventually be told of her own free will.
She might fear at the moment, but in the end kept no secret from Lydia.

'I've been about with Totty,' she said, averting her face as she drew
off her cotton gloves.

'Yes, you have! You've been singing at a public-house.'

Lydia was too upset to note the paleness of Thyrza's face, which at
another moment would have elicited anxious question. She was deeply
hurt that Thyrza made so little account of her wishes; jealous of the
influence of Totty Nancarrow; stirred with apprehensions as powerful as
a mother's. On the other hand, it was Thyrza's nature to shrink into
coldness before angry words. She suffered intensely