er, she found the sad eyes gazing fixedly upwards. Thyrza just
turned them to her, but without change of expression.

'Don't look at me like that, dear,' Lydia said once. 'It's as if you
didn't know me.'

The reply was a brief smile.

Thyrza got up in the afternoon. About five o'clock, when Lydia was
making tea, Mrs. Jarmey came with a message. She said Mr. Boddy had
sent word that he wished to see Lydia particularly; he begged she would
come during the evening.

'Who brought the message?' Lydia asked, going outside the door to speak
with the landlady.

'A little boy,' was the answer. 'I never see him before, as I know.'

Lydia was disturbed. It might only mean that the old man was anxious at
not having seen her for five or six days, or that he was ill; but the
fact of his living in the Bowers' house suggested another explanation.
An answer was required; she sent back word that she would come.

'I shan't be more than half an hour away at the very longest,' she
said, when she reluctantly prepared to go out after tea. 'Wouldn't you
like to go downstairs just for that time, dear?'

'No, Lyddy, I'll stay.'

Thyrza had left her chair, and stood with her hand resting on the
mantel-piece. She did not turn her head.

'How funny you look with your hair like that!'

Thyrza had declined to have her hair braided, and had coiled it herself
in a new way. She made no reply.

'Good-bye, pet!' Lydia said, coming near.

Thyrza did not move. She was looking downwards at the fire. Lydia
touched her; she started, and, with a steady gaze, said, 'Good-bye,
Lyddy!'

'I do wish I hadn't to go. But I shall be very quick.'

'Yes. Good-bye!'

They kissed each other, and Lydia hastened on her errand.

Her absence did not last much longer than the time she had set. Mr.
Boddy had heard from Mrs. Bower all the story about Egremont. He gave
no faith to it, but wished to warn Lydia that such gossip was afloat,
and to receive from her an authoritative denial. She declared it to be
false from beginning to end. Without a moment's hesitation she did
this, having determined that there was no middle course. She denied
that Thyrza had been to the library. Whoever originated the story had
done so in malice. She enjoined upon him to contradict it without
reserve.

She felt as if she were being hunted by merciless beasts. To escape
them, any means were justifiable. Of the Bowers she thought with bitter
hatred. No wrong to herself could hav