own courage when the time
came. Could she stand before him? In what words could she speak to him?
Yet she must not let him doubt what her two years had been. Would it be
right to tell him that he came not unexpected, to confess that she had
heard him when he spoke to Mrs. Ormonde? Not at once, not to-day. He
must know, but not to-day.

How short a time, two years; how long, how endlessly long each hour on
this day of waiting!

For the morning passed, and he did not come. He was at Eastbourne; he
had not even asked Mrs. Ormonde to keep her word till the very day came.

Her dinner was brought up, and was sent down again untouched. She sat
still at the window. Every wheel that approached made her heart leap;
its dull rumbling into the distance sickened her with disappointment.
But most likely he would walk to the house, and then she would not know
till the servant came up to tell her.

Why had she not thought to get a railway-guide, that she might know all
the trains from Eastbourne? She could not now go out to purchase one;
he would come in her absence.

It drew to evening. Thyrza knew neither hunger nor thirst; she did not
even feel weary. Dread was creeping upon her. She fought with it
resolutely. She would be no traitor to herself, to him her other self.
He might very well leave it till evening, to make sure of her being at
home.

Her mind racked her with absurd doubts. Had she mistaken? _Was_ this
the day?

Pale and cold as marble, whilst the evening twilight died upon her
face. She did not move. Better to sit so still that she forgot
impatience, perchance forgot time. The vehicles in the street were
fewer now; her heart-throbs as each drew near were the more violent.
Nor would the inward pulse recover its quietness when there was
silence. She heard it always; she felt it as an unceasing pain.

Why should she rise and light the lamp? If he did not come, what matter
if she sat in darkness and pain for ever?

And the long summer evening did in truth become night. The street grew
yet more quiet. She saw the moon, very clear and beautiful.

There sounded a loud double-knock at the street door. She sprang up and
stood listening. It was a visitor to the Emersons. Even when assured of
that, something in her would not believe it, hoped against conviction.
But at length she went back to her chair. No tears; but the pain harder
to bear than ever.

She awoke at very early morning; she was lying on her bed, fully cl