er face and began to sing. Yes, it was different enough
from anything that had come before; her pure sweet tones touched the
hearers profoundly; not a foot stirred. At the second verse she had
grown in confidence, and rose more boldly to the upper notes. At the
end she was singing her best--better than she had ever sung at home,
better than she thought she could sing. The applause that followed was
tumultuous. By this time much beer had been consumed; the audience was
in a mood for enjoying good things.

'That's something like, old girl!' cried Totty, clapping her on the
back. 'Have a drink out of my glass. It's only ginger-beer; it can't
hurt you. This is jolly! Ain't it a lark to be alive?'

The pale-faced girl who had sung of May-blossoms looked across the
table with eyes in which jealousy strove against admiration. There were
remarks aside between the men with regard to Thyrza's personal
appearance.

She must sing again. They were not going to be left with hungry ears
after a song like that. Thyrza still suffered from the sense that she
was doing wrong, but the praise was so sweet to her; sweeter, she
thought, than anything she had ever known. She longed to repeat her
triumph.

Totty named another song; the faint resistance was overcome, and again
the room hushed itself, every hearer spellbound. It was a voice well
worthy of cultivation, excellent in compass, with rare sweet power.
Again the rapturous applause, and again the demand for more. Another!
she should not refuse them. Only one more and they would be content.
And a third time she sang; a third time was borne upwards on clamour.

'Totty, I _must_ go,' she whispered. 'What's the time?'

'It's only just after ten,' was the reply. 'You'll soon run home.'

'After ten? Oh, I must go at once!'

She left her place, and as quickly as possible made her way through the
crowd. Just at the door she saw a face that she recognised, but a
feeling of faintness was creeping upon her, and she could think of
nothing but the desire to breathe fresh air. Already she was on the
stairs, but her strength suddenly failed; she felt herself falling,
felt herself strongly seized, then lost consciousness.

She came to herself in a few minutes in the bar-parlour; the landlady
was attending to her, and the door had been shut against intruders. Her
first recognition was of Luke Ackroyd.

'Don't say anything,' she murmured, looking at him imploringly. 'Don't
tell Lyddy.'

'Not