Mrs. Ormonde was not of those philanthropists who, In the midst of their well-doing, are preoccupied with the necessity of preserving the distinction between classes. She always fetched the children from the station in her own unpretending carriage. Her business was to make them happy, as the first step to making them well, and whilst they were with her she was their mother. There are plenty of people successfully engaged in reminding the poor of the station to which Providence has called them: the insignificant few who indulge a reckless warmth of heart really cannot be seen to do appreciable harm.

'Mrs. Ormonde, mum,' whispered Bessie, when they were seated in the carriage.

'What is it, Bessie?'

'Would you take us round by the front road? Miss Trent hasn't never seen the sea, and she'd like to as soon as she can; it's only natural.'

Mrs. Ormonde had cast one or two discreet glances at Thyrza. As she did so her smile subdued itself a little; a grave thought seemed to pass through her mind. She at once gave an order to the coachman in compliance with Bessie's request.

'Mr. Grail is quite well, I hope?' she said, feeling a singular embarrassment in addressing Thyrza.

Thyrza replied mechanically. To ride in an open carriage with a lady, this alone would have been an agitating experience; the almost painful suspense with which she waited for the first glimpse of the sea completed her inability to think or speak with coherence. Her eyes were fixed straight onwards. Mrs. Ormonde continued to observe her, occasionally saying something in a low voice to the child.

The carriage drove to the esplanade, and turned to pass along it in the westerly direction. The tide was at full; a loud surge broke upon the beach; no mist troubled the blue line of horizon. Mrs. Ormonde looked seawards, and her vision found a renewal in sympathy with the thought she had read on Thyrza's face.

You and I cannot remember the moment when the sense of infinity first came upon us; we have thought so much since then, and have assimilated so much of others' thoughts, that those first impressions are become as vague as the memory of our first love. But Thyrza would not forget this vision of the illimitable sea, live how long she might. She had scarcely heretofore been beyond the streets of Lambeth. At a burst her consciousness expanded in a way we cannot conceive. You know that she had no religion, yet now her heart could not contain the new-born worship. Made forgetful of all else by the passionate instinct which ruled her being, she suddenly leaned forward and laid her hand on Mrs.

Ormonde's. The latter took and pressed it, smiling kindly.

Bessie, happy in her superior position, looked about her with a satisfied air. She sat with Mrs. Ormonde on the fore-seat; presently she leaned aside to look westward, and informed Thyrza that the promontory visible before them was Beachy Head. Thyrza had no response to utter.

The carriage turned inland again. Thyrza lost sight of the sea. As if she cared to look at nothing else, her eyes fell.

When they arrived at The Chestnuts, Mrs. Ormonde led her companions to an upper room, where Mrs. Mapper sat talking with two or three children.

'I think Bessie can have her old bed, can't she?' she said, after introducing Thyrza. 'I wonder whether she knows any of our children now? I dare say Miss Trent would like to rest a little.'

A few words were spoken to the matron apart, and Mrs. Ormonde withdrew.

Half an hour later, Thyrza, after seeing the children and all that portion of the house which was theirs, was led by Mrs. Mapper to the drawing-room. The lady of the house was there alone; she invited her guest to sit down, and began to talk.

'Are you obliged to be home to-night? Couldn't you stay with us till to-morrow?'

Thyrza checked a movement.

'I promised Mr. Grail to be back before dark,' she said.

'Oh, but that will scarcely leave you any time at all. Is there any other need for you to return to-day? Suppose I telegraphed to say that I was keeping you--wouldn't Mr. Grail forgive me?'

'I think I might stay, if I could be back to-morrow by tea-time. I must go to work on Monday morning.'

Mrs. Ormonde sighed involuntarily. That work, that work: the consumer of all youth and joy!

'Unfortunately there's no train to-morrow that would help us.'

Thyrza longed to stay; the other could read her face well enough.

'There's an early train on Monday morning,' she continued doubtfully.

'Do you live with parents?'

'Oh, no, ma'am. My parents died a long time ago. I live with my sister.

We two have a room to ourselves; it's in the same house where Mr. Grail lives: that's how I got to know him.'

'And is your sister older than yourself?'

'Yes, ma'am; four years older. Her name's Lydia. We've always kept together. When I'm married, she's coming to live with us.'

Mrs. Ormonde listened with ever deepening interest. She formed a picture of that elder sister. The words 'We've always kept together,'

touched her inexpressibly; they bore so beautiful a meaning on Thyrza's lips.

'And would your sister Lydia scold me very much if I made you lose your Monday morning's work?' she asked, smiling.

'Oh, it's always the other way, ma'am. Lyddy's always glad when I get a holiday. But I never like her to have to go to work alone.'

'Well now, I shall telegraph to Lyddy, and then tomorrow I shall write a letter to her and beg her to forgive me. If I do so, do you think you could stay?'

'I--I think so, ma'am.'

'And Mr. Grail?'

'He's just as kind to me as Lyddy is.'

'Then I think we won't be afraid. The telegram shall go at once, so that if there were real need for your return, they would have time to reply.'

The message despatched, they talked till dinner-time. Fulfilment of joy soon put an end to Thyrza's embarrassment; she told all about her life and Lydia's, about their work, about Mr. Boddy, about Gilbert and his books. Mrs. Ormonde led her gently on, soothed by the music.

In the afternoon she decided to drive with Thyrza to the top of Beachy Head; on the morrow the sky might not be so favourable to the view. The children would go out in the usual way; she preferred to be alone with her visitor for a while.

'Will they have the telegraph yet?' Thyrza asked, as she again seated herself in the carriage.

'Oh, long since. We could have had an answer before now.'

Thyrza sighed with contentment, for she knew that Lyddy was glad on her behalf.

So now the keen breath of the sea folded her about and made warmth through her whole body; it sang in her ears, the eternal sea music which to infinite generations of mortals has been an inspiring joy.

Upward, upward, on the long sweep of the climbing road, whilst landward the horizon retired from curve to curve off the wild Downs, and on the other hand a dark edge against the sky made fearful promise of precipitous shore. The great snow-mountains of heaven moved grandly on before the west wind, ever changing outline, meeting to incorporate mass with mass, sundering with magic softness and silence. The bay of Pevensey spread with graceful line its white fringe of breakers now low upon the strand, far away to the cliffs of Hastings.

'Hastings!' Thyrza exclaimed, when Mrs. Ormonde had mentioned the name.

'Is that where the battle of Hastings was?'

'A little further inland. You have read of that?'

'Gilbert--Mr. Grail is teaching me history. Yes, I know about Hastings.'

'And what country do you think you would come to, if you went right over the sea yonder?'

'That must be--really?--where William the Conqueror came from? That was Normandy, in France.'

'Yes, France is over there.'

'France? France?'