No, it was too hard to believe. She murmured the name to herself.

Gilbert had shown it her on the map, but how difficult to transfer that dry symbol into this present reality!

They left the carriage near the Coastguard's house, and walked forward to the brow of the great cliffs. Mrs. Ormonde took Thyrza's hand as they drew near. They stood there for a long time.

Two or three other people were walking about the Head. In talking, Mrs.

Ormonde became aware that someone had approached her; she turned her head, and saw Annabel Newthorpe.

They shook hands quietly. Thyrza drew a little away.

'Are you alone?' Mrs. Ormonde asked.

'Yes, I have walked.'

'Who do you think this is?' Mrs. Ormonde murmured quickly. 'Mr. Grail's future wife. She has just brought one of my children down; I am going to keep her till Monday. Come and speak; the most loveable child!'

Thyrza and Annabel were presented to each other with the pleasant informality which Mrs. Ormonde so naturally employed. Each was impressed with the other's beauty; Thyrza felt not a little awe, and Annabel could not gaze enough at the lovely face which made such a surprise for her.

'Why did Mr. Egremont give me no suggestion of this?' she said to herself.

She had noticed, in drawing near, how intimately her friend and the stranger were talking together. Her arrival had disturbed Thyrza's confidence; she herself did not feel able to talk quite freely. So in a few minutes she turned and went by the footway along the edge of the height. Just before descending into a hollow which would hide her, she cast a look back, and saw that Thyrza's eyes were following her.

'But how could he speak of her and yet tell me nothing?'

His delicacy explained it, no doubt. He had not liked to say of the simple girl whom Grail was to marry that she was very beautiful.

Annabel felt that most men would have been less scrupulous: it was characteristic of Egremont to feel a subtle propriety of that kind.

Annabel was at all times disposed to interpret Egremont's motives in a higher sense than would apply to the average man.

On her return, Thyrza had tea with Mrs. Mapper and the children, then went with them to the large room upstairs in which evenings were spent till the early bedtime. It was an ideal nursery, with abundant picture-books, with toys, with everything that could please a child's eye and engage a child's mind. There was a piano, and on this Mrs.

Mapper sometimes played the kind of music that children would like. She taught them songs, moreover, and a singing evening was always much looked forward to. Saturday was always such; when the little choir had got a song perfect, Mrs. Ormonde was wont to come up and hear them sing it, making them glad with her praise.

It happened that to-night there was to be practising of a new song; Mrs. Mapper had chosen 'Annie Laurie,' and she began by playing over the air. One or two of the children knew it, but not the words; these, it was found, were always very quickly learnt by singing a verse a few times over.

'Do you know 'Annie Laurie,' Miss Trent?' Mrs. Mapper asked.

It was one of old Mr. Boddy's favourites; Thyrza had sung it to him since she was seven years old.

'Let us sing it together then, will you?'

They began. Thyrza was already thoroughly at home, and this music was an unexpected delight. After a line or two, Mrs. Mapper's voice sank.

Thyrza stopped and looked inquiringly, meeting a wonder in the other's eyes. Mrs. Mapper was a woman of much prudence; she merely said:

'I find I've got a little cold. Would you mind singing it alone?'

So Thyrza sang the song through. A moment or two of quietness followed.

'Now I think you'll soon know it, children,' said Mrs. Mapper. 'Lizzie Smith, I see you've got it already. Miss Trent will be kind enough to sing the first verse again; you sing with her, Lizzie--and you too, Mary. That's a clever girl! Now we shall get on.'

The practising went on till all were able to join in fairly well. After that, Mrs. Mapper played the favourite dance tunes, and the children danced merrily. Whilst they were so enjoying themselves, Mrs. Ormonde came into the room. She had dined, and wanted Thyrza to come and sit with her, for she was alone. But first she had five minutes of real laughter and play with the children. They loved her, every one of them, and clung to her desperately when she said sue could stay no longer.

'Good-bye!' she said, waving her hand at the door.

'No, no!' cried several voices. 'There's 'good-night' yet, Mrs.

Ormonde!'

'Why, of course there is,' she laughed; 'but that's no reason why I shouldn't say good-bye.'

She took Thyrza's hand and led her down.

'You shall have some supper with me afterwards,' she said 'The little ones have theirs now; but it's too early for you.'

If the drawing-room had been a marvel to Thyrza in the daylight, it was yet more so now that she entered it and found two delicately shaded lamps giving a rich uncertainty to all the beautiful forms of furniture and ornaments. She had thought the Grails' parlour luxurious. And the dear old easy-chair, now so familiar to her, how humble it was compared with this in which Mrs. Ormonde seated her! These wonders caused her no envy or uneasy desire. In looking at a glorious altarpiece, one does not feel unhappy because one cannot carry it off from the church and hang it up at home. Thyrza's mood was purely of admiration, and of joy in being deemed worthy to visit such scenes. And all the time she kept saying to herself, 'Another whole day! I shall be by the sea again tomorrow! I shall sleep and wake close by the sea!'

Presently Mrs. Ormonde had to absent herself for a few minutes.

'You heard what the children said about 'good-night.' I always go and see them as soon as they are tucked up in bed. I don't think they'd sleep if I missed.'

The kind office over, she spoke with Mrs. Mapper about the evening's singing.

'Did you know,' the latter asked, 'what a voice Miss Trent has?'

'She sings? I didn't know.'

'I was so delighted that I had to stop singing myself. I'm sure it's a wonderful voice.'

'Indeed! I must ask her to sing to me.'

She found Thyrza turning over the leaves of a volume of photographs.

Without speaking, she sat down at the piano, and began to play gently the air of 'Annie Laurie.' Thyrza looked up, and then came nearer.

'You are fond of music?' said Mrs. Ormonde.

'Very fond. How beautiful your playing is!'

'To-morrow you shall hear Miss Newthorpe play; hers is much better.

Will you sing this for me?'

When it was sung, she asked what other songs Thyrza knew. They were all, of course, such as the people sing; some of them Mrs. Ormonde did not know at all, but to others she was able to play an accompaniment.

Her praise was limited to a few kind words. On leaving the piano, she was thoughtful.

At ten o'clock Mrs. Mapper came to conduct Thyrza to her bedroom.

'We have breakfast at half-past eight to-morrow,' Mrs. Ormonde said.

'If I am up in time,' Thyrza asked, 'may I go out before breakfast?'

'Do just as you like, my dear,' the other answered, with a smile. 'I want you to enjoy your visit.'