She would soon know what it all meant. Thyrza and she left the house together and went in opposite directions. Lydia crossed Kennington Road, and found Luke waiting for her. She approached him with veiled eyes.

'I'm so glad you've come,' he began, with signs of disturbance, 'It's kind of you to come. I have a great deal to say, and I can't speak here. Will you come round into Walcot Square?--it'll be quieter.'

She said nothing, but walked beside him. It was a new and strange sensation to be thus accompanying Ackroyd.

She was conscious that her pulses quickened. They went on in silence till they reached the spot which Luke had mentioned, an irregular little square, without traffic, dark.

'I don't know how to begin to tell you, Miss Trent,' Ackroyd said, when he stopped and turned towards her. 'It's your sister I have to speak about.'

She had foreseen truly. Her heart sank.

'What can you have to say about my sister, Mr. Ackroyd?' she asked in a hard voice.

'I'm not surprised that you speak in that way. I know that I shall seem a busybody, or perhaps something worse, meddling with things that don't concern me. It would be easier for me to leave it alone, but I couldn't do that, because I can't think of you and your sister as strangers.

I've heard something said about Thyrza that you ought to know. Be friendly to me, and believe I'm only telling you this because I think it's my duty.'

Lydia was looking at him in astonishment.

'You've heard something? What? What has anybody to say about my sister?'

'I shall make no secret of anything--it's the only way to prove I'm behaving honestly to you. I was at the club last night, and Bower came and sat down by me, and he began to talk about Thyrza. He said it looked strange that she should be alone with Mr. Egremont in the library every morning. The woman that takes care of the place told him about it, and he's seen Thyrza himself coming away at dinner-time, when Mr. Egremont was there. He says she goes to help him to put books on the shelves. He spoke of it in a way that showed he was telling the story to all sorts of people, and in a way that means harm. I'd sooner bite my tongue out than repeat such things about your sister, if it wasn't that you ought to know. I might have told Grail, but I felt it was better to see you first. I know I'm making trouble enough any way, but I believe you will give me credit for acting honestly. Don't think of me as the kind of man I've seemed since Christmas. You used to think well of me, and you must do so now, Miss Trent. I'm speaking as a true friend.'

He hurried out his words of self-justification, for he saw the anger in her face.

'And you believe this?' Lydia exclaimed, when she could use her voice.

'You believe a man that will go saying things like this about my sister? Why is he trying to do us harm? Why, there _is_ no books to put on the shelves! No books have come to the library yet!'

She laughed scornfully, and, before he could speak, continued with the same vehemence.

'What have we done to Mr. Bower? I suppose it's because we're not so friendly with them as we were. So he does his best to take away our good name, and to ruin Thyrza's life! Of course, I knew very well what you mean. I know what _he_ means. He's a cruel coward! It's a lie that he's seen Thyrza coming out of the library! Why, I tell you there is no books there! How could she help to put them on the shelves? You shall come with me this minute to the Bowers' house! You can't refuse to do that, Mr. Ackroyd: it's only fair, it's only justice. You shall come and repeat to them all you've told me, and then see if he'll _dare_ to say it again. I'm glad you didn't tell Gilbert; you was right to tell me first. I'm not angry with you; you mustn't think that; though you speak as if you believed his lies. I should have thought you knew Thyrza better. Come with me, this minute! You _shall_ come, if you're an honest man, as you say you are!'

She laid her hand upon his arm. Ackroyd took the hand and held it whilst he compelled her to listen to him.

'Lydia, we can't go till you've heard everything. I've got more to tell you.'

'More? What is it? A man that 'll say so much 'll say anything. You've told me quite enough, I should think, considering it's about my own sister.'

'But, Lydia, do listen to me, my poor girl! Try and quiet yourself, and listen to me. There's nothing more of Bower's telling; he didn't say any more; and there was more harm in his way of telling it than in the story itself. But I have something to tell you that I've found out myself.'

She looked him in the face. Her hand she had drawn away.

'And _you_ are going to say harm of Thyrza!' she said under her breath, eyeing him as though he were her deadliest enemy.

'Think and say of me what you like, Lydia. I've got something that I must tell you; if I don't, I'd a deal better never have said anything at all. You're not right about the library. There _are_ books there, and Mr. Egremont has been busy with them of a morning.'

'But how can _you_ know better than Gilbert?' she cried.

'I know, because I went last night to find out. As soon as I'd heard Bower's tale, I went. And I was there again to-day, at dinner-time, and I saw your sister come out of the door.'

She was silent. In spite of her passionate exclamations, a suspicion had whispered within her from the first, a voice to which she would lend no ear. Now she was constrained to think. She remembered Thyrza's lateness at dinner on Monday; she remembered that Thyrza had been from home each morning this week. And if it were true that books had arrived at the library, and that Gilbert knew nothing of it--Was _this_ the explanation of Thyrza's illness, of her inexplicable agitations, of her sleeplessness?

She could not raise her head. Ackroyd too kept silent. She asked at length: 'Have you anything more to tell me?'

'Yes, I _have_ something more. It's another thing that I found out last night, after leaving Bower. Say that you don't accuse me of conduct as bad as Bower's!' he added, vehemently. 'I _must_ tell you everything, and it makes me seem as if I told it for the sake of telling. Say you believe in my honesty, at all events!'

'I don't accuse you of anything,' she replied, still under her breath.

'What is it you have to say?'

'I went to see Miss Nancarrow. I had no thought of repeating the story to her--you must believe me or not, as you like, but I am telling you the truth. I wanted to see if she had heard anything from the Bowers, and I wanted to try and find out, if I could, whether Thyrza had told her any secret. It wasn't out of a wish to pry into things I'd no concern with, but because I felt afraid for Thyrza, and because I wanted to be sure that there was sufficient reason for it before I came to you to put you on your guard. I said to Totty: 'Have you any reason to think that Thyrza cares for somebody else more than for Grail?' She got angry at once, and said she knew all about it, that she'd no patience with Thyrza, and that she wasn't going to have anything more to do with the affair. I've told you plainly, Lydia, told you everything. I hope I've done it for the best.'

She stood as if she heard nothing. Her arms hung down; her eyes were fixed on the ground. She was thinking that now she understood Thyrza's urgency in wishing to see Totty. Now she understood everything.

She moved, as if to go away. Ackroyd could find no word. All he had to say was so much sheer cruelty, and to attempt comfort would be insult.

But Lydia faced him again.

'And you think the worst of my sister?'

Again her look was defiant. She had no enemy in the world like the man who could accuse Thyrza of guilt. It was one thing to point out that Thyrza was in danger of being columniated, another to believe that the evil judgment was merited.

'I _don't_ think the worst of her, Lydia,' he replied, firmly. 'I think it likely that she has been doing something very thoughtless, and I am quite sure that that man Egremont has been doing something for which he deserves to be thrashed. But no more than that. More than that I _won't_ believe!'

'Thank you, Mr. Ackroyd! A minute ago I hated you, now I know that I have always been right in thinking you had a good heart. Thyrza may have been foolish in keeping things from me, but she's no more to blame than that. You can believe me. I would say it, if it was my life or death!'

He took her hand and pressed it.

'And you think Mr. Bower is telling everyone?' she asked, her voice wonderfully changed, for all at once she became a woman, and felt her need of a strong man's aid.

'I'm afraid so. When he'd done his tale to me last night, I told him that if he hadn't been a man so much older than myself I'd have struck him in face of all in the club. I'd perhaps better not have angered him, but it wouldn't make much difference. He's got ill feeling against Egremont, I believe.'

Lydia's eyes flashed when she heard of that speech to Bower.

'And you think he's doing this more to harm Mr. Egremont than Thyrza?'

'I do. He's a gossiping fool, but I don't believe he'd plot to ruin a girl in this way. Still, I'm quite sure the story 'll have got about, and it comes to the same thing.'

Both stood in thought. Lydia felt as if all the bright future were blasted before her eyes. Thyrza loved Egremont. Egremont was the falsest of friends to Gilbert, the most treacherous of men. Her darling had been artfully drawn by him into this secret intercourse; and how was it all to end?

'I must go home to Thyrza, Mr. Ackroyd. I don't know what to do, but it will come to me when I see my sister.'

She reflected a moment, then added:

'She went to see Totty Nancarrow, at the same time when I came out.

Perhaps she'll be there still. If I don't find her at home, I must go to the other house. Good-bye!'

'I do wish I could be some help to you, Lydia!' he said, holding her hand and looking very kindly at her.

'You can't. Nobody can help. Whatever happens Thyrza and me will be together, and I shall keep her from harm. But you've been a good friend to me to-night, Mr. Ackroyd. I can't do more than say I'm grateful to you. I shall be that, as long as I live.'

'Lydia--I don't want to pry into anything between you and your sister, but if I _can_ do anything to be of use to her--or to you--you'll tell me? You could easily send a message to me.'