'Mrs. Gandle found my name and address in your pocket, and wrote to me.'
'In my pocket? Why should she look in my pocket?'
'She was anxious to have a friend come to you, Thyrza.'
'Does any one else know? Lyddy doesn't—nor anybody?'
'Nobody.'
'Yes, it was in my pocket. I kept it from that time when I went to—to—oh, I can't remember!'
'To Eastbourne, dear.'
'Yes—Eastbourne!'
The only way of quieting her was for Mrs. Ormonde to sit holding her hand. It was nearly dawn when the fit of fever was allayed and sleep came.
A week passed before it was possible to think of removing her from these miserable quarters to the other room which awaited her. Mrs. Ormonde's presence had doubtless been a great aid to the sufferer in her struggle with intermittent fever and mental pain. As Thyrza recovered her power of continuous thought, she showed less disposition to talk; the trouble which still hung above her seemed to impose silence. She was never quite still save when Mrs. Ormonde sat by her, but at those times she generally kept her face averted, closing her eyes if either of her nurses seemed to watch her. She asked no questions. Mrs. Gandle came up occasionally, and to her Thyrza spoke very gently and gratefully. She asked to see 'Lizabeth, and that damsel made an elaborate toilette for the ceremony of introduction to the transformed sickroom.