Surely--thought Egremont as he smiled--to you if to any one the sky should show a glad face. How many a time thereafter did he think of those words--'It would be too cruel!' She could not believe that fortune would be unkind to her; she had faith in the undiscovered day. CHAPTER XVI SEA MUSIC Returning to the upper room, Thyrza sat down as if she were very tired. 'No, I don't want anything to eat,' she said to Lydia. 'I shall go to bed at once. We must be up very early in the morning.' Still she made no preparations. Her mirth and excitement were at an end. Her eyelids drooped heavily, and one of her hands hung down by the side of the chair. Lydia showed no extreme desire for an account of the proceedings below. Yes, Thyrza said, she had enjoyed herself. And presently: 'Mr. Egremont says he wants to begin putting up the books by the first of May.' 'Did he say when the house would be ready?' Thyrza shook her head. Then: 'He told us about foreign countries. He's been everywhere.' 'Gilbert told me he had been to America.' 'Lyddy, is Canada the same as America?' 'I believe it is,' said the other doubtfully. 'I think it is a part. America's a very big country, you know.' 'What do you think Gilbert says? He says Mr. Ackroyd told him last night that he was going to Canada.' Lydia gave no sign of special interest. 'Is he?' 'I don't think he means it.' 'Perhaps he'll take Totty Nancarrow with him,' remarked Lydia, with a scarcely noticeable touch of irony. The other did not reply, but she looked pained. Then Lydia declared that she too was weary. They talked little more, though it was a long time before either got to sleep. Thyrza saw Grail in the breakfast hour next morning, and received his advice for the day. Bunce had already conveyed the little box of Bessie's clothing to the hospital; thence Thyrza and the child would go in a cab to Victoria. She was at the hospital by nine o'clock. Bessie, a weakly, coughing child, who seemingly had but a short term of suffering before her, was at first very reticent with Thyrza, but when they were seated together in the train at Victoria, she brightened in the expectation of renewing her experiences of Mrs. Ormonde's home, and at length talked freely. Bessie was very old; she had long known the difficulties of a pinched home, and of her own ailments she spoke with a curious gravity as little child-like as could be. 'It's my chest as is weak,' she said. 'The nurse says it'll get stronger as I get older, but it's my belief that it's just the other way about. You never had a weak chest, had you, Miss Trent? You haven't that look. I dessay you're always well; I shouldn't mind if I was the same.' She laughed, and made herself cough. 'I can't see why everybody shouldn't be well. Father says the world's made wrong, and it seems to me that's the truth. Perhaps it looks different to you, Miss Trent.' 'You had better call me Thyrza, Bessie. That's my name.'