She crossed the street again, and approached the library door. She walked past it, stopped, came back. She tried the handle, and the door opened. There was no harm in looking in. Amid a number of packing-oases stood Egremont. His head was uncovered, and he had a screw-driver in his hand, as if about to open the chests. At sight of Thyrza he came forward with a look of delight and shook hands with her. 'So you have discovered what I'm about. I didn't wish anyone to know. You see, the shelves are all ready, and I couldn't resist the temptation of having books brought. Will you keep the secret?' 'I won't say a word, sir.' Warmth on Thyrza's cheeks answered the pleasure in his eyes as he looked at her. Perhaps neither had fully felt how glad it would make them to meet again. When Thyrza had given her assurance, Egremont's face showed that he was going to say something in a different tone. 'Miss Trent, will you speak to me in future as you do to your friends? I want very much to be one of your friends, if you will let me.' Thyrza kept her eyes upon the ground. She could not find the fitting words for reply. He continued: 'Grail is my friend, and we always talk as friends should. Won't you cease to think of me as a stranger?' 'I don't think of you in that way, Mr. Egremont.' 'Then let us shake hands again in the new way.' Thyrza gave hers. She just met his eyes for a moment her own had a smile of intense happiness. 'Yes, keep this a secret,' Egremont went on, quickly resuming his ordinary voice. 'I'll surprise Grail in a few days, by bringing him in. Now, how am I to get this lid off? How tremendously firm it is! I suppose I ought to have got the men to do it, but I brought a screw-driver in my pocket, thinking it would be easy enough. Ah, there's a beginning! I ought to have a hammer.' 'Shall I go and ask Mrs. Butterfield if she has one?' 'Oh no, I'll go myself.' 'I'll run--it won't take me a minute!' She went out by the door that led into the house. In the dark passage she was startled by coming in contact with someone. 'Oh, who is that?' A muttered reply informed her that it was the old woman. They went forward into the nearest room. There was a disagreeable smile on Mrs. Butterfield's thin lips. 'If you please, have you got a hammer?' Thyrza asked. 'Mr. Egremont wants one.' The old woman went apart, and returned with a hammer which was used for breaking coals. 'Oh, could you just wipe it?' Thyrza said. 'The handle's so very black.' It was done, ungraciously enough, and Thyrza hastened back. Egremont was standing as she had left him. 'Ah, now I can manage! Thank you.' With absorbed interest Thyrza watched the process. 'I saw them bringing the last box in,' she said; 'that's why I came to look.' 'That was a risk I foresaw--that someone would notice the cart. But perhaps you are the only one.' 'I hope so--as you don't want any one to know.' She paused, then added: