She threw up her hands against the door, and leaned her face, her bosom on it. Her throat was so dry that she felt choking; her heart--poor heart! could it bear this incessant throbbing pain? She swallowed tears, and had some little bodily solace. But if Totty should come! She hoped to be alone as long as he was there. It was so sweet to be near him, and alone! And Totty did not come. Of a sudden the opposite door opened. He was leaving, going forth again she knew not whither--only that it was away from her. Then desire became act. She heard the house-door close, and on the moment sped from the room. She scarcely knew what she said to Bunce on the stairs. Now she was in the street. Which way? There he was, there, at but a little distance. But she must not approach him here, in this street. Any moment Totty might come--one of the Bowers might pass. She kept at an even remoteness, following him. Into Paradise Street, into High Street, out into Lambeth Road, with the bridge in sight. He meant to go along the Embankment. But it was quieter here. A quickened step, almost a run, and she was by his side. 'Mr. Egremont!' He stood. 'Mr. Egremont. I thought it was you. I wanted--' They were under the church. As Thyrza spoke, the bells suddenly broke out with their harsh clanging; they had been ringing for the last twenty minutes, and were now recommencing after a pause. Egremont glanced towards the tower, startled and seemingly annoyed. 'I'm very sorry I couldn't come to the library this morning, Miss Trent,' he said, very formally. 'I was unexpectedly kept away.' What automaton had taken his place and spoke in this contemptible tone of conventional politeness? 'Those bells are so loud,' Thyrza said, complainingly. 'I wanted to--to ask you something. May I go with you a little further--just to the bridge?' He said nothing, but looked at her and walked on. They entered the bridge. Egremont still advanced, and Thyrza kept by him, till they were nearly on the Westminster side of the river. Very few people passed them, and no vehicles disturbed the quiet of the dark road along the waterside. On the one hand was a black mass of wharfs, a few barges moored in front; on the other, at a little distance, the gloomy shape of Millbank prison. The jangle of the bells was softened. 'They certainly might be more musical,' Egremont said, with a forced laugh. 'I should not care to live in one of the houses just under the church.' She was speaking. 'I waited this morning. Oh, it didn't matter; but I was afraid--I thought you might have had some accident, Mr. Egremont.' 'No. It was business that prevented me from coming. But you wish to ask me something, Miss Trent?' 'If you will be there to-morrow--that was all. I like helping. I like looking at the books, and putting them up--if you would let me.'