'And whom did you see in Brook Street?' 'A woman, sir; she said Mr. Grail didn't live there.' 'He couldn't come with you?' 'No, sir. But he said he'd come very soon.' 'Thank you. That will do.' So Grail was _not_ at the library. Then of a certainty something had happened. Thyrza was ill; perhaps-- He walked about the room. That dread physical pain which clutches at all the inner parts when one is waiting in agonised impatience for that which will be misery when it comes, racked him so that at moments he had to lean for support. He felt how the suffering of the last fortnight, in vain fled from hither and thither, had reduced his strength. Since he took leave of Thyrza, he had not known one moment of calm. When passion was merciful for a time, fear had taken its turn to torment him. It had not availed to demonstrate to himself that fear _must_ be groundless. Love from of old has had a comrade superstition; if he awoke from a wretched dream, he interpreted it as sympathy with Thyrza in some dreadful trial. And behold! he had been right. His flight had profited nothing; woe had come upon her he loved, and upon the man he most desired to befriend. Half an hour after the return of the messenger, the servant came to the door and said that 'Mr. Grail' was below. 'Yes. I'll see him.' He spoke the words with difficulty. He advanced to the middle of the room. Gilbert came in, and the door was closed behind him. The man looked as if he had risen from his death-bed to obey this summons. The flesh of his face had shrunk, and left the lines of his countenance sharp. His eye-sockets were cavernous; the dark eyes had an unnatural lustre. His hair and beard were abandoned to neglect. His garments hung with strange looseness about him. He stood there, just within the door, his gaze fixed on Egremont, a gaze wherein suspicion and reproach and all unutterable woe were blended. Walter took a step forward, vainly holding out his hand. 'Grail, what has happened? You are ill. What does it mean?' 'Why have you sent for me, Mr. Egremont?' The question was uttered with some sternness, but bodily weakness subdued the voice, which shook. And when he had spoken, his eyes fell. 'Because I want to know what is the matter,' Egremont replied, in quick, unnerved tones. 'Have you been here to try and see me?' 'Yes, I have.' 'Why? you knew I was away. What has happened, Grail?' 'I thought you knew, Mr. Egremont.' 'How should I know? I have heard nothing from London for a fortnight. You speak to me in an unfriendly way. Tell me at once what you mean.' Gilbert looked up for a moment, looked indignantly, bitterly. But his eyes drooped again as he spoke. 'A fortnight ago Miss Trent left her home, and we can hear nothing of her. I tried to find you, because I had reason to think that you knew where she was.'