‘I—­I think so, ma’am.’

‘And Mr. Grail?’

‘He’s just as kind to me as Lyddy is.’

’Then I think we won’t be afraid.  The telegram shall go at once, so that if there were real need for your return, they would have time to reply.’

The message despatched, they talked till dinner-time.  Fulfilment of joy soon put an end to Thyrza’s embarrassment; she told all about her life and Lydia’s, about their work, about Mr. Boddy, about Gilbert and his books.  Mrs. Ormonde led her gently on, soothed by the music.

In the afternoon she decided to drive with Thyrza to the top of Beachy Head; on the morrow the sky might not be so favourable to the view.  The children would go out in the usual way; she preferred to be alone with her visitor for a while.

‘Will they have the telegraph yet?’ Thyrza asked, as she again seated herself in the carriage.

‘Oh, long since.  We could have had an answer before now.’

Thyrza sighed with contentment, for she knew that Lyddy was glad on her behalf.

So now the keen breath of the sea folded her about and made warmth through her whole body; it sang in her ears, the eternal sea music which to infinite generations of mortals has been an inspiring joy.  Upward, upward, on the long sweep of the climbing road, whilst landward the horizon retired from curve to curve off the wild Downs, and on the other hand a dark edge against the sky made fearful promise of precipitous shore.  The great snow-mountains of heaven moved grandly on before the west wind, ever changing outline, meeting to incorporate mass with mass, sundering with magic softness and silence.  The bay of Pevensey spread with graceful line its white fringe of breakers now low upon the strand, far away to the cliffs of Hastings.

‘Hastings!’ Thyrza exclaimed, when Mrs. Ormonde had mentioned the name.  ‘Is that where the battle of Hastings was?’

‘A little further inland.  You have read of that?’

’Gilbert—­Mr. Grail is teaching me history.  Yes, I know about Hastings.’

’And what country do you think you would come to, if you went right over the sea yonder?’

’That must be—­really?—­where William the Conqueror came from?  That was Normandy, in France.’

‘Yes, France is over there.’

‘France?  France?’

No, it was too hard to believe.  She murmured the name to herself.  Gilbert had shown it her on the map, but how difficult to transfer that dry symbol into this present reality!

They left the carriage near the Coastguard’s house, and walked forward to the brow of the great cliffs.  Mrs. Ormonde took Thyrza’s hand as they drew near.  They stood there for a long time.

Two or three other people were walking about the Head.  In talking, Mrs. Ormonde became aware that someone had approached her; she turned her head, and saw Annabel Newthorpe.

They shook hands quietly.  Thyrza drew a little away.