yrenees, where it appeared that
their new friend had been spending the summer.

At the inn-door they parted, she going along a corridor to her aunt's
rooms, and the three Fulmorts hurrying simultaneously to Miss Charlecote
to narrate their adventure. She was as eager as they to know the name of
their rescuer, and to go to thank her; and ringing for the courier, sent
him to make inquiries. 'Major and Mrs. Holmby, and their niece,' was the
result; and the next measure was Miss Charlecote's setting forth to call
on them in their apartments, and all the three young ladies wishing to
accompany her--even Bertha! What could this encounter have done to her?
Phoebe withdrew her claim at once, and persuaded Maria to remain, with
the promise that her new friend should be invited to enjoy the exhibition
of the book of Swiss costumes; and very soon she was admiring them, after
having received an explanation sufficient to show her how to deal with
Maria's peculiarities. Mrs. Holmby, a commonplace, good-natured woman,
evidently knew who all the other party were, and readily made
acquaintance with Miss Charlecote, who had, on her side, the same strange
impression of knowing the name as Phoebe had of knowing the face.

Bertha, who slept in the same room with Phoebe, awoke her in the morning
with the question, 'What do you think is Miss Holmby's name?'

'I did not hear it mentioned.'

'No, but you ought to guess. Do you not see how names impress their own
individuality? You need not laugh; I know they do. Could you possibly
have been called Augusta, and did not Katherine quite pervade Miss
Fennimore?'

'Well, according to your theory, what is her name?'

'It is either Eleanor or Cecily.'

'Indeed!' cried Phoebe; 'what put that into your head?'

'Her expression--no, her entire _Wesen_. Something homely, simple, a
little old-fashioned, and yet refined.'

'It is odd,' said Phoebe, pausing.

'What is odd?'

'You have explained the likeness I could not make out. I once saw a
photograph of a Cecily, with exactly the character you mention. It was
that of which she reminded me.'

'Cecily? Who could it have been?'

'One of the Raymond cousinhood. What o'clock is it?'

'Oh, don't get up yet, Phoebe; I want to tell you Miss Holmby's history,
as I make it out. She said she was not ill, but I am convinced that her
uncle and aunt took her abroad to give her change, not after illness, but
sorrow.'

'Yes, I am sure she ha