seen in the parish church. Why should it not be so? If God is
faithful and just to forgive us our sins, why shouldn't we forgive? If
we are faithful and just, we shall."

"It could never be," said Felicita; "it cannot be the same as if Roland
had not been guilty. No one can blot out the past; it is eternal."

"Yes," she replied, covering Felicita's hand with kisses and tears; "but
oh, we love him more now than ever. He is gone into the land of thick
darkness, and I cannot follow him in my thoughts. It is like a gulf
between us and him. Even if he had been farthest away from us in the
world--anywhere--we could imagine what he was doing; but we cannot see
him or call across the gulf to him. It is all unknown. Only God knows!"

"God!" echoed Felicita; "if there is a God, let Him help me, for I am
the most wretched woman on His earth to-day."

"God cannot keep from helping us all," answered Phebe. "He cannot rest
while we are wretched. I understand it better than I used to do. I
cannot rest myself while the poorest creature about me is in pain that I
can help. It is impossible that He should not care. That would be an
awful thing to think; that would make His love and pity less than ours.
This I know, that God loves every creature He has made. And oh, He must
have loved him, though he was suffered to fall over that dreadful
precipice, and die before you saw him. It happened before you reached
Engelberg?"

"Yes," said Felicita, shivering.

"The papers were sent on to Mr. Clifford," continued Phebe, "and he sent
for me to come with him, and see you before the news got into the
papers. It will be in to-morrow. But I knew more than he did, and I came
on here to speak to you. Shall you tell him you went there to meet
him?"

"Oh, no, no!" cried Felicita; "it must never be known, dear Phebe."

"And his mother and the children--they, know nothing?" she said.

"Not a word, and it is you who must tell them, Phebe," she answered.
"How could I bear to tell them that he is dead? Never let them speak
about it to me; never let his name be mentioned."

"How can I comfort you?" cried Phebe.

"I can never be comforted," she replied despairingly; "but it is like
death to hear his name."

The voices of the children coming nearer reached their ears. They had
seen from their distant playground another figure sitting close beside
Felicita, and their curiosity had led them to approach. Now they
recognized Phebe, and a glad shout ran