g through the air. She bent down
hurriedly to kiss Felicita's cold hand once again, and then she rose to
meet them, and prevent them from seeing their mother's deep grief.

"I will go and tell them, poor little things!" she said, "and Madame.
Oh, what can I do to help you all? Mr. Clifford is at your lodgings,
waiting to see you as soon as you can meet him."

She did not stay for an answer, but ran to meet Felix and Hilda; while
slowly, and with much guilty shrinking from the coming interview,
Felicita went back to the village, where Mr. Clifford was awaiting her.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE DEAD ARE FORGIVEN.

Roland Sefton's pocket-book, containing his passport and the papers and
photographs, had reached Mr. Clifford the day before, with an official
intimation of his death from the consulate at Berne. The identification
was complete, and the inquiry into the fatal accident had resulted in
blame to no one, as the traveller had declined the services of a
trustworthy guide from Meirengen to Engelberg. This was precisely what
Roland would have done, the whole country being as familiar to him as to
any native. No doubt crossed Mr. Clifford's mind that his old friend's
son had met his untimely end while a fugitive from his country, from
dread chiefly of his own implacable sense of justice.

Roland was dead, but justice was not satisfied. Mr. Clifford knew
perfectly well that the news of his tragic fate would create an
immediate and complete reaction in his favor among his fellow-townsmen.
Hitherto he had been only vaguely accused of crime, which his absence
chiefly had tended to fasten upon him; but as there had been no
opportunity of bringing him to public trial, it would soon be believed
that there was no evidence against him. Many persons thought already
that the junior partner was away either on pleasure or business, because
the senior had taken his place. Only a few, himself and the three or
four obscure people who actually suffered from his defalcations, would
recollect them. By and by Roland Sefton would be remembered as the kind,
benevolent, even Christian man, whose life, so soon cut short, had been
full of promise for his native town.

Mr. Clifford himself felt a pang of regret and sorrow when he heard the
news. Years ago he had loved the frank, warm-hearted boy, his friend's
only child, with a very true affection. He had an only boy, too, older
than Roland by a few years, and these two were to succeed the