ly place barefooted, they crossed the
threshold.

CHAPTER III.

FELICITA.

The room was a small one, with a dim, many-colored light pervading it;
for the upper part of the mullioned casement was filled with painted
glass, and even the panes of the lower part were of faintly tinted
green. Like all the rest of the old house, the walls were wainscoted,
but here there was no piece of china or silver to sparkle; the only
glitter was that of the gilding on the handsomely bound books arranged
in two bookcases. In this green gloom sat Felicita Sefton, leaning back
in her chair, with her head resting languidly on the cushions, and her
dark eyes turned dimly and dreamily toward the quietly opening door.

"Phebe Marlowe!" she said, her eyes brightening a little, as the fresh,
sweet face of the young country girl met her gaze. Phebe stepped softly
forward into the dim room, and laid the finest of the golden flowers she
had gathered that morning upon Felicita's lap. It brought a gleam of
spring sunshine into the gloom which caught Felicita's eye, and she
uttered a low cry of delight as she took it up in her small, delicate
hand. Phebe stooped down shyly and kissed the small hand, her face all
aglow with smiles and blushes.

"Felicita," said Madame, her voice altering a little, "where is my son
this morning?"

"Roland!" she repeated absently; "Roland? Didn't he say last night he
was going to London?"

"To London!" exclaimed his mother.

"Yes," she answered, "he bade me good-by last night; I remember now. He
said he would not disturb me again; he was going by the mail-train. He
was sorry to be away on poor little Felix's birthday. I recollect quite
distinctly now."

"He said not one word to me," said Madame. "It is strange."

"Very strange," asserted Felicita languidly, as if she were wandering
away again into the reverie they had broken in upon.

"Did he say when he would be back?" asked his mother.

"In a few days, of course," she answered.

"But he has not told Acton," resumed Madame.

"Who did you say?" inquired Felicita.

"The head clerk, the manager when Roland is away," she said. "He has not
said anything to him."

"Very strange," said Felicita again. It was plainly irksome to her to be
disturbed by questions like these, and she was withdrawing herself into
the remote and unapproachable distance where no one could follow her.
Her finely-chiselled features and colorless skin gave her a singular
rese