mblance to marble; and they might almost as well have addressed
themselves to a marble image.

"Come," said Madame, "we must see Acton again."

They found him in the bank parlor, where Roland was usually to be met
with at this hour. There was an unspoken hope in their hearts that he
would be there, and so deliver them from the undefined trouble and
terror they were suffering. But only Acton was there, seated at Roland's
desk, and turning over the papers in it with a rapid and reckless hand.
His face was hidden behind the great flap of the desk, and though he
glanced over it for an instant as the door opened he concealed himself
again, as if feigning unconsciousness of any one's presence.

"My son is gone to London," said Madame, keeping at a safe distance from
him, with the door open behind her and Phebe to secure a speedy retreat.
The flap of the desk fell with a loud crash, and Acton flung his arms
above his head with a gesture of despair.

"I knew it," he exclaimed. "Oh, my dear young master! God grant he may
get away safe. All is lost!"

"What do you mean?" cried Madame, forgetting one terror in another, and
catching him by the arm; "what is lost?"

"He is gone!" he answered, "and it was more my fault than his--mine and
Mrs. Sefton's. Whatever wrong he has done it was for her. Remember
that, Madame, and you, Phebe Marlowe. If anything happens, remember it's
my fault more than his, and Mrs. Sefton's fault more than mine."

"Tell me what you mean," urged Madame breathlessly.

"You'll know when Mr. Sefton returns, Madame," he answered, with a
sudden return to his usually calm tone and manner, which was as
startling as his former vehemence had been; "he'll explain all when he
comes home. We must open the bank now; it is striking ten."

He locked the desk and passed out of the comfortably-furnished parlor
into the office beyond, leaving them nothing to do but to return into
the house with their curiosity unsatisfied, and the mother's vague
trouble unsoothed.

"Phebe, Phebe!" cried Felix, as they slowly re-entered the pleasant
home, "my mother says we may go up the river to the osier island; and,
oh, Phebe, she will go with us her own self!"

He had run down the broad staircase to meet them, almost breathless with
delight, and with eyes shining with almost serious rapture. He clasped
Phebe's arm, and, leaning toward her, whispered into her ear,

"She took me in her arms, and said, 'I love you, Felix,' and the