o often spoken
to him, and where his father's grave lay. But quite apart from his duty
to the district placed under his charge, there was an obstacle in the
absolute interdiction Felicita laid upon the country where her husband
had met with his terrible death. It was impossible even to hint at going
to Switzerland whilst she was in her present state of health. She had
only partially recovered from the low, nervous fever which had attacked
her during the winter; and still those about her strove their utmost to
save her from all worry and anxiety.

The sultry, fervid days of August came; and if possible the narrow
thoroughfares of the Brickfields seemed more wretched than in the
winter. The pavements burned like an oven, and the thin walls of the
houses did not screen their inmates from the reeking heat. Not a breath
of fresh air seemed to wander through the low-lying streets, and a
sickly glare and heaviness brooded over them. No wonder there was fever
about. The fields were too far away to be reached in this tiring
weather; and when the men and women returned home from their day's work,
they sunk down in silent and languid groups on their door-steps, or on
the dirty flag-stones of the causeway. Even the professional beggars
suffered more than in the winter, for the tide of almsgiving is at its
lowest ebb during the summer, when the rich have many other and
pleasanter occupations.

Felix walked through his "parish," as he called it, with slow and weary
steps. Yet his holiday was come, and this was the last evening he would
work thus for the present. The Pascals were in Switzerland; he had had a
letter from Mrs. Pascal, with a few lines from Alice herself in a
postscript, telling him she and her father were about to start for
Engelberg to visit his father's grave for him. It was a loving and
gracious thing to do, just suited to Canon Pascal's kindly nature; and
Felix felt his whole being lifted up by it to a happier level. Phebe and
Hilda were gone to their usual summer haunt, Phebe's quaint little
cottage on the solitary mountain-moor; where he was going to join them
for a day or two, before they went to Mr. Clifford, in the old house at
Riversborough. His mother alone, of all the friends he had, was
remaining in London; and she had refused to leave until Phebe and Hilda
had first paid their yearly visits to the old places.

He reached his mission-room at last, through the close, unwholesome
atmosphere, and found it f