genial influences of a society that had courted her, was
plain to him now at their fountain-head. She had known--if this terrible
thing was true--that shame, not glory, was hers; confusion of face, not
the bearing of the palm. His heart ached for her more than for himself.

In his heart of hearts, Felix had triumphed greatly in his mother's
fame. From his very babyhood the first thought impressed upon his mind
had been that his mother was different from other women; far above them.
It had been his father who had given him that first impression, but it
had grown with strong and vigorous growth from its deep root, through
all the years which had passed since his father died. Even his love for
Alice had not touched his passionate loyalty and devotion to his mother.
He had rejoiced in thinking that she was known, not in England alone,
but in other countries into whose language her books had been
translated. Her celebrity shone in his eyes with a very strong and
brilliant splendor. How could he tell her that he had been thrust into
the secret of his father's infamy!

There was only Phebe to whom he could just yet lay open the doubt and
terror of his soul. If it was true that her father, old Marlowe, had
died broken-hearted from the loss of his money, she would be sure to
know of it. His preparations for his journey to-morrow morning were
complete; and if he chose there was time enough for him to catch the
night train, and start at once for Riversborough. There would be no
sleep for him until some of these tormenting questions were answered.

It was a little after sunrise when he reached Riversborough, where with
some difficulty he roused up a hostler and obtained a horse at one of
the inns. Before six he was riding up the long, steep lanes, fresh and
cool with dew, and overhung with tall hedgerows, which led up to the
moor. He had not met a living soul since he left the sleeping town
behind him, and it seemed to him as if he was in quite a different world
from the close, crowded, and noisome streets he had traversed only a few
hours ago. In the natural exhilaration of the sweet mountain air, and
the silence broken only by the singing of the birds, his fears fell from
him. There must be some mistake which Phebe would clear up. It was
nothing but the accusation of a besotted brain which had frightened him.

He shouted boyishly when the quaint little cottage came in sight, with a
thin column of blue smoke floating upward fro