m its ivy-clad chimney.
Phebe herself came to the door, and Hilda, with ruffled hair and a
sleepy face, looked out of the little window in the thatched roof. There
was nothing in his appearance a few hours earlier than he was expected
to alarm them, and their surprise and pleasure were complete. Even to
himself it seemed singular that he should sit down at the little
breakfast-table with them, the almost level rays of the morning sun
shining through the lattice window, instead of in the dingy parlor of
his London lodgings.

"Come with me on to the moors, Phebe," he said as soon as breakfast was
over.

She went out with him bareheaded, as she had been used to do when a girl
at home, and led him to a little knoll covered with short heath and
ferns, from which a broad landscape of many miles stretched under their
eyes to a far-off horizon. The hollow of the earth curved upwards in
perfect lines to meet the perfect curve of the blue dome of the sky
bending over it. They were resting as some small bird might rest in the
rounded shelter of two hands which held it safely. For a few minutes
they sat silent, gazing over the wide sweep of sky and land, till Felix
caught sight of a faint haze, through which two or three spires were
dimly visible. It was where Riversborough was lying.

"Phebe," he said, "I want you to tell me the naked truth. Did my father
defraud yours of some money?"

"Felix!" she cried, in startled tones.

"Say only yes or no to me first," he continued; "explain it afterward.
Only say yes or no."

Through Phebe's brain came trooping the vivid memories of the past. She
saw Roland again hurrying over the moors from his day's shooting to
mount his horse, which she had saddled for him, and to ride off down the
steep lanes, with a cheery shout of "Good-night" to her when he reached
the last point where she could catch sight of him; and she saw him as
his dark form walked beside her pony that night when he was already
crushed down beneath his weight of sin and shame, pouring out his
burdened heart into her ears. If Felix had asked her this question in
London it might have hurt her less poignantly; but here, where Roland
and her father filled all the place with the memory of their presence,
it wounded her like the thrust of a sword. She burst into a passion of
tears.

"Yes or no?" urged Felix, setting his face like a flint, and striking
out blindly and pitilessly.

"Yes!" she sobbed; "but, oh, your father wa