iftest trains, and Phebe was glad of it. For what
could she say to her? She was herself lost in a whirl of bewilderment,
and of mingled hope and fear. Could it possibly be that Felicita would
learn that Jean Merle was still living, and the mode and manner of his
life through this long separation, and yet stand aloof from him, afar
off, as one on whom he had no claim, claim for pity and love? But if she
could relent towards him, how must it be in the future? It could never
be that she would own the wrong she had committed openly in the face of
the world. What was to happen now? Phebe was hardly less feverishly
agitated than Felicita herself.

It was evening when they arrived at Lucerne, and Felicita was forced to
rest until the morning. They sat together in a small balcony opening out
of her chamber, which overlooked the Lake, where the moonbeams were
playing in glistening curves over the quiet ripples of the water. All
the mountains round it looked black in the dim light, and the rugged
summit of Pilatus, still slightly sprinkled with snow, frowned down upon
them; but southward, behind the dark range of lower hills, there stood
out against the almost black-blue of the sky a broken line of pale,
mysterious peaks, which might have been merely pallid clouds lying along
the horizon but for their stedfast, unaltering immobility. They were the
Engelberg Alps, with the snowy Titlis gleaming highest among them; and
Felicita's face, wan and pallid as themselves, was set towards them.

"You will let me come with you to-morrow?" said Phebe, in a tone of
painful entreaty.

"No, no," she answered. "I could not bear to have even you at Engelberg
with me. I must visit that grave alone. And yet I know you love me, dear
Phebe."

"Dearly!" she sobbed.

"Yes, you love me dearly," she repeated sorrowfully, "but not as you
once did; even your heart is changed towards me. If you went with me
to-morrow I might lose all the love that is left. I cannot afford to
lose that, my dear."

"You could never lose it!" answered Phebe. "I love you differently? Yes,
but not less. I love you now as Christ loves us all, more for God's sake
than our own; and that is the deepest, most faithful love. That can
never be worn out or repulsed. As Christ has loved me, so I love you, my
Felicita."

Her voice had fallen into an almost inaudible whisper, as she knelt down
beside her, pressing her lips upon the thin, cold hands lying listlessly
on Felicita's l