to do with herself? Quite close at hand was the day when
she would be absolutely homeless; but in the absorbing interest with
which she had thrown herself into the affairs of those who were gone she
had formed no plans for her own future. There was her profession, of
course: that would give her employment, and bring in a larger income
then she needed with her simple wants. But how was she to do without a
home--she who most needed to fill a home with all the sweet charities
of life?

She had never felt before what it was to be altogether without ties of
kinship to any fellow-being. This incompleteness in her lot had been
perfectly filled up by her relationship with the whole family of the
Seftons. She had found in them all that was required for the full
development and exercise of her natural affections. But she had lost
them. Death and the chance changes of life had taken them from her, and
there was not one human creature in the world on whom she possessed the
claim of being of the same blood.

Phebe could not dwell amid the crowds of London with such a thought
oppressing her. This heart-sickness and loneliness made the busy streets
utterly distasteful to her. To be here, with millions around her, all
strangers to her, was intolerable. There was her own little homestead,
surrounded by familiar scenes, where she would seek rest and quiet
before laying any plans for herself. She put her affairs into the hands
of a house-agent, and set out alone upon her yearly visit to her farm,
which until now Felix and Hilda had always shared.

She stayed on her way to spend a night at Riversborough--her usual
custom, that she might reach the unprepared home on the moors early in
the day. But she would not prolong her stay; there was a fatigue and
depression about her which she said could only be dispelled by the sweet
fresh air of her native moorlands.

"Felix and Hilda have been more to me than any words could tell," she
said to Mr. Clifford and Jean Merle, "and now I have lost them I feel as
if more than half my life was gone. I must get away by myself into my
old home, where I began my life, and readjust it as well as I can. I
shall do it best there with no one to distract me. You need not fear my
wishing to be too long alone."

"We ought to have let you go," answered Mr. Clifford. "Jean Merle said
we ought to have let you go with them. But how could we part with you,
Phebe?"

"I should not have been happy," she said, sighin