see or hear Phebe until she was standing beside her, looking down also
on the excited crowd.

"Phebe!" she exclaimed, "you here again? Then you can tell me, are the
good people of Riversborough gone mad? or is it possible there is an
election going on, of which I have heard nothing? Nothing less than an
election could rouse them to such a pitch of excitement."

"Have you heard nothing of what they say?" asked Phebe.

"There is such a Babel," she answered; "of course I hear my husband's
name. It would be just like him if he got himself elected member for
Riversborough without telling me anything about it till it was over. He
loves surprises; and I--why I hate to be surprised."

"But he is gone!" said Phebe.

"Yes, he told me he was going to London," she went on; "but if it is no
election scene, what is it, Phebe? Why are all the people gathered here
in such excitement?"

"Shall I tell you plainly?" asked Phebe, looking steadily into
Felicita's dark, inscrutable eyes.

"Tell me the simple truth," she replied, somewhat haughtily; "if any
human being can tell it."

"Then the bank has stopped payment," answered Phebe. "Poor Mr. Acton has
been found dead in bed this morning; and Mr. Sefton is gone away, nobody
knows where. It is the May fair to-day, and all the people are coming in
from the country. There's been a run on the bank till they are forced to
stop payment. That is what brings the crowd here."

Felicita dropped the curtain which she had been holding back with her
hand, and stepped back a pace or two from the window. But her face
scarcely changed; she listened calmly and collectedly, as if Phebe was
speaking of some persons she hardly knew.

"My husband will come back immediately," she said. "Is not Mr. Clifford
there?"

"Yes," said Phebe.

"Are you telling me all?" asked Felicita.

"No," she answered; "Mr. Clifford says he has been robbed. Securities
worth nearly ten thousand pounds are missing. He must have found it out
already."

"Who does he suspect?" she asked again imperiously; "he does not dare
suspect my husband?"

Phebe replied only by a mute gesture. She had never had any secret to
conceal before, and she did not see that she had betrayed herself by the
words she had uttered. The deep gloom on her bright young face struck
Felicita for the first time.

"Do you think it was Roland?" she asked.

Again the same dumb, hopeless gesture answered the question. Phebe could
not bring her lips