nguishing ones--she distrusted her, and
viewed the intimacy between her and the "Froeken" with entire disfavor.
Once she ventured to express something of her feeling on the matter to
Thelma--but Thelma had looked so gently wondering and reproachful that
Britta had not courage to go on.

"I am so sorry, Britta," said her mistress, "that you do not like Lady
Winsleigh--because I am very fond of her. You must try to like her for
my sake."

But Britta pursed her lips and shook her head obstinately. However, she
said no more at the time, and decided within herself to wait and watch
the course of events. And in the meantime she became very intimate with
Lady Winsleigh's maid, Louise Renaud, and Briggs, and learned from these
two domestic authorities many things which greatly tormented and puzzled
her little brain,--things over which she pondered deeply without
arriving at any satisfactory conclusion.

On her return to town, Thelma had been inexpressibly shocked at the
changed appearance of her husband's secretary, Edward Neville. At first
she scarcely knew him, he had altered so greatly. Always inclined to
stoop, his shoulders were now bent as by the added weight of twenty
years--his hair, once only grizzled, was now quite grey--his face was
deeply sunken and pale, and his eyes by contrast looked large and wild,
as though some haunting thought were driving him to madness. He shrank
so nervously from her gaze, that she began to fancy he must have taken
some dislike to her,--and though she delicately refrained from pressing
questions upon him personally, she spoke to her husband about him, with
real solicitude. "Is Mr. Neville working too hard?" she asked one day.
"He looks very ill."

Her remark seemed to embarrass Philip,--he colored and seemed confused.

"Does he? Oh, I suppose he sleeps badly. Yes, I remember, he told me so.
You see, the loss of his wife has always preyed on his mind--he never
loses hope of--of--that is--he is always trying to--you know!--to get
her back again."

"But do you think he will ever find her?" asked Thelma. "I thought you
said it was a hopeless case?"

"Well--I think so, certainly--but, you see, it's no good dashing his
hopes--one never knows--she might turn up any day--it's a sort of
chance!"

"I wish I could help him to search for her," she said compassionately.
"His eyes do look so full of sorrow," she paused and added musingly,
"almost like Sigurd's eyes sometimes."

"Oh, he's not