had been looking forward to the holiday journey on the Continent
with glowing expectation; he could hardly believe at first that he was
really going to see the towns and countries of which he had learnt in his
geography lessons. He tried to imagine the journey, and to see pictures of
the places where they were going; but that was not very easy, as he had
never been so far before as this last journey he had taken, and he knew
nothing at all of travelling by sea; this he found out to be a very
unpleasant reality; and he wished very much that, while he remained abroad
with his aunt, the tunnel under the sea would be finished between Dover
and Calais.

They had a very pleasant time in Switzerland. Then Arthur saw the deep
blue lake with its solemn projecting mountains that swelled in great
mounds around, and far down where the gleaming peaks of white made the
blue look deeper; and in the evening, when the sun was hiding behind, and
was throwing a flame-coloured glow on the grandeur around, he would stand
on the terrace and feel the solemn hush that told the night was coming.

Several weeks were passed among the mountains, and it was not until just
before the opening of the school that he found himself back at Myrtle
Hill.

CHAPTER X.

AT REST NOW.

"I wonder why Edgar North does not write to me. I can't think what can
have happened to him. Just think, auntie; I know that when his last letter
came, the leaves had not all gone from the trees, and now look at the
snow."

Several months had passed away since Arthur and his aunt had come home,
and the winter chill and shadows were gathering around. Many letters had
found their way to Myrtle Hill from the far-away mother in India, and
sometimes, though not so often, answers went back to tell her things about
her child that made her glad.

At first Arthur had often had tidings of his absent friend, beginning, "My
dear Arthur, I hope you are quite well;" and there was a sadness that
spoke in his short notes that Arthur could scarcely understand. But in one
of his letters Edgar had said, "I have to be indoors by myself a great
deal, and then I think of the things we used to talk about". That was the
last letter that had come from him, and now it was several months ago,
and Arthur was wondering at the long silence, as he had written twice in
answer to this letter. But many things had taken up his thoughts and his
time, and the winter holidays had begun, before he had