ell in torrents, driving him to any shelter he could
find, to brood there hour after hour upon these hopes and fears. The fog
and thick clouds hid the mountains, and all the valleys lay forlorn and
cold under clinging veils of mist, through which the few brown leaves
left upon the trees hung limp and dying on the bare branches. The
villagers were settling down to their winter life; and though along the
frequented routes a few travellers were still passing to and fro, the
less known were deserted. It was safe now to go down to Engelberg,
where, if ever again except as a prisoner in the hands of justice, he
would see Felicita.

Impatient to anticipate the day on which he might again see her, he
reached Engelberg a week before the appointed time. The green meadows
and the forests of the little valley were hidden in mist and rain, and
the towering dome of the Titlis was folded from sight in dense clouds,
with only a cold gleam now and then as its snowy summit glanced through
them for a minute. The innumerable waterfalls were swollen, and fell
with a restless roar through the black depths of the forests. The
daylight was short, for the sun rose late behind the encircling
mountains, and hastened to sink again below them. But the place where he
had first met Felicita was dear to him, though dark and gloomy with the
cloudy days. He hastened to the church where his eyes had fallen upon
the young, silent, absorbed girl so many years ago; and here, where the
sun was shining fitfully for a brief half hour, he paced up and down the
aisles, wondering what the coming interview would bring. Day after day
he lingered there, with the loud chanting of the monks ringing in his
ears, until the evening came when he said to himself, "To-morrow I shall
see her once more."

CHAPTER XIII.

SUSPENSE.

Roland Sefton did not sleep that night. As the time drew near for
Felicita to act upon his message to her, he grew more desponding of her
response to it; yet he could not give up the feeble hope still
flickering in his heart. If she did not come he would be a hopeless
outcast indeed; yet if she came, what succor could she bring to him? He
had not once cherished the idea that Mr. Clifford would forbear to
prosecute him; yet he knew well that if he could be propitiated, the
other men and women who had claims upon him would be easily satisfied
and appeased. But how many things might have happened during the long
six months, which had seeme