elp she stood most in need of. Though she devoted
herself to Felicita, there was a distance between them, an impenetrable
reserve, that chilled her spirits and threw her love back upon herself.
But to Phebe she could pour out her heart unrestrainedly, dwelling upon
the memory of her lost son, and mourning openly for him. And Phebe never
spoke a word that could lead Roland's mother to think she believed him
to be guilty. With a loving tact she avoided all discussion on that
point; and, though again and again the pang of her own loss made itself
poignantly felt, she knew how to pour consolation into the heart of
Roland's mother.

But to Felix and Hilda Phebe's companionship was an endless delight. She
came from her lonely homestead on the hills into the full stream of
London life, and it had a ceaseless interest for her. She could not grow
weary of the streets with their crowd of passers-by; and the shop
windows filled with wealth and curiosities fascinated her. All the stir
and tumult were joyous to her, and the faces she met as she walked along
the pavement possessed an unceasing influence over her. The love of
humanity, scarcely called into existence before, developed rapidly in
her. Felix and Hilda shared in her childish pleasure without
understanding the deep springs from which it came.

It was an education in itself for the children. A drive in an omnibus,
with its frequent stoppages and its constant change of passengers, was
delightful to Phebe, and never lost its charm for her. She and the
children explored London, seeing all its sights, which Phebe, in her
rustic curiosity, wished to see. From west to east, from north to south,
they became acquainted with the great capital as few children, rich or
poor, have a chance of doing. They sought out all its public buildings,
every museum and picture gallery, the birthplaces of its famous men, the
places where they died, and their tombs if they were within London.
Westminster Abbey was as familiar to them as their own home. It seemed
as if Phebe was compensating herself for her lonely girlhood on the
barren and solitary uplands. Yet it was not simply sight-seeing, but the
outcome of an intelligent and genuine curiosity, which was only
satisfied by understanding all she could about the things and places she
saw.

To the children, as well as to Madame, she often talked of Roland
Sefton. Felix loved nothing more than to listen to her recollections of
his lost father, who