he expenditure."

"Ah! that makes it more easy," replied the cure, "and if Madame is of an
illustrious family--I was about to return to my parish this morning; but
I will stay and arrange matters for you. This is my native place, and I
know all the people. If I cannot do everything, the abbot and the
brethren will. Be tranquil; you shall leave Engelberg as early as
possible."

It was impossible for Phebe to telegraph to England her intention of
returning immediately to Lucerne; for Felix must have set off already,
and would be on his way to the far-off valley among the Swiss
mountains, where he believed his father's grave lay, and where his
mother had met her death. Phebe's heart was wrung for him, as she
thought of the overwhelming and instantaneous shock it would be to him
and Hilda, who did not even know that their mother had left home; but
her dread lest he should judge it right to lay his mother beside this
grave, which had possessed so large a share in his thoughts hitherto,
compelled her to hasten her departure before he could arrive, even at
the risk of missing him on the way. The few formalities to be observed
seemed complicated and tedious; but at last they were ended. The
friendly priest accompanied her on her sorrowful return down the rough
mountain-roads, preceded by the litter bearing Felicita's coffin; and at
every hamlet they passed through he left minute instructions that a
young English gentleman travelling up to Engelberg was to be informed of
the little funeral cavalcade that was gone down to Lucerne.

Down the green valley, and through the solemn forests, Phebe followed
the rustic litter on foot with the priest beside her, now and then
reciting a prayer in a low tone. When they reached Grafenort carriages
were in waiting to convey them as far as the Lake. It was only a week
since she and Felicita had started on their secret and disastrous
journey, and now her face was set homewards, with no companion save this
coffin, which she followed with so heavy a spirit. She had come up the
valley as Jean Merle had done, with vague, dim hopes, stretching vainly
forward to some impossible good that might come to him when he and
Felicita stood face to face once again. But now all was over.

A boat was ready at Stans, and here the friendly cure bade her farewell,
leaving her to go on her way alone. And now it seemed to Phebe, more
than ever before, that she had been living and acting for a long while
in a pai