was written!"

"Isn't it rather a bad time of the year for Norway?" pursued Neville.
"Why, there must be snow and darkness--"

"Snow and darkness at the Altenfjord!" suddenly cried Britta, catching
at his words. "That's exactly what she said to me the other evening! Oh
dear! I never thought of it--I never remembered it was the dark season!"
She clasped her hands in dismay. "There is no sun at the Altenfjord
now--it is like night--and the cold is bitter. And she is not
strong--not strong enough to travel--and there's the North Sea to
cross--oh, Mr. Neville," and she broke out sobbing afresh. "The journey
will kill her,--I know it will! my poor, poor darling! I must go after
her--I'll go with Sir Philip--I _won't_ be left behind!"

"Hush, hush, Britta!" said Neville kindly, patting her shoulder. "Don't
cry--don't cry!"

But he was very near crying himself, poor man, so shaken was he by the
events of the morning. And he could not help admitting to himself the
possibility that so long and trying a journey for Thelma in her present
condition of health meant little else than serious illness--perhaps
death. The only comfort he could suggest to the disconsolate Britta was,
that at that time of year it was very probable there would be no steamer
running to Christiansund or Bergen, and in that case Thelma would be
unable to leave England, and would, therefore, be overtaken by Sir
Philip at Hull.

Meanwhile, Sir Philip himself, in a white heat of restrained anger,
arrived at Winsleigh House, and asked to see Lord Winsleigh immediately.
Briggs, who opened the door to him, was a little startled at his haggard
face and blazing eyes, even though he knew, through Britta, all about
the sorrow that had befallen him. Briggs was not surprised at Lady
Errington's departure,--that portion of his "duty" which consisted in
listening at doors, had greatly enlightened him on many points,--all,
save one--the reported connection between Sir Philip and Violet Vere.
This seemed to be really true according to all appearances.

"Which it puzzles me," soliloquized the owner of the shapely calves. "It
do, indeed. Yet I feels very much for Sir Philip,--I said to Flopsie
this morning--'Flopsie, I feels for 'im!' Yes,--I used them very words.
Only, of course, he shouldn't 'ave gone with Vi. She's a fine woman
certainly--but skittish--d--d skittish! I've allus made it a rule myself
to avoid 'er on principle. Lor! if I'd kep' company with 'er and the