The passengers on board the steamer displayed a special interest in an English party who walked up and down the deck. A father and three daughters; an elderly lady whose relationship it was difficult to guess, and a young man with a clever, sensitive face, who managed his crutches with marvellous agility, and who was obviously neither husband nor brother. The girls themselves received a full share of admiration from the French and German visitors who are in the majority in Switzerland in autumn. The eldest was so neat and dainty, with her pretty English complexion and trim little figure; the tall, dark girl was _spirituelle_ and uncommon; while the third had an air _tres chic_, and would have been quite _ravissante_ if she had been a trifle less pale and _serieuse_, but even the surprising beauty of the scene seemed powerless to bring a smile to her face. It was chiefly owing to Mr Rayner's persuasion that Mr Bertrand had left Westmoreland on the very day after that fixed for his daughter's marriage. The painful duty of returning the wedding presents had been accomplished, and it was so distressing to all concerned to remain in a place where they felt themselves to be the subject of continual gossip, that they were thankful to get away to fresh surroundings. They had travelled straight through to Thun, engaging sleeping-carriages in advance, and had been ensconced for over a week in the hotel on the shores of the lake, taking daily excursions, and resting beneath the broad verandah, while, by common consent, no reference was made to the painful events of the past week. "If we are going away, we must try to get as much good as we can from the change. What is past, is past. There is no use fretting over it any longer," Mr Bertrand had said; and Hilary found so little difficulty in following his advice and being radiantly happy, that she felt a pang of remorse when suddenly confronted by Lettice's pale face, and reminded thereby of her sadness and Arthur Newcome's suffering.