Mrs. Keith spoke in feverish accents, her lips working. She seemed entirely unstrung. She had rallied from the faint, and had insisted on going to her own room, carrying the unopened letter, begging to be left alone. Phyllys, anxious and perplexed, crept in later, and found her on the sofa. A whisper of inquiry brought remonstrance. "The attacks seem to come without cause, so I shall have to be more particular." "Had" there been no cause—no connection between Giles' handwriting and the swoon? Yet, why should Giles' presence at Interlaken startle her, when she so wished him to come? "And really," she went on, "they are of no consequence, so long as I do not over-exert myself. But I feel that I 'must' have a day of real rest, all to myself." She sighed, as if oppressed. "These dear good people are most kind, but I get so worn out with the perpetual talk. I want you to help me, dear. If you could contrive to have them off my hands for a day, it would be a mercy." She fixed troubled eyes on the girl. "I don't think they would like that." "They would not mind. I have thought it out. We will persuade them to go to S. Beatenberg to-morrow; and at the last moment I shall slip out of it. You must give them no hint. I hate the idea of that funicular railway." "But—if Giles were to come—only of course you will be here, so that will be all right." Mrs. Keith seemed amazed. "Giles!" she said. "I wish he would." "Perhaps he will look in to-night—if he is still at Interlaken." The other's bewildered face made her add, "The letter we brought from Thun—don't you remember? In Giles' handwriting." Mrs. Keith broke into a loud laugh; then put her hand to her head. "These fainting-fits leave me so confused. Yes; now I remember. You did say something of the kind. But, my dear, that is a mere business epistle—from 'quite' another quarter. A man with an altogether different name." Phyllys felt sorely disappointed; and Mrs. Keith, pulling herself up, brought from her pocket a torn envelope. "Now you can see. Not Giles' writing at all, though I grant there is a resemblance. One of those accidental likenesses, which have nothing to account for them. Giles is at home still, and the tiresome fellow seems determined not to come out. I am beginning to think—" and she smiled—"that my best plan will be to cut short the Swiss trip, and to take you there. Would you like to see Castle Hill again? Ah, I thought so. I have you for a month, and I do not mean to be cheated out of any part of it. We shall see to-morrow. These attacks leave one hardly fit for anything but home."