Castle Hill—and Giles! Had it not been for the thought of Giles, a cutting short of the Swiss trip would have meant dire disappointment. Things being as they were, Phyllys only hoped she did not betray too much gladness. She lowered her eyes for an examination of the envelope; and again the strong resemblance to Giles' writing impressed her. Certain letters were differently formed; but the remainder she could have declared in a Court of Justice to be his. "A mere chance likeness, you see," Mrs. Keith said lightly; and Phyllys forebore to contradict. The proposed excursion was taken up by their host and hostess, though not without hesitation on the score of Mrs. Keith's unfitness. It was a shock to Phyllys' sense of honesty, when the latter cheerfully assured them that she was "perfectly well," that "nothing would do her so much good as a trip up the mountain," and that she was "longing to try one of those charming mountain railways." Next day proved fine, and Mrs. Keith went so far as to dress for the start. Not till the last moment did she draw back, sinking into a chair, faintly professing herself so much fatigued, that she hoped they would excuse her. No—she would not let Mrs. Forsyth remain at home. Rather than that, she would go, though it might mean another fainting-fit. All she needed was a quiet day on the sofa. Reluctantly the Forsyths yielded, left her in charge of the Swiss maids, and went without her. Not, however, to S. Beatenberg. No sooner were they on the steamer, than Mrs. Forsyth suggested a day at Interlaken, deferring the S. Beatenberg excursion until Mrs. Keith could form one of their party. She had so wanted to try the mountain railway! Mr. Forsyth agreed, and it was not Phyllys' place to set them right. So instead of landing below S. Beatenberg, they steamed to the farther end of the lake, amid a goodly number of excursionists, though not so many as a few weeks earlier. It was a cool autumn day, and the woods were gay with red and gold. At Interlaken they wandered along the Barnhofstrasse, poked in and out of shops, and picked up presents for friends at home. It was all too smart and fashionable, Phyllys decided, and not to be compared with the village where they stayed; yet she enjoyed it much. The Jungfrau, solemnly overlooking the town, had not here the aspect of a white guardian angel as when viewed from Châlet S. Jacques. "More like a lump of chalk," suggested Mr. Forsyth, and though Phyllys repudiated the suggestion it recurred to her mind. One way and another the hours slipped by. Late in the afternoon they had tea outside a shop, then went to the chief Promenade, the Hoheweg, where they encountered English friends. Mr. Forsyth disappeared with the gentleman of the party, and Mrs. Forsyth sat down for a talk with two elderly ladies.