She had returned but lately—by the boat preceding that which had brought back Monsieur and Madame and Mademoiselle. Yes, surely, Madame had returned by that boat, for she would not all these hours have walked about Hilterfingen and Oberhofen, not once entering the châlet. Mrs. Forsyth and Phyllys made their way to the bedroom, to find Mrs. Keith hard at work, packing. Her cheeks were flushed; her manner showed excitement. "Yes, I went out," she said. "I thought it might do me good. My nerves seem all to pieces, and I could not keep still. So I took the boat to Interlaken and back—for the sake of the air. You there—too!" with a start. "Then you gave up S. Beatenberg. What a pity! No, I did not see you. I was—no time ashore. Just for a cup of tea." "I think you would have been better quiet," remarked Mrs. Forsyth. "Perhaps. It may have been a mistake. But something in Swiss air does not suit me. I seem to be a wreck of myself—" and she laughed nervously. "So I have decided to go home. To start to-morrow. Phyllys will not object—and you must not think me ungrateful. I have made up my mind." Had she seen Giles? Phyllys all but asked the question; and then something in that unhappy face, with its haggard flush, held her silent. As once before, the wonder arose—"was" Mrs. Keith perfectly sane? Could it be that her brain was ever so slightly "touched"? Phyllys decided not to risk exciting her further. CHAPTER XXVI AN UNQUIET MIND NO persuasions would induce Mrs. Keith to put off her departure more than one night. The Forsyths had a fight to gain that concession. "But I must and will have a clear day for the Schynige Platte," Mrs. Forsyth declared to her husband. "Phyllys has been promised that excursion from the first." She gained her point; though, probably, if Mrs. Keith had guessed what her consent would involve, it would not have been granted. When she was further enlightened, too late to draw back, she hotly combated the plan, then insisted on being one of the party. Phyllys was allowed no voice. She still kept silence about her supposed glimpse of Giles; and Mrs. Keith talked confidently of finding him at Castle Hill. Phyllys had begun to distrust her own eyesight. If he were at Interlaken, he would surely have appeared. If, on the contrary, he were at Castle Hill, she could not regret going there—unless her appearance would be unwelcome; but as she recalled the past, she could not believe that. Her "friend" would not be untrue, though he might never be more than "friend." She was gaining hope. A lurid sunset made them anxious about next day. Heavy clouds clothed the mountain tops; and the Niesen had donned a dark cap and short mantle. But the sun shone brightly over Thun, and shed crimson upon the lower slopes and lake. Strangers could not decipher what this meant. Phyllys, an early riser, did not fail next morning. She sprang out of bed and went to the open window, with chestnut hair falling loose over her frilled nightdress.