The last station was reached, and a walk of twenty minutes took them to the top. A party of loud-voiced Germans, who had kept up a rattle during the ascent, now did their best to mar the solemn grandeur of Nature. Phyllys and the Forsyths moved to a distance, where they might study the scene in quiet. Far below, branching different ways, lay the Lauterbrunen and the Grundelwald Valleys; and in front, from right to left, swept a range of snowy heights and towering peaks, including the three giants daily scanned from Châlet S. Jacques—the Jungfrau, the Mönch, the Eiger—a lordly trio. These and other mountains of the Bernese Oberland seemed to have placed themselves in a stately order, on view. It was a perfect day; some clouds floating, but all the greater heights sharp in definition. Through a binocular Phyllys could see the very crevasses in the Grundelwald glacier, the châlets dotting the Grundelwald valley. When the time came to return, they kept a look-out for Mrs. Keith at the station; but she was not visible. Mr. Forsyth left the train to inquire. "She has set off to walk down," he said on return, with a lined forehead. "Very unwise! Of course she's not equal to it. Over four miles! I must go after her. She might have a fainting-fit." No time to discuss the question, for the train was starting. Mrs. Forsyth could not resist a murmur of—"Really too bad!" The small engine, which had puffed and snorted on its upward way, kept silence in descent. Down and down they slipped—winding to and fro from edge to edge; the mountains gaining in height as they slid into valleys between; the distant views contracting, the horizon narrowing. Nothing below was seen or heard of Mrs. Keith or Mr. Forsyth; and Mrs. Forsyth decided on going at once to Interlaken, there to await their appearance. It was surely impossible that Mrs. Keith could yet have walked the whole way. The wait was a long one. Mrs. Forsyth and Phyllys had tea, then hovered about the boat-station, till patience was exhausted. When the absent pair drove up, Mrs. Keith, drooping and feeble, seemed not to realise the trouble she had given. Mr. Forsyth had overtaken her not far from the foot of the mountain, and she had been so ill as to make a halt needful. She was barely able now to drag one foot after the other. They helped her on board—Mr. Forsyth moving away for a talk with his wife. "Not at all grateful for my going after her, I assure you," he murmured. "You'd have been astonished if you had seen the pace at which she was going—before she saw me. After that, all weakness and faintness. My dear, your friend is rather—eccentric, to say the least! However, not a word of this. She is bent on starting for home to-morrow." Phyllys had taken a seat close to Mrs. Keith, and the latter said, "You are a kind girl!" "I am sorry you are feeling so ill. Would it not be better to put off our journey home?"