Britta gazed at him still, with sympathy written on every line of her face,--but a great load had been lifted from her mind by his words--she began to understand everything.

"I'm so sorry for you, Mr. Neville!" she said. "But why didn't you tell all this to the Fröken?"

"I couldn't!" murmured Neville desperately. "She was there that night at the Brilliant,--and if you had seen how she looked when she saw--my wife--appeared on the stage! So pained, so sorry, so ashamed! and she wanted to leave the theatre at once. Of course, I ought to have told her,--I wish I had--but--somehow, I never could." He paused again. "It's all my stupidity, of course, Sir Philip is quite blameless--he has been the kindest, the best of friends to me--" his voice trembled more and more, and he could not go on. There was a silence of some minutes, during which Britta appeared absorbed in meditation, and Neville furtively wiped his eyes.

Presently he spoke again more cheerfully. "It'll soon be all right again, Britta!" and he nodded encouragingly. "Sir Philip says her ladyship has gone home to Norway, and he means to follow her to-night."

Britta nodded gravely, but heaved a deep sigh.

"And I posted her letter to her father!" she half murmured. "Oh, if I had only thought or guessed why it was written!"

"Isn't it rather a bad time of the year for Norway?" pursued Neville. "Why, there must be snow and darkness--"

"Snow and darkness at the Altenfjord!" suddenly cried Britta, catching at his words. "That's exactly what she said to me the other evening! Oh dear! I never thought of it--I never remembered it was the dark season!" She clasped her hands in dismay. "There is no sun at the Altenfjord now--it is like night--and the cold is bitter. And she is not strong--not strong enough to travel--and there's the North Sea to cross--oh, Mr. Neville," and she broke out sobbing afresh. "The journey will kill her,--I know it will! my poor, poor darling! I must go after her--I'll go with Sir Philip--I won't be left behind!"

"Hush, hush, Britta!" said Neville kindly, patting her shoulder. "Don't cry--don't cry!"

But he was very near crying himself, poor man, so shaken was he by the events of the morning. And he could not help admitting to himself the possibility that so long and trying a journey for Thelma in her present condition of health meant little else than serious illness--perhaps death. The only comfort he could suggest to the disconsolate Britta was, that at that time of year it was very probable there would be no steamer running to Christiansund or Bergen, and in that case Thelma would be unable to leave England, and would, therefore, be overtaken by Sir Philip at Hull.




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