CHAPTER XXV

GILES OR SOMEBODY

"MY dear, it is absolutely unimportant. You make such a fuss. I have told you before that I have a weak heart; and I must expect attacks of this kind. The fact is, I ought to be more careful; and these steep hills try me. I shall get a quiet day to-morrow."

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."

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.

Phyllys joined in for a while, then wandered a short distance, and gave herself up to the study of the Jungfrau. No look of "chalk" now! Something in the state of the morning atmosphere must have caused that aspect. The mountain-mass reared its mighty head in majestic style, and broad reaches of snow descended low like trailing skirts of white. Higher peaks were partly hidden by drifting clouds, but one and another appeared in turn: and each moment the mountain altered, the shapes of rifts and hollows changing as she gazed. A clear basin of snow, for a time visible, vanished utterly.

She watched with interest the Schynige Platte, where the Forsyths had promised to take her. In the far distance she could make out a tiny mountain-train creeping slowly up the steep sides, carrying a minute cloud of steam.

Glancing to make sure that she was not wanted, she received a nod from Mrs. Forsyth; and she wandered farther, getting among trees. It was evident that her friends were in no hurry to move. Suddenly her heart gave a throb, stopped, then beat furiously.

Could it be—Giles?

A big man, broad-shouldered, sat alone at a small table; his face turned half away. The shape of his powerful shoulders; the attitude; the manner in which he leaned his head on one hand; the grave immobility—all indicated Giles. He seemed to be deep in thought; lost to his surroundings.

She was not near enough to make out more. She stood partly behind a tree, gazing. Whether or not in consequence of her gaze, he turned, and she had a glimpse of his strong sunburnt profile.

"Giles!" she whispered.

Why had Mrs. Keith denied his presence?

But the face looked older than when she had seen him last; not thinner; not paler; only markedly older. She almost thought his hair had gained a touch of grey. Could he have been in some terrible trouble lately? Was there some mystery about him, hidden by Mrs. Keith, sufficient to account for his refusal to come to S. Jacques?

It was all bewilderment; and she began to wonder if she were dreaming. She put her hands over her eyes for three or four seconds. When she looked again, the figure was gone.

[Illustration: SUDDENLY HER HEART GAVE A THROB.]

She went slowly back, in a dazed condition, questioning whether it had been a trick of the imagination. She wished now that she had gone nearer, to make sure. Yet, no! For if Giles were there, and chose to avoid her presence, it was not for Phyllys to go after him.

To the Forsyths she said nothing of what she had seen or imagined.

On arrival they found that Mrs. Keith had retired to her room. "Madame" had been a long time away, the Swiss girl said, when questioned. She had twice been out in the morning, and had received two telegrams; and then she had said that she would get fresh air on the lake.

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.