providence."

"On the contrary, Mr. Flemming"--it was Miss Ruth who spoke--"it was
evidently arranged with the clearest foresight; for if you had been a
day later, perhaps you would not have found your friend in Geneva--that
is, if Mr. Lynde goes with us to Chamouni."

"You have heard from Mr. Denham, then?" said Lynde, turning to the aunt.

"We had letters this morning. Mr. Denham is in Paris, where he will
remain a week or ten days, to show the sights to an old American friend
of ours who is to join our party. I think I told you, Mr. Lynde?
Supposing us to be weary of Geneva by this time, Mr. Denham suggests
that we go on to Chamouni and wait there. I have left the matter to
Ruth, and she decides in favor of leaving to-morrow, if the weather is
fine."

"We are not tired of Geneva," said Miss Denham; "it would be ingratitude
to Mr. Lynde to admit that; but we are longing for a nearer view of the
Mont Blanc groups. One ought to know them pretty well after six weeks'
constant looking at them; but the changes in the atmosphere make any
certain intimacy impossible at this distance. New ranges loom up and
disappear, the lines alter almost every hour. Were you ever at the Isles
of Shoals, Mr. Flemming?"

Flemming started slightly. Since Miss Denham entered the room, he had
given scarcely a thought to Lynde's dismal suspicions. Once or twice
they had come into Flemming's mind, but he had promptly dismissed them.
The girl's inquiry concerning a locality in New Hampshire suddenly
recalled them, and recalled the motive with which Lynde had planned the