letters. He never cared about having them sent after him,
and would let them lie in the box till the dust got thick upon them.

Gilbert left a brief note for John Saltram with the woman--a note
begging his friend to come to him when he was next in London; and having
done this, he paid no more visits to the Temple, but waited patiently for
Mr. Saltram's coming, feeling very sure that his request would not be
neglected. If anything could have intensified the gloom of his mind at
this time it would have been the absence of that one friend, whom he
loved better than he had ever loved any one in this world, except Marian
Nowell. He stayed in town all through the blank August and September
season, working harder than he had worked since the early days of his
commercial life, taking neither pleasure nor interest in anything, and
keeping as much as possible out of the way of all his old acquaintance.

No answer came to Jacob Nowell's advertisement, although it appeared
several times; and the old man began to despair of ever seeing his
granddaughter. Gilbert used to drop in upon him sometimes of an evening
during this period, at his urgent request. He was interested in the
solitary silversmith for Marian's sake, and very willingly sacrificed an
occasional evening for his gratification. He fancied that these visits of
his inspired some kind of jealousy in the breast of the sallow-faced,
sleek-haired shopman; who regarded him always on these occasions with a
look of suppressed malevolence, and by every stratagem in his power tried
to find out the nature of the conversation between the visitor and his
employer, making all kinds of excuses to come into the parlour, and
showing himself proof against the most humiliating treatment from his
master.

"Does that young man expect you to leave him money? and does he look upon
me as a possible rival?" Gilbert asked one night, provoked by the
shopman's conduct.

"Very likely," Mr. Nowell answered, with a malicious grin.

"One gets good service from a man who expects his reward in the future.
Luke Tulliver serves me very well indeed, and of course I am not
responsible for his delusions."

"Do you know, Mr. Nowell, that is a man I should scarcely care to trust.
To my mind there is a warning of danger in his countenance."

"My dear sir, I have never trusted any one in my life," answered the
silversmith promptly. "I don't for a moment suppose that Luke Tulliver
would be honest if I gave