fairs than to have to ask that
question. I went to look for Marian Holbrook,--and I found her."

"Poor old fellow!" Mr. Saltram said gently. "And was there any
satisfaction for you in the meeting?"

"Yes, and no. There was a kind of mournful pleasure in seeing the dear
face once more."

"She must have been surprised to see you."

"She was, no doubt, surprised--unpleasantly, perhaps; but she received me
very kindly, and was perfectly frank upon every subject except her
husband. She would tell me nothing about him--neither his position in the
world, nor his profession, if he has one, as I suppose he has. She owned
he was not rich, and that is about all she said of him. Poor girl, I do
not think she is happy!"

"What ground have you for such an idea?"

"Her face, which told me a great deal more than her words. Her beauty is
very much faded since the summer evening when I first saw her in Lidford
Church. She seems to lead a lonely life in the old farm-house to which
her husband brought her immediately after their marriage--a life which
few women would care to lead. And now, John, I want to know how it is you
have kept back the truth from me in this matter; that you have treated me
with a reserve which I had no right to expect from a friend."

"What have I kept from you"

"Your knowledge of this man Holbrook."

"What makes you suppose that I have any knowledge of him?"

"The fact that he is a friend of Sir David Forster's. The house in which
I found Marian belongs to Sir David, and was lent by him to Mr.
Holbrook."

"I do not know every friend of Forster's. He is a man who picks up his
acquaintance in the highways and byways, and drops them when he is tired
of them."

"Will you tell me, on your honour, that you know nothing of this Mr.
Holbrook?"

"Certainly."

Gilbert Fenton gave a weary sigh, and then seated himself silently
opposite Mr. Saltram. He could not afford to doubt this friend of his.
The whole fabric of his life must have dropped to pieces if John Saltram
had played him false. His single venture as a lover having ended in
shipwreck, he seemed to have nothing left him but friendship; and that
kind of hero-worship which had made his friend always appear to him
something better than he really was, had grown stronger with him since
Marian's desertion.

"O Jack," he said presently, "I could bear anything in this world better
than the notion that you could betray me--that you could break faith with