d of his wife, and have
seen his way to a more advantageous alliance. Men are not always
satisfied with one wife in these days, and a man who married in such a
strange underhand manner would be likely to have some hidden motive for
secrecy."

The suggestion was not without force for Gilbert Fenton. His face grew
darker, and he was some time before he replied to Mr. Medler's remarks.
That suspicion which of late had been perpetually floating dimly in his
brain--that vague distrust of his one chosen friend, John Saltram,
flashed upon him in this moment with a new distinctness. If this man,
whom he had so loved and trusted, had betrayed him, had so utterly
falsified his friend's estimate of his character, was it not easy enough
to believe him capable of still deeper baseness, capable of growing weary
of his stolen wife, and casting her off by some foul secret means, in
order to marry a richer woman? The marriage between John Holbrook and
Marian Nowell had taken place several months before Michael Branston's
death, at a time when perhaps Adela Branston's admirer had begun to
despair of her release. And then fate had gone against him, and Mrs.
Branston's fortune lay at his feet when it was too late.

Thus, and thus only, could Gilbert Fenton account in any easy manner for
John Saltram's avoidance of the Anglo-Indian's widow. A little more than
a year ago it had seemed as if the whole plan of his life was built upon
a marriage with this woman; and now that she was free, and obviously
willing to make him the master of her fortune, he recoiled from the
position, unreasonably and unaccountably blind or indifferent to its
advantages.

"There shall be an end of these shapeless unspoken doubts," Gilbert said
to himself. "I will see John Saltram to-day, and there shall be an
explanation between us. I will be his dupe and fool no longer. I will get
at the truth somehow."

Gilbert Fenton said very little more to the lawyer, who seemed by no
means sorry to get rid of him. But at the door of the office he paused.

"You did not tell me the names of the executors to Jacob Nowell's will,"
he said.

"You didn't ask me the question," answered Mr. Medler curtly. "There is
only one executor--myself."

"Indeed! Mr. Nowell must have had a very high opinion of you to leave you
so much power."

"I don't know about power. Jacob Nowell knew me, and he didn't know many
people. I don't say that he put any especial confidence in me--for it wa