Fenton's Quest

his back upon the little gate by which he had watched Marian Nowell s

wn. It seemed as if all the hopes that had made life so sweet to him only a week ago had been swept away. He could not look beyond that dreary Austra

o happen! If I were to come back and find her dead! Such things h

whom he had not seen since they parted that night at Lidford. He could not leave England witho

-room. The waiters told him that Mr. Saltram had not been at the club for some weeks. Gilbert did not waste much time

ate of chaotic confusion. An open portmanteau sprawled upon the floor, and a whole wardrobe of masculine garments seemed to have been shot at random on to the chairs near it; a dozen soda-water bottles, full and empty, were huddled in one corner; a tea-tray t

a husky voice, without looking up from his pa

ink I ever caught you

f his friend's voice and got up. He gave Gi

ack of doing things against time. I have been giving myself a spell of

hone full upon John Saltram's face as he sat at his desk; and after looking a

the mat

a long illness since I saw you last. I never remember you looking so ill.

r impair the freshness of one's complexion; but I assure you there's nothing so good for a man as a week or two of unbroken work. I have been doing

ve really n

least. I a

is head leaning on his hand, waiting for Gilbert to talk. He was evi

e announcement roused him from his absent humour. He dropped his arm from the

"and it will cause the postpone

is unavoidable. Hard l

ther a hardship; but you are young enough to

morr

so

oon. I came up from Lidford to-day on purpose to spend a few farewell hours with you. And I have been thin

ted, looking doubtf

change for yourself into the bargain. Anything would be bett

ll see you off, dear boy. Egad, I wish I could go to Australia with you. I would, if it were not for my engagements with the children and sun

r your leaving Lidford in that sudden way the other day, and your note explained nothing. I

ther moodily. "A bill that I had forgotten for the time fe

you somehow o

I left Oxford. Nothing but a rich marriage will ever set me straight; and I sometimes doubt if that game is worth the candle, and whether it would not be better to make a clean sweep of my engagements, offer up my name to the execration of mankind and the fier

ay, I thought that she might have had someth

th it. I have not seen her si

dee

e," said Mr. Saltram, with something of a sne

John. The fact is, Mrs. Branston, pretty and agreeable as she may

think

sure o

tten days; recalling the scenes through which they had travelled together with a pensive tenderness, and dwelling regretfully upon that careless b

saved at last by the exemplary care and devotion of his friend. John Saltram had a profound objection to this thing being

n to the fore to navigate the good ship Fenton and Co., if it hadn't been for your care. The doctor fellow at

a fever, and some officious fool dragged me through it when I was in a fair

expect that dreary kind of talk. Yet I suppose it's only a natural cons

noblest destiny that can befall a man. And yet I think if Adela Branston were free, and willing to marry me, I might make something of my life. I might go into Parliament, and make something of a name for myself. I could wr

ey to Liverpool. Gilbert had never found his friend's company more delightful than on this last day. It seemed as if John Saltram put away every thought of self in hi

one to the bad utterly before you come back, you must try to remember our friendship of the

ikely to go to the bad. Good bye, dear old friend. I shall remember you every day of my life. You are second only to Mar

o the little steamer which had brought them out to the larger vessel. The sails spread wide in the cool evening wind, and the mighty ship glide

he rooms in his absence; but his books and papers had been undisturbed. Some letters were lying on the desk, amongst them one in a big scra

igns of you. Foljambe and the lawyer are gone, and I am alone with Harker, whose stupidity is something marvellous. I am dying by inches of this dismal state of things. I can't tell the man to go, you see, for he i

D FOR

r open in his hand, staring blankl

I thought I did such a great thing in coming a