The girl stopped abruptly, warned by a look from Marian.  Gilbert saw this look, and wondered what revelation of Mr. Holbrook’s habits the bailiff’s daughter had been upon the point of making; he was so eager to learn something of this man, and had been so completely baffled in all his endeavours hitherto.

“I will not have my affairs talked about in this foolish way, Ellen Carley,” Marian said resolutely.

And then they all three sat down to the dinner-table.  The dishes were brought in by the woman who had admitted Gilbert.  The dinner was excellent after a simple fashion, and very nicely served; but for Mr. Fenton the barn-door fowl and home-cured ham might as well have been the grass which the philosopher believed the French people might learn to eat.  He was conscious of nothing but the one fact that he was in Marian’s society for perhaps the last time in his life.  He wondered at himself not a little for the weakness which made it so sweet to him to be with her.

The moment came at last in which he must needs take his leave, having no possible excuse for remaining any longer.

“Good-bye, Marian,” he said.  “I suppose we are never likely to meet again.”

“One never knows what may happen; but I think it is far better we should not meet, for many reasons.”

“What am I to tell your grandfather when I see him?”

“That I will come to him as soon as I can get my husband’s permission to do so.”

“I should not think there would be any difficulty about that, when he knows that this relationship is likely to bring you fortune.”

“I daresay not.”

“And if you come to London to see Mr. Nowell, there will be some chance of our meeting again.”

“What good can come of that?”

“Not much to me, I daresay.  It would be a desperate, melancholy kind of pleasure.  Anything is better than the idea of losing sight of you for ever—­of leaving this room to-day never to look upon your face again.”

He wrote Jacob Nowell’s address upon one of his own cards, and gave it to Marian; and then prepared to take his departure.  He had an idea that the bailiff’s daughter would conduct him to the gate, and that he would be able to make some inquiries about Mr. Holbrook on his way.  It is possible that Marian guessed his intentions in this respect; for she offered to go with him to the gate herself; and he could not with any decency refuse to be so honoured.

They went through the hall together, where all was as still and lifeless as it had been when he arrived, and walked slowly side by side along the broad garden-path in utter silence.  At the gate Gilbert stopped suddenly, and gave Marian his hand.

“My darling,” he said, “I forgive you with all my heart; and I will pray for your happiness.”

“Will you try to forgive my husband also?” she asked in her plaintive beseeching way.

“I do not know what I am capable of in that direction.  I promise that, for your sake, I will not attempt to do him any injury.”