e of the blazing logs
shone full upon his dark face with a strange Rembrandt-like effect.

One glance told Marian Nowell who this man was. That powerful face, with
its unfathomable eyes and thoughtful mouth, was not the countenance she
had conjured up from the depths of her imagination when Gilbert Fenton
had described his friend; yet she felt that this stranger lounging in the
window was John Saltram, and no other. He rose, and set down his gun very
quietly, and stood by the window waiting while Captain Sedgewick
introduced Gilbert to Sir David. Then he came forward, shook hands with
his friend, and was thereupon presented to Marian and her uncle by
Gilbert, who made these introductions with a kind of happy eagerness.

Sir David was full of friendliness and hospitality, and insisted on
keeping them to show Gilbert and Miss Nowell some pictures in the
billiard-room and in his own private snuggery, apartments which were not
shown to ordinary visitors.

They strolled through these rooms in a leisurely way, Sir David making
considerable pains to show Gilbert Fenton the gems of his collection,
John Saltram acting as cicerone to Marian. He was curious to discover
what this girl was like, whether she had indeed only her beauty to
recommend her, or whether she was in sober reality the perfect being
Gilbert Fenton believed her to be.

She was very beautiful. The first brief look convinced Mr. Saltram that
upon this point at least her lover had indulged in no loverlike
exaggeration. There was a singular charm in the face; a higher, more
penetrating loveliness than mere perfection of feature; a kind of beauty
that would have been at once the delight and desperation of a painter--so
fitting a subject for his brush, so utterly beyond the power of perfect
reproduction, unless by one of those happy, almost accidental successes
which make the triumphs of genius.

John Saltram watched Marian Nowell's face thoughtfully as he talked to
her, for the most part, about the pictures which they were looking at
together. Before their inspection of these art-treasures was ended, he
was fain to confess to himself that she was intelligent as well as
beautiful. It was not that she had said anything particularly brilliant,
or had shown herself learned in the qualities of the old Dutch masters;
but she possessed that charming childlike capacity for receiving
information from a superior mind, and that perfect and rapid power of
appreciating a cle