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 write books instead of anonymous articles. I should
scarcely sink down into an idle mindless existence of dinner-giving and
dinner-eating. Yes, I think the best thing that could happen to me would
be to marry Adela Branston."

They parted at last, John Saltram having faithfully promised his friend
to work no more that night, and they met at Euston Square early the next
morning for the journey 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 his perfect sympathy with
the thoughts and feelings of the traveller. They dined together, and it
was dusk when they wished each other good-bye on the deck of the vessel.

"Good-bye, Gilbert, and God bless you! If--if anything should happen to
me--if I should have gone to the bad utterly before you come back, you
must try to remember our friendship of the past. Think that I have loved
you very dearly--as well as one man ever loved another, perhaps."

"My dear John, you have no need to tell me to think that. Nothing can
ever weaken the love between us. And you are not likely to go to the bad.
Good bye, dear old friend. I shall remember you every day of my life. You
are second only to Marian in my heart. I shall write you an account of my
proceedings, and shall expect to hear from you. Once more, good bye."

The bell rang. Gilbert Fenton and his friend shook hands in silence for
the last time, and in the next moment John Saltram ran down the steps to
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 glided
away into the dusk. John Saltram's last look showed him his friend's face
gazing down upon him over the bulwarks full of trust and affection.

He went back to London by the evening express, and reached his chambers
at a late hour that night. There had been some attempt at tidying the
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 scrawling hand
that was very familiar to Mr. Saltram, the envelope stamped "Lidford." He
tore this open eagerly. It was from Sir David Forster.

"DEAR SALTRAM" (wrote the Baronet),--"What do you me