ape from
the odious marriage that her father pressed upon her. The girl might have
to endure poverty as Frank Randall's wife; but that seemed a small thing
in the eyes of Marian, compared with the horror of marrying that
pale-faced mean-looking little man, whom she had seen once or twice
sitting by the fire in the oak parlour, with his small light-grey eyes
fixed in a dull stare upon the bailiff's daughter.

CHAPTER XVIII.

JACOB NOWELL'S WILL.

At his usual hour, upon the evening after his arrival in London, Gilbert
Fenton called at the silversmith's shop in Queen Anne's Court. He found
Jacob Nowell weaker than when, he had seen him last, and with a strange
old look, as if extreme age had come upon him suddenly. He had been
compelled to call in a medical man, very much against his will; and this
gentleman had told him that his condition was a critical one, and that it
would be well for him to arrange his affairs quickly, and to hold himself
prepared for the worst.

He seemed to be slightly agitated when Gilbert told him that his
granddaughter had been found.

"Will she come to me, do you think?" he asked.

"I have no doubt that she will do so, directly she hears how ill you have
been. She was very much pleased at the idea of seeing you, and only
waited for her husband's permission to come. But I don't suppose she will
wait for that when she knows of your illness. I shall write to her
immediately."

"Do," Jacob Nowell said eagerly; "I want to see her before I die. You did
not meet the husband, then, I suppose?"

"No; Mr. Holbrook was not there."

He told Jacob Nowell all that it was possible for him to tell about his
interview with Marian; and the old man seemed warmly interested in the
subject. Death was very near him, and the savings of the long dreary
years during which his joyless life had been devoted to money-making must
soon pass into other hands. He wanted to know something of the person who
was to profit by his death; he wanted to be sure that when he was gone
some creature of his own flesh and blood would remember him kindly; not
for the sake of his money alone, but for something more than that.

"I shall make my will to-morrow," he said, before Gilbert left him. "I
don't mind owning to you that I have something considerable to bequeath;
for I think I can trust you. And if I should die before my grandchild
comes to me, you will see that she has her rights, won't you? You will
take care tha