ction of gunnery, and great stores of wine in the
gloomy arched vaults beneath the house, where a hundred prisoners had
been kept under lock and key when Heatherly had fallen into the hands of
the Cromwellian soldiery, and the faithful retainers of the household
were fain to lay down their arms. He had all things that make up the
common pleasures and delights of a man's existence; but he had lost the
love which had given these things a new charm, and without which all life
seemed to him flat, stale, and unprofitable. He could sympathise with
Gilbert Fenton much more keenly than that gentleman would have supposed
possible; for a man suffering from this kind of affliction is apt to
imagine that he has a copyright in that species of grief, and that no
other man ever did or ever can experience a like calamity. The same
manner of trouble may come to others, of course, but not with a similar
intensity. Others will suffer and recover, and find a balm elsewhere. He
alone is constant until death!

"And you can tell me nothing more about Mr. Holbrook?" he asked after a
pause.

"Upon my honour, nothing. I think you will do wisely to leave these two
people to take their own way in the future without any interference on
your part. You speak of watchful friendship and all that kind of thing,
and I can quite appreciate your disinterested desire to befriend the
woman whom you once hoped to make your wife. But, believe me, my dear
Fenton, no manner of good can possibly come of your intervention. Those
two have chosen their road in life, and must travel along it, side by
side, through good or evil fortune. Holbrook would naturally be jealous
of any friendship between his wife and you; while such a friendship could
not fail to keep alive bitter thoughts in your mind--could not fail to
sharpen the regret which you fancy just now is to be life-long. I have no
doubt I seem to speak in a hard worldly spirit."

"You speak like a man of the world, Sir David," the other answered
quietly; "and I cannot deny that there is a certain amount of wisdom in
your advice. No, my friendship is not wanted by either of those two,
supposing even that I were generous enough to be able to give it to both.
I have learnt that lesson already from Marian herself. But you must
remember that I promised her poor old grandfather--the man who died a few
days ago--that I would watch over her interests with patient fidelity,
that I would be her friend and protector, if