you nothing but trouble and pain," she
said; "but if you will do this for me, I shall be grateful to you for the
rest of my life."

There was no occasion for that journey to Liverpool. When he arrived in
London that night, Gilbert Fenton found a letter waiting for him at his
Wigmore-street lodgings--a letter with the New York post-mark, but _not_
addressed in his friend's hand. He tore it open hurriedly, just a little
alarmed by this fact.

His first feeling was one of relief. There were three separate sheets of
paper in the envelope, and the first which he took up was in John
Saltram's hand--a hurried eager letter, dated some weeks before.

"My dear Gilbert," he wrote, "I have been duped. This man Nowell is a
most consummate scoundrel. The woman with him is not Marian, but some
girl whom he has picked up to represent her--his wife perhaps, or
something worse. I was very ill on the passage out, and only discovered
the trick at the last. Since then I have traced the scoundrel to his
quarters, and have had an interview with him--rather a stormy one, as you
may suppose. But the long and short of it is that he defies me. He tells
me that my wife is in England, and safe, but will admit no more. I have
consulted a lawyer here, but it seems I can do nothing against him--or
nothing that will not involve a more complicated and protracted business
than I have time or patience for. I don't want this wretch to go
scot-free. It is evident that he has hatched this plot in order to get
possession of his daughter's money, and I have little doubt the lawyer
Medler is in it. But of course my first duty, as well as my most ardent
desire, is to find Marian; and for this purpose I shall come back to
England by the first steamer that will convey me, leaving Mr. Nowell's
punishment to the chances of the future. My dear girl's property, as well
as herself, will be best protected by my presence in England."

There was a pause here, and the next paragraph was dated two days after.

"If I have strength to come, I shall return by the next steamer; but the
fact is, my dear Gilbert, I am very ill--have been completely prostrate
since writing the above--and a doctor here tells me I must not think of
the voyage yet awhile. But I shan't allow his opinion to govern me. If I
can crawl to the steamer, which starts three days hence, I shall come."

Then there was another break, and again the writer went on in a weak and
more straggling hand, without