Of course they were all delighted to see him, at once pleased and surprised by the unexpected visit.  He had brought a great parcel of toys for the two children; and Selwyn Lister, a fine boisterous boy in a Highland costume, was summoned downstairs to assist at the unpacking of these treasures.  It was half-past seven, and the Listers had dined at six:  but in an incredibly short space of time the Sutherland table had been drawn out to a cosy position near the fire and spread with a substantial repast, while Mrs. Lister took her place behind the ponderous old silver urn which had been an heirloom in her husband’s family for the last two centuries.  The Listers were full of talk about their own travels—­a long-delayed continental tour which had been talked of ever since their return from the honeymoon trip to Geneva and Chamouni; and were also very eager to hear Gilbert’s adventures in Australia, of which he had given them only very brief accounts in his letters.  There was nothing said that night about Marian, and Gilbert was grateful for his sister’s forbearance.

CHAPTER XXIII.

CALLED TO ACCOUNT.

Gilbert walked over to Heatherly after luncheon next day, taking of preference the way which led him past Captain Sedgewick’s cottage and through the leafless wood where he and Marian had walked together when the foliage was in its summer glory.  The leaves lay thick upon the mossy ground now; and the gaunt bare branches of the trees had a weird awful look in the utter silence of the place.  His footsteps trampling upon the fallen leaves had an echo; and he turned to look behind him more than once, fancying he was followed.

The old house, with its long lines of windows, had a prison-like aspect under the dull November day.  Gilbert wondered how such a man as Sir David Forster could endure his existence there, embittered as it was by the memory of that calamity which had taken all the sunlight out of his life, and left him a weary and purposeless hunter after pleasure.  But Sir David had been prostrate under the heavy hand of his hereditary foe, the gout, for a long time past; and was fain to content himself with such company as came to him at Heatherly, and such amusement as was to be found in the society of men who were boon companions rather than friends.  Gilbert Fenton heard the familiar clash of the billiard-balls as he went into the hall, where a couple of liver-coloured setters were dozing before a great fire that roared half-way up the wide chimney.  There was no other life in the hall; and Mr. Fenton was conducted to the other end of the house, and ushered into that tobacco-tainted snuggery in which he had last seen the Baronet.  His suspicions were on the alert this time; and he fancied he could detect a look of something more than surprise in Sir David’s face when the servant announced him—­an uneasy look, as of a man taken at a disadvantage.