brightness and sweet rustic calm.  He fancied that there might be still some kind of happiness for him in the long years to come; pale and faint like the sunlight of to-day—­an autumnal calm.  If he might be Marian’s friend and brother, her devoted counsellor, her untiring servant, it seemed to him that he could be content, that he could live on from year to year moderately happy in the occasional delight of her society; rewarded for his devotion by a few kind words now and then,—­a letter, a friendly smile,—­rewarded still more richly by her perfect trust in him.

These thoughts were in his mind to-day as he went along the lonely country lane leading to the Grange; thoughts which seemed inspired by the tranquil landscape and peaceful autumn day; thoughts which were full of the purest love and charity,—­yes, even for his unknown rival, even if that rival should prove to be the one man in all this world from whom a deep wrong would seem most bitter.

“What am I, that I should measure the force of his temptation,” he said to himself, “or the strength of his resistance?  Let me be sure that he loves my darling as truly as I love her, that the chief object of his life has been and will be her happiness, and then let me put away all selfish vindictive thoughts, and fall quietly into the background of my dear one’s life, content to be her brother and her friend.”

The Grange looked unchanged in its sombre lonely aspect.  The chrysanthemums were all withered by this time, and there were now no flowers in the old-fashioned garden.  The bell was answered by the same woman who had admitted him before, and who made no parley about letting him in this time.

“My young missus said I was to be sure and let her know if you came, sir,” she said; “she’s very anxious to see you.”

“Your young mistress; do you mean Mrs. Holbrook?”

“No, sir; Miss Carley, master’s daughter.”

“Indeed!  I remember the young lady; I shall be very happy to see her if she has anything to say to me; but it is Mrs. Holbrook I have come to see.  She is at home, I suppose?”

“O dear no, sir; Mrs. Holbrook has left, without a word of notice, gone nobody knows where.  That is what has made our young missus fret about it so.”

“Mrs. Holbrook has left!” Gilbert exclaimed in blank amazement; “when?”

“It’s more than a week ago now, sir.”

“And do none of you know why she went away, or where she has gone?”

“No more than the dead, sir.  But you’d better see Miss Carley; she’ll be able to tell you all about it.”

The woman led him into the house, and to the room in which he had seen Marian.  There was no fire here to-day, and the room had a desolate unoccupied look, though the sun was shining cheerfully on the old-fashioned many-paned windows.  There were a few books, which Gilbert remembered as Marian’s literary treasures, neatly arranged on a rickety old chiffonier by the fire-place, and the desk and work-basket which he had seen on his previous visit.