“A very convenient repentance,” exclaimed Gilbert, with a short bitter laugh.  “And his first act is to steal his daughter from her home, and hide her from all her former friends.  I don’t like the look of this business, Mr. Medler; I tell you so frankly.”

“Mr. Nowell is my client, you must remember, Mr. Fenton.  I cannot consent to listen to any aspersion of his character, direct or indirect.”

“And you positively refuse to tell me where Mrs. Holbrook is to be found?”

“I am compelled to respect her wishes as well as those of her father.”

“She has been placed in possession of her property, I suppose?”

“Yes; her grandfather’s will has been proved, and the estate now stands in her name.  There was no difficulty about that—­no reason for delay.”

“Will you tell me if she is in London?” Gilbert asked impatiently.

“Pardon me, my dear sir, I am pledged to say nothing about Mrs. Holbrook’s whereabouts.”

Gilbert gave a weary sigh.

“Well, I suppose it is useless to press the question, Mr. Medler,” he said.  “I can only repeat that I don’t like the look of this business.  Your client, Mr. Nowell, must have a very strong reason for secrecy, and my experience of life has shown me that there is very seldom mystery without wrong doing of some kind behind it.  I thank God that Mrs. Holbrook is safe, for I suppose I must accept your assurance that she is so; but until her position is relieved from all this secrecy, I shall not cease to feel uneasy as to her welfare.  I am glad, however, that the issue of events has exonerated her husband from any part in her disappearance.”

He was glad to know this—­glad to know that however base a traitor to himself, John Saltram had not been guilty of that deeper villany which he had at times been led to suspect.  Gilbert Fenton left Mr. Medler’s office a happier man than when he had entered it, and yet only half satisfied.  It was a great thing to know that Marian was safe; but he would have wished her in the keeping of any one rather than of him whom the world would have called her natural protector.

Nor was his opinion of Mr. Medler by any means an exalted one.  No assertion, of that gentleman inspired him with heart-felt confidence; and he had not left the lawyer’s office long before he began to ask himself whether there was truth in any portion of the story he had heard, or whether he was not the dupe of a lie.

Strange that Marian’s father should have returned at so opportune a moment; still more strange that Marian should suddenly desert the husband she had so devotedly loved, and cast in her lot with a father of whom she knew nothing but his unkindness.  What if this man Medler had been, lying to him from first to last, and was plotting to get old Jacob Nowell’s fortune into his own hands?

“I must find her,” Gilbert said to himself; “I must be certain that she is in safe hands.  I shall know no rest till I have found her.”