The spring twilight was closing in as he crossed the bridge and walked briskly along an avenue of leafless trees at the side of the green.  The place had a peaceful rustic look at this dusky hour.  There were no traces of that modern spoiler the speculative builder just hereabouts; and the quaint old houses near the barracks, where lights were twinkling feebly here and there, had a look of days that are gone, a touch of that plaintive poetry which pervades all relics of the past.  Gilbert felt the charm of the hour; the air still and mild, the silence only broken by the cawing of palatial rooks; and whatever tenderness towards John Saltram there was lurking in his breast seemed to grow upon him as he drew nearer to their lodgings; so that his mood was of the softest when he opened the little garden-gate and went in.

“I will make no further pretence of enmity,” he said to himself; “I will not keep up this farce of estrangement.  We two will be friends once more.  Life is not long enough for the rupture of such a friendship.”

There was no light shining in the parlour window, no pleasant home-glow streaming out upon the night.  The blank created by this unwonted darkness chilled him somehow, and there was a vague sense of dread in his mind as he opened the door.  There was no need to knock.  The simple household was untroubled by the fear of burglariously-disposed intruders, and the door was rarely fastened until after dark.

Gilbert went into the parlour; all was dark and silent in the two rooms, which communicated with folding doors, and made one fair-sized apartment.  There were no preparations for dinner; he could see that in the deepening dusk.  The fire had been evidently neglected, and was at an expiring point.

“John!” he called, stirring the fire with a vigorous hand, whereby he gave it the coup-de-grace, and the last glimmer sank to darkness.  “John, what are you doing?”

He fancied the convalescent had fallen asleep upon the sofa in the inner room; but when he went in search of him, he found nothing but emptiness.  He rang the bell violently, and the brisk maid-servant came flying in.

“Oh, dear, sir, you did give me and missus such a turn!” she said, gasping, with her hand on her heart, as if that organ had been seriously affected.  “We never heard you come in, and when the bell rung——­”

“Is Mr. Saltram worse?” Gilbert asked, eagerly.

“Worse, poor dear gentleman; no, sir, I should hope not, though he well may be, for there never was any one so imprudent, not of all the invalids I’ve ever had to do with—­and Hampton is a rare place for invalids.  And I feel sure if you’d been here, sir, you wouldn’t have let him do it.”

“Let him do what?  Are you crazy, girl?  What, in heaven’s name, are you talking of?”

“You wouldn’t have let him start off to London post-haste, as he did yesterday afternoon, and scarcely able to stand alone, in a manner of speaking.”