“Gone to London!  Do you mean to say that my friend Mr. Saltram went to London?”

“Yes, sir; yesterday afternoon between four and five.”

“What utter madness!  And when did he come back?”

“Lor’ bless you, sir, he ain’t come back yet.  He told missus as his coming back was quite uncertain, and she was not to worry herself about him.  She did all she could, almost to going down on her knees, to hinder him going; but it was no use.  It was a matter of life and death as he was going upon, he said, and that there was no power on earth could keep him back, not if he was ten times worse than he was.  The strange gentleman hadn’t been in the house much above a quarter of an hour, when they was both off together in a fly to the station.”

“What strange gentleman?”

“A stout middle-aged man, sir, with gray whiskers, that came from London, and asked for you first, and then for Mr. Saltram; and those two hadn’t been together more than five minutes, when Mr. Saltram rang the bell in a violent hurry, and told my missus he was going to town immediate, on most particular business, and would she pack him a carpet-bag with a couple of shirts, and so on.  And then she tried all she could to turn him from going; but it was no good, as I was telling you, sir, just now.  Go he would, and go he did; looking quite flushed and bright-like when he went out, so as you’d have scarcely known how ill he’d been.  And he left a bit of a note for you on the chimbley-piece, sir.”

Gilbert found the note; a hurried scrawl upon half a sheet, of paper, twisted up hastily, and unsealed.

“She is found, Gilbert,” wrote John Saltram.  “Proul has traced the father to his lair at last, and my darling is with him.  They are lodging at 14, Coleman-street, Tottenham-court-road.  I am off this instant.  Don’t be angry with me, true and faithful friend; I could not rest an hour away from her now that she is found.  I have no plan of action, but leave all to the inspiration of the moment.  You can follow me whenever you please.  Marian must thank you for your goodness to me.  Marian must persuade you to forgive my sin against you—­Ever yours, J.S.”

Follow him! yes, of course.  Gilbert had no other thought.  And she was found at last, after all their suspense, their torturing anxiety.  She was found; and whatever danger there might be in her association with Percival Nowell, she was safe so far, and would be speedily extricated from the perilous alliance by her husband.  It seemed at first so happy a thing that Gilbert could scarcely realise it; and yet, throughout the weary interval of ignorance as to her fate, he had always declared his belief in her safety.  Had he been really as confident as he had seemed, as the days had gone by, one after another, without bringing him any tidings of her? had there been no shapeless terror in his mind, no dark dread that when the knowledge came, it might be something worse than ignorance?  Yes, now in the sudden fulness of his joy, he knew how much he had feared, how very near he had been to despair.