Gilbert Fenton called several times in the Temple without being able to see John Saltram; a slip of paper pasted on the outer door of that gentleman’s chamber informed the public that he was “out of town,” and that was all.  Gilbert took the trouble to penetrate the domicile of the laundress who officiated in Mr. Saltram’s chambers, in order to obtain some more particular information as to her employer’s movements, and after infinite difficulty succeeded in finding that industrious matron in the remote obscurity of a narrow court near the river.  But the laundress could tell Mr. Fenton very little.  She did not know whither Mr. Saltram had gone, or when he was likely to return.  He was one of the most uncertingest gentlemen she had to do for; and he had been out of town a great deal lately; which was not to be wondered at, considering the trying hot weather, when it was not to be supposed that gentlefolks as was free to do what they pleased would stay in London.  It was hard enough upon working people with five children to wash and mend and cook for, and over in the court besides, and provisions dearer than they had been these ten years.  Gilbert asked if Mr. Saltram had left any orders about his letters; but the woman told him, no; there never was such a careless gentleman about letters.  He never cared about having them sent after him, and would let them lie in the box till the dust got thick upon them.

Gilbert left a brief note for John Saltram with the woman—­a note begging his friend to come to him when he was next in London; and having done this, he paid no more visits to the Temple, but waited patiently for Mr. Saltram’s coming, feeling very sure that his request would not be neglected.  If anything could have intensified the gloom of his mind at this time it would have been the absence of that one friend, whom he loved better than he had ever loved any one in this world, except Marian Nowell.  He stayed in town all through the blank August and September season, working harder than he had worked since the early days of his commercial life, taking neither pleasure nor interest in anything, and keeping as much as possible out of the way of all his old acquaintance.

No answer came to Jacob Nowell’s advertisement, although it appeared several times; and the old man began to despair of ever seeing his granddaughter.  Gilbert used to drop in upon him sometimes of an evening during this period, at his urgent request.  He was interested in the solitary silversmith for Marian’s sake, and very willingly sacrificed an occasional evening for his gratification.  He fancied that these visits of his inspired some kind of jealousy in the breast of the sallow-faced, sleek-haired shopman; who regarded him always on these occasions with a look of suppressed malevolence, and by every stratagem in his power tried to find out the nature of the conversation between the visitor and his employer, making all kinds of excuses to come into the parlour, and showing himself proof against the most humiliating treatment from his master.