It was here that Marian had lived for so many months--alone most likely for the greater part of the time.

He had a fixed idea that the man who had stolen his treasure was some dissipated worldling, altogether unworthy so sacred a trust.

The room had a look of loneliness to him.

He could fancy the long solitary hours in this remote seclusion.
He had to wait for some little time, walking slowly up and down; very eager for the interview that was to come, yet with a consciousness that his fate would seem only so much the darker to him afterwards, when he had to turn his back upon this place, with perhaps no hope of ever seeing Marian again.

At last there came a light footfall; the door was opened, and his lost love came into the room.
Gilbert Fenton was standing near the fire-place, with his back to the light.