God grant that this fancy of mine is as baseless as Sir David Forster declared it to be! God grant that I may never find a secret enemy in John Saltram!" Tossed about thus upon a sea of doubts, Mr.Fenton returned to Lidford House, where he was expected to be bright and cheerful, and entertain his host and hostess with the freshest gossip of the London world.

He did make a great effort to keep up a show of cheerfulness at the dinner-table; but he felt that his sister's eyes were watching him with a pitiless scrutiny, and he knew that the attempt was an ignominious failure.
When honest Martin was snoring in his easy-chair before the drawing-room fire, with the red light shining full upon his round healthy countenance, Mrs.Lister beckoned her brother over to her side of the hearth, where she had an embroidery-frame, whereon was stretched some grand design in Berlin wool-work, to which she devoted herself every now and then with a great show of industry.

She had been absorbed in a profound calculation of the stitches upon the canvas and on the coloured pattern before her until this moment; but she laid aside her work with a solemn air when Gilbert went over to her, and he knew at once what was coming.
"Sit down, Gilbert," she said; and her brother dropped into a chair by her side with a faint sigh of resignation.

"I want to talk to you seriously, as a sister ought to talk to a brother, without any fear of offending.

I'm very sorry to see you have not yet forgotten that wicked ungrateful girl Marian Nowell." "Who told you that I have not forgotten her ?" "Your own face, Gilbert.