He had loved this man as a brother; if he had ever doubted the strength of his attachment to John Saltram, he knew it now.

But the worst of all was, that one bitter fact--Marian must be told, and by him.
He went back to the Grange next day.

Again and again upon that miserable journey he acted over the scene which was to take place when he came to the end of it--in spite of himself, as it were--going over the words he was to say, while Marian's face rose before him like a picture.

How was he to tell her?
Would not the very fact of this desolation coming to her from his lips be sufficient to make him hateful to her in all the days to come?
More than once upon that journey he was tempted to turn back, and to leave his dismal news to be told in a letter.
But when the fatal moment did at last arrive, the event in no manner realized the picture of his imagination.

Time was not given to him to speak those solemn preliminary words by which he had intended to prepare the victim for her deathblow.