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Updated: June 28, 2025
And then, as there came no answer from that shrinking clinging figure, with a sudden spring forward, that brought him quite close to her, John Saltram tore the veil away from the hidden face. "This must be some impostor," he said; "this is not my wife." He was right. The creature clinging to Percival Nowell's arm was a pretty woman enough, with rather red hair, and a common face.
You will let me go to her, Gilbert, the instant I am able to travel, as soon as I can drag myself anyhow from this bed to the railway? You will not stand between me and my love?" "No, John Saltram; God knows, I have never thought of that."
She would have infinitely preferred the villa near Maidenhead for the place of her occupation, had it not been for the fact that in London she was nearer John Saltram, and that any moment of any day might bring him to her side.
Adela Branston sat in the midst of a group in a wide bay window, and although John Saltram was standing near her chair, he did not this time engage the whole of her attention.
"It comes to that, then," said John Saltram. "You suspect some unknown rival?" "Yes; that is the most natural conclusion to arrive at. And yet heaven knows how unwillingly I take that into consideration." "There is no particular person whom you suspect?" "No one." "If there should be no result from your advertisement, what will you do?" "I cannot tell you just yet.
Some letters were lying on the desk, amongst them one in a big scrawling hand that was very familiar to Mr. Saltram, the envelope stamped "Lidford." He tore this open eagerly. It was from Sir David Forster. You only obtained my consent to your hurried departure the other day on condition you should come back in a week, yet there are no signs of you.
There might have been a hundred reasons for that hurried journey to London nay, the very fact itself argued against the supposition that Mr. Saltram had fallen in love with his friend's plighted wife. And now, the purpose of his life being so far achieved, Gilbert Fenton rode back to Winchester next day, restored his horse to its proprietor, and went on to London by an evening train.
In desperate straits men can do desperate things there was always that fact to be remembered; but still John Saltram might break down under the burden he had taken upon himself; and when Gilbert went back to London that afternoon he was sorely anxious about this feeble traveller.
What if the bosom friend whom he had introduced to his betrothed had played the traitor, and stolen her from him! In the next moment he put the supposition away from him, indignant with himself for being capable of thinking such a thing, even for an instant. Of all the men upon earth who could have done him this wrong, John Saltram was the last he could have believed guilty.
Gilbert Fenton saw no more of his friend John Saltram after that Sunday evening which they had spent together in Cavendish-square. He called upon Mrs. Branston before the week was ended, and was so fortunate as to find that lady alone; Mrs. Pallinson having gone on a shopping expedition in her kinswoman's dashing brougham.
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