had a fever, and some officious fool dragged me through it when I was in
a fair way to make a decent end, I should be very savagely disposed
towards him."

"Why, John Saltram, you are the last man in the world from whom I should
expect that dreary kind of talk. Yet I suppose it's only a natural
consequence of shutting yourself up in these rooms for ten days at a
stretch."

"What good use have I made of my life in the past, Gilbert?" demanded the
other bitterly; "and what have I to look forward to in the future? To
marry, and redeem my position by the aid of a woman's money. That's
hardly the noblest destiny that can befall a man. And yet I think if
Adela Branston were free, and willing to marry me, I might make something
of my life. I might go into Parliament, and make something of a name for
myself. I could write books instead of anonymous articles. I should
scarcely sink down into an idle mindless existence of dinner-giving and
dinner-eating. Yes, I think the best thing that could happen to me would
be to marry Adela Branston."

They parted at last, John Saltram having faithfully promised his friend
to work no more that night, and they met at Euston Square early the next
morning for the journey to Liverpool. Gilbert had never found his
friend's company more delightful than on this last day. It seemed as if
John Saltram put away every thought of self in his perfect sympathy with
the thoughts and feelings of the traveller. They dined together, and it
was dusk when they wished each other good-bye on the deck of the vessel.

"Good-bye, Gilbert, and God bless you! If--if anything should happen to
me--if I should have gone to the bad utterly before you come back, you