creature, although such a consummate fool. For pity's sake come to
me. You can do your literary work down here as well as in London,
and I promise to respect your laborious hours.--Ever yours,

"DAVID FORSTER."

John Saltram stood with this letter open in his hand, staring blankly at
it, like a man lost in a dream.

"Go back!" he muttered at last--"go back, when I thought I did such a
great thing in coming away! No, I am not weak enough for that folly."




CHAPTER VIII.

MISSING.


On the 5th of July in the following year, Gilbert Fenton landed in
England, after nearly ten months of exile. He had found hard work to do
in the colonial city, and had done it; surmounting every difficulty by a
steady resolute course of action.

Astley Fenton had tried to shelter his frauds, heaping falsehood upon
falsehood; and had ended by making a full confession, after receiving his
cousin's promise not to prosecute. The sums made away with by him
amounted to some thousands. Gilbert found that he had been leading a life
of reckless extravagance, and was a notorious gambler. So there came an