After a good deal of trouble, Gilbert ascertained that this woman had not
accompanied her young mistress when she left Lidford, but had taken
service in a grocer's family at Fairleigh. Having discovered this, Mr.
Fenton set off immediately for the little market-town, on foot this time,
and with his mind full of the days when he and Marian had walked this way
together.

He found the shop to which he had been directed--a roomy old-fashioned
emporium in the High-street, sunk three or four feet below the level of
the pavement, and approached by a couple of steps; a shop with a low
ceiling, that was made lower by bunches of candles, hams, bacon, and
other merchandise hanging from the massive beams that spanned it. Mr.
Fenton, having duly stated his business, was shown into the grocer's best
parlour--a resplendent apartment, where there were more ornaments in the
way of shell-and-feather flowers under glass shades, and Bohemian glass
scent-bottles, than were consistent with luxurious occupation, and where
every chair and sofa was made a perfect veiled prophet by enshrouding
antimacassors. Here Sarah Down, the late Captain's servant, came to Mr.
Fenton, wiping her hands and arms upon a spotless canvas apron, and
generally apologetic as to her appearance. To this woman Gilbert repeated
the question he had asked of others, with the same disheartening result.

"The poor dear young lady felt the Captain's loss dreadfully; as well she
might, when they had been so fond of each other," Sarah Down said, in
answer to one of Gilbert's inquiries. "I never knew any one grieve so
deeply. She wouldn't go anywhere, and she couldn't bear to see any one
who came to see her. She used to shut herself up in the Captain's room
day after day, kneeling by his bedside, and crying as if her heart would
break. I have looked through the keyhole sometimes, and seen her there on