Whoever this Mr.Holbrook was, it was more likely that he should have escaped the notice of Lidford people as a guest at Heatherly than under any other circumstances.

At Heatherly it was such a common thing for strangers to come and go, that even the rustic gossips had left off taking much interest in the movements of the Baronet or his guests.
There was one thought that flashed suddenly into Gilbert's mind during that gloomy walk under the lowering gray sky.
If this man Holbrook were indeed a friend of Sir David Forster's, how did it happen that John Saltram had failed to recognize his name?
The intimacy between Forster and Saltram was of such old standing, that it seemed scarcely likely that any acquaintance of Sir David's could be completely unknown to the other.

Were they all united in treachery against him?
Had his chosen friend--the man he loved so well--been able to enlighten him, and had he coldly withheld his knowledge?
No, he told himself, that was not possible.

Sir David Forster might be the falsest, most unprincipled of mankind; but he could not believe John Saltram capable of baseness, or even coldness, towards him.
He was at the end of his journey by this time.

The Grange stood in front of him--a great rambling building, with many gables, gray lichen-grown walls, and quaint old diamond-paned casements in the upper stories.
Below, the windows were larger, and had an Elizabethan look, with patches of stained glass here and there.