After this there was more boating--long afternoons spent on the winding river, with occasional landings upon picturesque little islands or wooded banks, where there were the wild-flowers Marian Nowell loved and understood so well; more idle mornings in the cottage garden--a happy innocent break in the common course of life, which seemed almost as pleasant to John Saltram as to his friend.

He had contrived to make himself popular with every one at Lidford, and was an especial favourite with Captain Sedgewick.
He seemed so thoroughly happy amongst them, and displayed such a perfect sympathy with them in all things, that Gilbert Fenton was taken utterly by surprise by his abrupt departure, which happened one day without a word of warning.

He had dined at the cottage on the previous evening, and had been in his wildest, most reckless spirits--that mood to which he was subject at rare intervals, and in which he exercised a potent fascination over his companions.

He had beguiled the little party at the cottage into complete forgetfulness of the hour by his unwonted eloquence upon subjects of a deeper, higher kind than it was his habit to speak about; and then at the last moment, when the clock on the mantelpiece had struck twelve, he had suddenly seated himself at the piano, and sung them Moore's "Farewell, but whenever you welcome the hour," in tones that went straight to the hearts of the listeners.

He had one of those rare sympathetic voices which move people to tears unawares, and before the song was ended Marian was fairly overcome, and had made a hasty escape from the room ashamed of her emotion.
Late as it was, Gilbert accompanied his friend for a mile of his homeward route.