CHAPTER VII.
"GOOD-BYE." The hour for the final parting came at last, and Gilbert Fenton turned his back upon the little gate by which he had watched Marian Nowell standing upon that first summer Sunday evening which sealed his destiny.
He left Lidford weary at heart, weighed down by a depression he had vainly struggled against, and he brooded over his troubles all the way back to town.

It seemed as if all the hopes that had made life so sweet to him only a week ago had been swept away.

He could not look beyond that dreary Australian exile; he could not bring his thoughts to bear upon the time that was to come afterwards, and which need be no less bright because of this delay.
"She may die while I am away," he thought.

"O God, if that were to happen! If I were to come back and find her dead! Such things have been; and men and women have borne them, and gone on living." He had one more duty to perform before he left England.

He had to say good-bye to John Saltram, whom he had not seen since they parted that night at Lidford.