In his absence the man would be very happy to show
the house to Captain Sedgewick and his party.
Gilbert Fenton asked about John Saltram.
Yes, Mr. Saltram had arrived at Heatherly on Tuesday evening, two nights
ago.
They went over the state-rooms, and looked at the pictures, which were
really as good as the Captain had represented them. The inspection
occupied a little more than an hour, and they were ready to take their
departure, when the sound of masculine voices resounded loudly in the
hall, and their conductor announced that Sir David and his friends had
come in.
There were only two gentlemen in the hall when they went into that
spacious marble-paved chamber, where there were great logs burning on the
wide open hearth, in spite of the warmth of the September day. One of
these two was Sir David Forster, a big man, with a light-brown beard and
a florid complexion. The other was John Saltram, who sat in a lounging
attitude on one of the deep window-seats examining his breech-loader. His
back was turned towards the window, and the glare of the blazing logs
shone full upon his dark face with a strange Rembrandt-like effect.
One glance told Marian Nowell who this man was. That powerful face, with
its unfathomable eyes and thoughtful mouth, was not the countenance she
had conjured up from the depths of her imagination when Gilbert Fenton
had described his friend; yet she felt that this stranger lounging in the
window was John Saltram, and no other.
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