The day went by very slowly, although it was
the last which those two were to spend together until Gilbert Fenton's
return. It was a hopelessly wet day, with a perpetual drizzling rain and
a leaden-gray sky; weather which seemed to harmonise well enough with the
pervading gloom of Gilbert's thoughts as he stood by the fire, leaning
against an angle of the mantelpiece, and watching Marian's needle moving
monotonously in and out of the canvas.
The Captain, who led an easy comfortable kind of life at all times, was
apt to dispose of a good deal of his leisure in slumber upon such a day
as this. He sat down in his own particular easy-chair, dozing behind the
shelter of a newspaper, and lulled agreeably by the low sound of Gilbert
and Marian's conversation.
So the quiet hours went by, overshadowed by the gloom of that approaching
separation. After dinner, when they had returned to the drawing-room, and
Captain Sedgewick had refreshed his intellectual powers with copious
draughts of strong tea, he began to talk of Marian's childhood, and the
circumstances which had thrown her into his hand.
"I don't suppose my little girl ever showed you her mother's jewel-case,
did she, Gilbert?" he asked.
"Never."
"I thought as much. It contains that old-fashioned jewelry I spoke
of--family relics, which I have sometimes fancied might be of use to her,
if ever her birthright were worth claiming.
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