His own patience was a
mystery to him now that the ordeal was over.
The express started at last, and he sat quietly in his corner trying to
read a newspaper; while his fellow-travellers discussed the state of
trade in Liverpool, which seemed from their account to be as desperate
and hopeless as the condition of all commerce appears invariably to be
whenever commercial matters come under discussion. Gilbert Fenton was not
interested in the Liverpool trade at this particular crisis. He knew that
he had weathered the storm which had assailed his own fortunes, and that
the future lay clear and bright before him.
He did not waste an hour in London, but went straight from one station to
another, and was in time to catch a train for Fairleigh, the station
nearest to Lidford. It was five o'clock in the afternoon when he arrived
at this place, and chartered a fly to take him over to Lidford--a lovely
summer afternoon. The sight of the familiar English scenery, looking so
exquisite in its summer glory, filled him with a pleasure that was almost
akin to pain. He had often walked this road with Marian; and as he drove
along he looked eagerly at every distant figure, half hoping to see his
darling approach him in the summer sunlight.
Mr. Fenton deposited his carpet-bag at the cosy village inn, where
snow-white curtains fluttered gaily at every window in the warm western
breeze, and innumerable geraniums made a gaudy blaze of scarlet against
the wooden wall.
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