Holbrook, setting out the contents of the will; but there
has been no answer as yet."
"Strange, is it not?" Gilbert exclaimed, with an anxious look.
"Well, yes, it is certainly not the usual course of proceeding. However,
there is time enough yet. The funeral has not been over much more than a
week. The property is perfectly safe, you know."
"Of course; but it is not the less extraordinary that Mr. Holbrook should
hang back in this manner. I will go down to Hampshire the first thing
to-morrow and see Mrs. Holbrook."
"Humph!" muttered the lawyer; "I can't say that I see any necessity for
that. But of course you know best."
Gilbert Fenton did start for Hampshire early the next morning by the same
train in which Marian had travelled after her grandfather's death. It was
still quite early in the day when he found himself at Malsham, that quiet
comfortable little market-town where he had first discovered a clue to
the abode of his lost love. He went to the hotel, and hired a fly to take
him to Crosber, where he left the vehicle at the old inn, preferring to
walk on to the Grange. It was a bright November day, with a pale yellow
sunlight shining on the level fields, and distant hills that rose beyond
them crowned with a scanty fringe of firs, that stood out black and sharp
against the clear autumn sky.
Pages:
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357