Fenton's Quest

The days passed, and there was no more dulness or emptiness for Gilbert Fenton in his life atLidford. He went every day to the white-walled cottage on the green. It was easy enough to findsome fresh excuse for each visit-a book or a piece of music which he had recommended to MissNowell, and had procured from London for her, or something of an equally frivolous character. TheCaptain was always cordial, always pleased to see him. His visits were generally made in the evening;and it was his delight to linger over the pretty little round table by the bow-window, drinking teadispensed by Marian. The bright home-like room, the lovely face turned so trustingly to his; thesewere the things which made that fair vision of the future that haunted him so often now. He fanciedhimself the master of some pretty villa in the suburbs-at Kingston or Twickenham, perhaps-witha garden sloping down to the water's edge, a lawn on which he and his wife and some chosen friendmight sit after dinner in the long summer evenings, sipping their claret or their tea, as the case mightbe, and watching the last rosy glow of the sunset fade and die upon the river. He fancied himselfwith this girl for his wife, and the delight of going back from the dull dryasdust labours of his citylife to a home in which she would bid him welcome. He behaved with a due amount of caution, anddid not give the young lady any reason to suspect the state of the case yet awhile. Marian wasperfectly devoid of coquetry, and had no idea that this gentleman's constant presence at the cottagecould have any reference to herself. He liked her uncle; what more natural than that he should likethat gallant soldier, whom Marian adored as the first of mankind? And it was out of his liking for theCaptain that he came so often.