Her girlhood had been so happy. Then came the
day of the Black Shadow, but in her blackest hour she had not
felt alone. She had supposed she was leaning on John Gilman as
securely as she had leaned on her father. She had learned, with
the loss of her father, that one cannot be sure of anything in
this world least of all of human life. Yet in her darkest days
she had depended on John Gilman. She had every reason to believe
that it was for her that he struggled daily to gain a footing in
his chosen profession. When success came, when there was no
reason that Marian could see why they might not have begun life
together, there had come a subtle change in John, and that change
had developed so rapidly that in a few weeks' time, she was
forced to admit that the companionship and loving attentions that
once had been all hers were now all Eileen's.
She sat in the train, steadily carrying her mile after mile
farther from her home, and tried to think what had happened and
how and why it had happened. She could not feel that she had
been wrong in her estimate of John Gilman. Her valuation of him
had
been taught her by her father and mother and by Doctor and Mrs.
Strong and by John Gilman himself. Dating from the time that
Doctor Strong had purchased the property and built a home in
Lilac Valley beside Hawthorne House, Marian had admired Eileen
and had loved her. She was several years older than the
beautiful girl she had grown up beside.
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