First of all, Paul Chandos, her father. To him her society--little as he appeared to appreciate it--was a pure and unalloyed delight. During many years he had acquired the habit of silence, and although sufficiently fluent in the factory, at home he was a dumb man; whilst Verona was pained and mortified by his still tongue, on his side (as he gave her his wistful yet stealthy attention) he was conscious of inexpressible happiness. Here beside him sat the embodiment of his lost youth, lost ideals, aye, and it might have been his lost love! The sound of the girl's high-bred accent, the delicate shape of her face, her air of repose and refinement, recalled the tender grace of a day that was dead, and the sound of a voice that was still. Still, as far as he was concerned--never whilst he lived would it again fall on his ears. Nevertheless, he kept, from sheer force of habit, all this enjoyment to himself, and his pale, unhappy daughter had not the faintest reason to suppose that for him, she had momentarily swung back the gates of the Elysian fields. When Paul Chandos had realised his cousin's infamy, and beheld him as he was--a cruel, base, unprincipled wretch--the result was a shock, which morally stunned him for the remainder of his days. On the altar, before his cousin Sydney, he had laid all that was best in his disposition--Faith, Hope, Charity--but a fire had ascended and reduced his offering to ashes. The horror of this experience had almost turned his brain. As soon as Sydney had succeeded his father in the family estates, Paul had written him a letter, indited, so to speak, in his heart's blood--a letter reminding him of debts, dues, and of solemn vows, and imploring him, for the sake of his dead mother, to extend a hand and draw him out of the pit of despair--a pit into which Sydney had plunged him. To this, Captain Chandos (late Blue Light Lancers), D.L., of Charne Hall, Flatshire and Charlton Terrace, replied: "SIR,--You have disgraced your family by your abominable marriage--we look upon you as dead. Further communications will be destroyed unread. "Yours faithfully, "S. CHANDOS." Thus Paul had sacrificed himself to pay his cousin's debts--and especially one old debt, not entered in any ledger--the debt of jealousy. The late Mrs. Chandos had been passionately attached to her orphan nephew; he was her darling, and she had "understood" her son. At one time, the unhappy victim had contemplated making a desperate effort for release, of going home (steerage) and appealing to his relations--and the law. "But of what use?" urged despair. "The debts were in his own name--the rope was round his neck; his hands were bound--it was exile for life."