She had never been a favourite with her mother, who was a foolish woman, and disappointed that her first-born was a daughter, and she had been from infancy subjected to all those checkings and thwartings which unwise mothers are apt to exercise injudiciously. She had found her sisters constantly preferred to her; and not the less, after they had grown up and made brilliant matches. These circumstances, which, with a disposition less innately good, would probably have produced a soreness of temper, and a disdainful disregard of the opinions of others, in her occasioned only a degree of reserve in general conversation. Thus, with greater personal attractions than her sisters, and more excellent qualities of mind, she yet remained Adelaide Marston, while they were ennobled matrons. Could the world have seen beneath the surface, how differently would it have judged her—it would have found there strong affections, and kind and gentle feelings, united to a nobleness of spirit, an enthusiastic generosity, and a love of truth, which, while they caused her to render scrupulously unto every one their due, made her scorn to receive credit to which she did not conceive herself justly entitled. Shrinking and retiring on common occasions almost beyond feminine timidity, when called upon for exertion, she was frank, straightforward, decided, and uncompromising. She was altogether a person whom an inferior mind could not estimate, but whom a superior one could never sufficiently admire. Her mother was now dead, and she lived with her father, his sole companion. To her, therefore, Henry’s return was a source of more than ordinary joy, and the sister and the brother met as if they had been separated for years instead of months. A day or two after his return, as Henry was relating to Adelaide the adventures of his _début_ as a soldier, he naturally came to the mention of Warenne’s name. “Adelaide,” said he, “what a man that is! it is worth something to know him, if only to have the benefit of his example, and he has been the kindest friend to me possible. You do not know how much I owe you for recommending me to his care.” Adelaide listened, unconsciously perhaps, with increased attention; and Henry, thus encouraged, gave the reins to the generous feelings of his warm heart, and did ample justice to Warenne’s merits. He detailed all he knew himself of the object of his praise, both with regard to his character and to his life; and all he had gleaned from his brother officers, and from the old soldiers, with whom some of Warenne’s early and more dashing exploits were a favourite topic of conversation; especially, dilating upon his conduct in the duel with O’Neil, which Henry was conscious he had himself principally provoked. “Your friend is a perfect _heros de roman_,” exclaimed Adelaide, smiling, as he concluded. “Is he so entirely without fault?”