“When I grew so weak that I could n't go to the mine, the accounts he used to give me daily made me think we must be prospering. He would come back every night so cheery and so hopeful, and his eyes would sparkle as he 'd tell of a bright vein that they 'd just 'struck.' He owned that the men were less sanguine, but what could they know? They had no other teaching than the poor experiences of daily labor. If they saw lead or silver, they believed in it. To him, however, the signs of the coming ore were enough; and then he would open a paper full of dark earth in which a few shining particles might be detected, and point them out to me as the germs of untold riches. 'These are silver, Tom, every one of them; they are oxidized, but still perfectly pure. I 've seen the natives in Ceylon washing earth not richer than this;' and the poor fellow would make this hopeful tidings the reason for treating me to champagne, which in an unlucky moment the doctor said would be good for me, and which Sir Brook declared always disagreed with him. But I don't believe it, Lucy,--I don't believe it! I am certain that he suffered many a privation to give me luxuries that he would n't share. Shall I tell you the breakfast I saw him eating one morning? I had gone to his room to speak to him before he started to the mine, and, opening the door gently, I surprised him at his breakfast,--a piece of brown bread and a cup of coffee without milk was his meal, to support him till he came home at nightfall. I knew if he were aware that I had seen him that it would have given him great distress, so I crept quietly back to my bed, and lay down to think of this once pampered, flattered gentleman, and how grand the nature must be that could hold up uncomplaining and unshaken under such poverty as this. Nor is it that he ignores the past, Lucy, or strives to forget it,--far from that. He is full of memories of bygone events and people, but he talks of his own part in the grand world he once lived in as one might talk of another individual; nor is there the semblance of a regret that all this splendor has passed away never to return. He will be here on Sunday to pay us a visit, Lucy; and though perhaps you 'll find him sadly changed in appearance, you 'll see that his fine nature is the same as ever.” “And will he persist in this project, Tom, in spite of all failure and in defiance of hope?” “That's the very point I 'm puzzled about. If he decide to go on, so must I. I 'll not leave him, whatever come of it.” “No, no, Tom; that I know you will not do.” “His confidence of success is unshaken. It was only t' other night, as we sat at a very frugal supper, he said, 'You 'll remember all this, Tom, one of these days; and as you sip your Burgundy, you 'll tell your friends how jolly we thought ourselves over our little acid wine and an onion.' I did not dare to say what was uppermost in my thoughts, that I disbelieved in the Burgundy era.”