The whole extent of his ruin unfolded itself gradually before Darcy's eyes, until at length the accumulated load became too great to bear, and he sat in almost total unconsciousness gazing at the mass of law papers and accounts before him, only remembering at intervals, and then faintly, the nature of the investigation he was engaged in, and by an effort recalling himself again to the task: in this way passed the entire day we speak of. Brief struggles to exert himself in examining the various papers and letters on the table were succeeded by long pauses of apparent apathy, until, as evening drew near, these intervals of indifference grew longer, and he sat for hours in this scarce-waking condition. It was long past midnight as a loud knocking was heard at the street door, and ere Darcy could sufficiently recall his wandering faculties from their revery, he felt a hand grasp his own--he looked up, and saw Bagenal Daly. “Well, Darcy,” said he, in a low whisper, “how stand matters here?” “Ruined!” said he, in an accent hardly audible, but with a look that thrilled through the stern heart of Daly. “Come, come, there must be a long space between _your_ fortune and ruin yet. Have you seen any legal adviser?” “What of Gleeson, Bagenal, has he been heard of?” said the Knight, not attending to Daly's question. “He has had the fitting end of a scoundrel. He leaped overboard in the Channel--” “Poor fellow!” said Darcy, while he passed his hand across his eyes; “his spirit was not all corrupted, Bagenal; he dared not to face the world.” “Face the world! the villain, it was the gallows he had not courage to face. Don't speak one word of compassion about a wretch like him, or you 'll drive me mad. There's no iniquity in the greatest crimes to compare with the slow, dastardly scoundrelism of your fair-faced swindler. It seems so, at least. The sailors told us that he went below immediately on their leaving the river, and, having locked the cabin door, spent his time in writing till they were in sight of the Holyhead light, when a sudden splash was heard, and a cry of 'A man overboard!' called every one to the deck; then it was discovered that the fellow had opened one of the stern-windows and thrown himself into the sea. They brought me this open letter, the last, it is said, he ever wrote, and, though unaddressed, evidently meant for you. You need not read it; it contains nothing but the whining excuses of a scoundrel who bases his virtue on the fact that he was more coward than cheat. Strangest thing of all, he had no property with him beyond some few clothes, a watch, and about three hundred guineas in a purse. This was deposited by the skipper with the authorities in Liverpool; not a paper, not a document of any kind. Don't read that puling scrawl, Darcy; I have no patience with your pity!” “I wish he had escaped with life, Bagenal,” said Darcy, feelingly; “it is a sad aggravation of all my sorrow to think of this man's suicide.”