To Forester's account of her brother Bagenal's devotion to his friend she listened with eager interest, asking again and again what part he had taken, whether his counsels were deemed wise ones, and if he still enjoyed to the fullest extent the confidence of his old friend. “It is no friendship of yesterday, sir,” said she, with a heightened color and a flashing eye; “they knew each other as boys, they walked the mountains together as young men, speculated on the future paths fate might open before them, and the various ambitions which, even then, stirred within them. Bagenal was ever rash, headstrong, and impetuous, rarely firm in purpose till some obstacle seemed to defy its accomplishment. Maurice--the Knight, I mean--was not less resolute when roused, but more often so much disposed to concede to others that he would postpone his wishes to their own; and once believing himself in any way pledged to a course, would forget all, save the fulfilment of the implied promise. Such were the two dispositions, which, acting and reacting on each other, effected the ruin of both: the one wasted in eccentricity what the other squandered in listless indifference; and with abilities enough to have won distinction for humble men, they have earned no other reputation than that of singularity or convivialism. “As for Bagenal,” she said, after a pause, “wealth was never but an incumbrance to him; he was one of those persons who never saw any use for money, save in the indulgence of mere caprice; he treated his great fortune as a spoiled child will do a toy, and never rested till he had pulled it to pieces, and perhaps derived the same moral lesson too,--astonishment at the mere trifle which once amused him. But Maurice Darcy,--whose tastes were ever costly and cultivated, who regarded splendor not as the means of vulgar display, but as the fitting accompaniment of a house illustrious by descent and deeds, and deemed that all about and around him should bear the impress of himself, generous and liberal as he was,--how is he to bear this reverse? Tell me of Lady Eleanor; and Miss Darcy, is she like the Knight, or has her English blood given the character to her beauty?” “She is very like her father,” said Forester, “but more so even in disposition than in features.” “How happy I am to hear it,” said Miss Daly, hastily; “and she is, then, high-spirited and buoyant? What gifts in an hour like this!” “You say truly, madam, she will not sink beneath the stroke, believe me.” “Well, this news has reconciled me to much of your gloomier tidings,” said Miss Daly; “and now let us wander out upon the hills; I feel as if we could talk more freely as we stroll along the beach.” Miss Daly arose as she spoke, and led the way through the little garden wicket, which opened on a steep pathway down to the shore.