“Lady Eleanor and her accomplished daughter. If the more urgent question were uot now before us, it would gratify you to learn, as I have just done, the admirable patience she has exhibited under the severe trials she has met; the profound insight she obtained into the condition, hopeless as it proves to be, of their unhappy circumstances; and the resignation in which, submitting to changed fortune, she not only has at once abandoned the modes of living she was habituated to, but actually descended to what I can fancy must have been the hardest infliction of all,--vulgar companionship, and the society of a boarding-house.” “A most respectable establishment, though,” broke in Paul; “Fumbally's is known all over Ulster--” A very supercilious smile from Lady Netherby cut short a panegyric Mr. Dempsey would gladly have extended. “No doubt, sir, it was the best thing of the kind,” resumed his Lordship; “but remember who Lady Eleanor Darcy was,--ay, and is. Think of the station she had always held, and then fancy her in daily intercourse with those people--” “Oh, it is very horrid, indeed!” broke in Lady Netherby, leaning back, and looking overcome even at the bare conception of the enormity. “The little miserable notorieties of a fishing-village--” “Coleraine, my Lord,--Coleraine,” cried Dempsey. “Well, be it so. What is Coleraine?” “A very thriving town on the river Bann, with a smart trade in yarn, two breweries, three meeting-houses, a pound, and a Sunday-school,” repeated Paul, as rapidly as though reading from a volume of a topographical dictionary. “All very commendable and delightful institutions, on which I beg heartily to offer my congratulations, but, you will allow me to remark, scarcely enough to compensate for the accustomed appliances of a residence at Gwynne Abbey. But I see we are trespassing on Lady Netherby's strength. You seem faint, my dear.” “It's nothing,--it will pass over in a moment or so. This sad account of these poor people has distressed me greatly.” “Well, then, we must hasten on. Mr. Dempsey became acquainted with our poor friends in this their exile; and although from his delicacy and good taste he will not dwell on the circumstance, it is quite clear to me, has shown them many attentions; I might use a stronger word, and say kindnesses.” “Oh! by Jove, I did nothing. I could do nothing--” “Nay, sir, you are unjust to yourself; the very intentions by which you set out on your present journey are the shortest answer to that question. It would appear, my dear, that my fair relative, Miss Darcy, has not forfeited the claim she possessed to great beauty and attraction; for here, in the gentleman before us, is an evidence of their existence. Mr. Dempsey, who 'never told his love,' as the poet says, waited in submission himself for the hour of his changing fortune; and until the death of his mother--” “No, my Lord; my uncle, Bob Dempsey, of Dempsey's Grove.”