“My sister!” He paused, and a tinge of red came to his cheek as he remembered how she had failed in all attention to the Darcys. “My sister, madam, is self-willed and headstrong as myself. She acknowledges none of the restraints or influence by which the social world consents to be bound and regulated; her path has ever been wild and erratic as my own. We sometimes cross, we never contradict, each other.” He paused, and then muttered to himself, “Poor Molly! how different I knew you once! And so,” added he, aloud, “I must leave without seeing Darcy! and there stands Sandy, admonishing me that my time is already up. Good-bye, Lady Eleanor; good-bye, Helen.” He turned his head away for a second, and then, in a voice of unusual feeling, said: “Farewell is always a sad word, and doubly sad when spoken by one old as I am; but if my heart is heavy at this moment, it is the selfish sorrow of him who parts from those so near. As for you, madam, and your fortunes, I am full of good hope. When people talk of suffering virtue, believe me, the element of courage must be wanting; but where the stout heart unites with the good cause, success will come at last.” He pressed his lips to the hands he held within his own, and hurried, before they could reply, from the room. “Our last friend gone!” exclaimed Lady Eleanor, as she sank into a chair. Helen's heart was too full for utterance, and she sat down silently, and watched the retiring figure of Daly and his servant till they disappeared in the distance. CHAPTER XI. THE DUKE OF YORK'S LEVEE.