"His name! No! Of the name of Losely--the name of that turbulent sharper, who may yet die on the gibbet--of that poor, dear, lovable rascal Willy, who was goose enough to get himself transported for robbery!--a felon's grandchild the representative of Darrell's line! But how on earth came Lady Montfort to favour so wild a project, and encourage you to share in it?--she who ought to have known Darrell better?" "Alas! she saw but Sophy's exquisite, simple virtues, and inborn grace; and, believing her claim to Darrell's lineage, Lady Montfort thought but of the joy and blessing one so good and so loving might bring to his joyless hearth. She was not thinking of morbid pride and mouldering ancestors, but of soothing charities and loving ties. And Lady Montfort, I now suspect, in her scheme for our happiness--for Darrell's--had an interest which involved her own!" "Her own!" "Yes; I see it all now." "See what? you puzzle me." "I told you that Darrell, in his letter to me, wrote with great bitterness of Lady Montfort." "Very natural that he should. Who would not resent such interference?" "Listen. I told you that, at his own command, I sent to her that letter; that she, on receiving it, went herself to Fawley, to plead our cause. I was sanguine of the result." "Why?" "Because he who is in love has a wondrous intuition into all the mysteries of love in others; and when I read Darrell's letter I felt sure that he had once loved--loved still, perhaps--the woman he so vehemently reproached."