distinctness sake, Gray Forest. It was then the property of the younger
son of a nobleman, once celebrated for his ability and his daring, but
who had long since passed to that land where human wisdom and courage
avail naught. The representative of this noble house resided at the
family mansion in Sussex, and the cadet, whose fortunes we mean to sketch
in these pages, lived upon the narrow margin of an encumbered income, in
a reserved and unsocial discontent, deep among the solemn shadows of the
old woods of Gray Forest.

The Hon. Richard Marston was now somewhere between forty and fifty years
of age--perhaps nearer the latter; he still, however, retained, in an
eminent degree, the traits of manly beauty, not the less remarkable for
its unquestionably haughty and passionate character. He had married a
beautiful girl, of good family, but without much money, somewhere about
eighteen years before; and two children, a son and a daughter, had been
the fruit of this union. The boy, Harry Marston, was at this time at
Cambridge; and his sister, scarcely fifteen, was at home with her
parents, and under the training of an accomplished governess, who had
been recommended to them by a noble relative of Mrs. Marston. She was a
native of France, but thoroughly mistress of the English language, and,
except for a foreign accent, which gave a certain prettiness to all she
said, she spoke it as perfectly as any native Englishwoman. This young
Frenchwoman was eminently handsome and attractive. Expressive, dark eyes,
a clear olive complexion, small even teeth, and a beautifully-dimpling
smile, more perhaps than a strictly classic regularity of features, were
the secrets of her unquestionable influence, at first sight, upon the
fancy of every man of taste who beheld her.

Mr. Marston's fortune, never very large, had been shattered by early
dissipation. Naturally of a proud and somewhat exacting temper, he