"A pleasure it is, I do assure you," said Doctor Danvers, heartily. "He
is a handsome lad, with the heart of a hero--a fine, frank, generous lad,
and as merry as a lark."

"Yes, yes," interrupted Marston; "he is well enough, and has done pretty
well at Cambridge. Doctor Danvers, take some wine."

It was strange, but yet mournfully true, that the praises which the good
Doctor Danvers thus bestowed upon his son were bitter to the soul of the
unhappy Marston. They jarred upon his ear, and stung his heart; for his
conscience converted them into so many latent insults and humiliations
to himself.

"Your wine is very good, Marston. I think your clarets are many degrees
better than any I can get," said Sir Wynston, sipping a glass of his
favorite wine. "You country gentlemen are sad selfish dogs; and, with all
your grumbling, manage to collect the best of whatever is worth having
about you."

"We sometimes succeed in collecting a pleasant party," retorted Marston,
with ironical courtesy, "though we do not always command the means of
entertaining them quite as we would wish."

It was the habit of Doctor Danvers, without respect of persons or
places, to propose, before taking his departure from whatever domestic
party he chanced to be thrown among for the evening, to read some verses
from that holy Book, on which his own hopes and peace were founded, and
to offer up a prayer for all to the throne of grace. Marston, although
he usually absented himself from such exercises, did not otherwise