beside the antiquary's grave.

And these recitals made her conceive a more soft and tender interest in
Guy Darrell than she had before admitted; they accounted for the
mournfulness on his brow; they lessened her involuntary awe of that
stateliness of bearing which before had only chilled her as the evidence
of pride.

While Fairthorn and Sophy thus matured acquaintance, Darrell and Waife
were drawing closer and closer to each other. Certainly no one would be
predisposed to suspect any congeniality of taste, intellect, experience,
or emotion, between two men whose lives had been so widely different--in
whose faults or merits the ordinary observer would have seen nothing but
antagonism and contrast. Unquestionably their characters were strikingly
dissimilar, yet there was that in each which the other recognised as
familiar to his own nature. Each had been the victim of his heart; each
had passed over the ploughshare of self-sacrifice. Darrell had offered
up his youth--Waife his age; Darrell to a Father and the unrequiting
Dead--Waife to a Son whose life had become his terror. To one man, NAME
had been an idol; to the other, NAME had been a weed cast away into the
mire. To the one man, unjoyous, evanescent glory--to the other, a shame
that had been borne with a sportive cheerfulness, dashed into sorrow only
when the world's contumely threatened to despoil Affection of its food.
But there was something akin in their joint experience of earthly
vanities;--so little solace in worldly honours to the triumphant Orator
--so little of misery to the vagrant Mime while his conscience mutely
appealed to Heaven from the verdict of his kind. And as beneath all the
levity and whim of the man reared and nurtured, and fitted by his
characteristic tendencies, to view life through its humours, not through
its passions, there still ran a deep undercurrent of grave and earnest