You don't remember Lady Dunoran?--pooh, pooh,
what am I thinking of? No, to be sure! you could not. 'Tis from her,
chiefly, poor lady, he has his good looks. Her eyes were large, and very
peculiar, like _his_--his, you know, are very fine. She, poor lady, did
not live long after the public ruin of the family.'
'And has he been recognised here? The townspeople are so curious.'
'Why, dear child, not one of them ever saw him before. He's been lost
sight of by all but a few, a very few friends. My Lord Castlemallard,
who was his guardian, of course, knows; and to me he disclosed himself
by letter; and we keep his secret; though it matters little who knows
it, for it seems to me he's as unhappy as aught could ever make him. The
townspeople take him for his cousin, who squandered his fortune in
Paris; and how is he the better of their mistake, and how were he the
worse if they knew him for whom he is? 'Tis an unhappy family--a curse
haunts it. Young in years, old in vice, the wretched nobleman who lies
in the vault, by the coffin of that old aunt, scarcely better than
himself, whose guineas supplied his early profligacy--alas! he ruined
his ill-fated, beautiful cousin, and she died heart-broken, and her
little child, both there--in that melancholy and contaminated house.
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