His wife was a sweet-tempered, gentle little body, and she loved him with her whole heart.
He liked her well enough, and respected her thoroughly, but the one love of his life had been that proud, fair-haired girl who had broken his heart. It had been a deathless love, as could easily be seen by his rambling talk the night he met Isabel at Lady Peasewell’s.
When he finally married he had done so to please his father, and in order to perpetuate the name.
But another disappointment awaited him, for only a daughter blessed their union, and there was no heir to take the title. At the age of sixteen she fell in love with a colonel in the English army—a widower nearly twice her age.
Her father, whose life had been such a failure, would not doom her to a like fate, and so consented to the marriage, although he did not fully approve of it, both on account of his daughter’s youth and the profession of Colonel Dredmond, since, in all probability, it would eventually separate him from his only child.
But the fair young girl bride only lived one short year, and died soon after the birth of their only child—a fine boy, whom his father named Adrian.
Colonel Dredmond was soon after ordered into active service, and was killed fighting like the brave man he was.
Henceforth Adrian became his grandfather’s sole joy and comfort, and he lavished upon him all the love which his bruised heart was capable of feeling.
The boy inherited all his father’s bravery, together with his grandfather’s honor and nobility of character, and bade fair to make the declining years of Lord and Lady Dunforth the best and happiest of their lives.
During the last few weeks he had been very unhappy and depressed.