The sound of the bubbling water grew more distinct, as the ear became accustomed to its music: it reminded him of one very like it in Etheringhame Park. Both might have made the delight of either antiquary or poet. It wanted nothing to complete the likeness but the large old beech, under whose shadow he and his brother had passed so many mornings.
But it was a bad time for the recollections of boyhood. Lorraine's life had hitherto been one of enjoyment: it was as if fate had, in one day's disappointments, avenged the serenity of years. His brother, whom he had loved with the excusing, relying affection of a woman, had sacrificed his interest and betrayed his confidence, in the indolent irresolution of selfishness: the attachment of a life had been given up to avoid trouble. Then, the friend to whom he looked up—the model in whose steps he proposed to follow—whom he had admired with all the enthusiastic admiration of youth—this friend had degraded himself in his eyes for ever, denied his opinions, falsified his principles, and in a few hours placed the future in direct opposition to all that the past had held high or honourable. It is hard, very hard, for the heart to part with, at one struggle, those it
