Sir, Mr. Darrell has known griefs on which it does not become you and me to talk. He never talks of them. The least I can do for my benefactor is not to pry into his secrets, nor babble them out. And he is so kind, so good, never gets into a passion; but it is so awful to wound him,—it gives him such pain; that's why he frightens me,—frightens me horribly; and so he will you when you come to know him. Prodigious mind!—granite,—overgrown with sensitive plants. Yes, a little music will do us both good."
Mr. Fairthorn screwed his flute, an exceedingly handsome one. He pointed out its beauties to Lionel—a present from Mr. Darrell last Christmas—and then he began. Strange thing, Art! especially music. Out of an art, a man may be so trivial you would mistake him for an imbecile,—at best a grown infant. Put him into his art, and how high he soars above you! How quietly he enters into a heaven of which he has become a denizen, and unlocking the gates with his golden key, admits you to follow, a humble reverent visitor.
In his art, Fairthorn was certainly a master, and the air he now played was exquisitely soft and plaintive; it accorded with the clouded yet quiet sky, with the lone but summer landscape, with Lionel's melancholic but not afflicted train of thought. The boy could only murmur "Beautiful!" when the musician ceased.
"It is an old air," said Fairthorn; "I don't think it is known. I found its scale scrawled down in a copy of the 'Eikon Basilike,' with the name of 'Joannes Darrell, Esq., Aurat,' written under it. That, by the date, was Sir John Darrell, the cavalier who fought for Charles I., father of the graceless Sir Ralph, who flourished under Charles II. Both their portraits are in the dining-room."
"Tell me something of the family; I know so little about it,—not even how the Haughtons and Darrells seem to have been so long connected. I see by the portraits that the Haughton name was borne by former Darrells, then apparently dropped, now it is borne again by my cousin."
"He bears it only as a Christian name. Your grandfather was his sponsor. But he is nevertheless the head of your family."
"So he says. How?"
Fairthorn gathered himself up, his knees to his chin, and began in the tone of a guide who has got his lesson by heart; though it was not long before he warmed into his subject.
"The Darrells are supposed to have got their name from a
