"Yes,"-said the other; "I regret to see that I am too late. I wished to pay the last tribute of respect to our poor friend, but unfortunately all was over when I arrived."
"You knew him intimately, I believe?" said Conway.
"From boyhood," said Dunn, coughing, to conceal some embarrassment. "Our families were intimate; but of him, personally, I saw little: he went abroad with his regiment, and when he returned, it was to live in a remote part of the country, so that we seldom met."
"Poor fellow!" muttered Conway, "he does seem to have been well-nigh forgotten by every one. I was alone here this morning."
"But such ought not death to be," rejoined Conway. "A gallant old soldier might well have been followed to his last billet by a few friends or comrades; but he was poor, and that explains all!"
"That is a harsh judgment for one so young as you are."
"No: if poor Kellett had fallen in battle, he had gone to his grave with every honor to his memory; but he lived on in a world where other qualities than a soldier's are valued, and he was forgotten,--that's the whole of it!"
"We must think of the daughter now; something must be done for her," said Dunn.
"I have a plan about that, if you will kindly aid me with it," said Conway, blushing as he spoke. "You are aware, perhaps, that Jack Kellett and I were comrades. He saved my life, and risked his own to do it, and I owe him more than life in the cheery, hearty spirit he inspired me with, at a time when I was rather disposed to sulk with the whole world; so that I owe him a heavy debt." Here he faltered, and at last stopped, and it was only as Dunn made a gesture to him to continue, that he went on: "Well, I have a dear, kind old mother, living all alone in Wales,--not over well off, to be sure, but quite able to do a kind thing, and fully as willing. If Miss Kellett could be induced to come and stay with her,--it might be called a visit at first,--time would gradually show them how useful they were to each other, and they 'd find they need n't--they could n't separate. That's my plan; will you support it?"
"I ought to tell you, frankly, that I have no presumption to counsel Miss Kellett. I never saw her till the night you accompanied her to my house; we are utter strangers to each other therefore. There is, however, sufficient in your project to recommend itself, and if anything I can add will aid it, you may reckon upon me; but you will yourself see whether my counsels be admissible. There is only one question I would ask,--you 'll excuse the frankness of it for the sincerity it guarantees,--Miss Kellett, although in poverty, was the daughter of a gentleman of fortune,--all the habits of her life were formed in that station; now, is it likely--I mean--are your mother's circumstances--"