Among those who had truly felt for them in their misfortunes, who had really pitied them and encountered them with loving sympathy, the kindest and most valued friend had been the vicar of a neighbouring parish.

He himself was a widower without children; but living with him at that time, and reading with him, was a young gentleman whose father was just dead, a baronet of large property, and an Irishman.

This was Sir Thomas Fitzgerald.
It need not now be told how this young man's sympathies were also excited, or how sympathy had grown into love.

In telling our tale we fain would not dwell much on the cradledom of our Meleager.

The young widow in her widow's cap grew to be more lovely than she had ever been before her miscreant husband had seen her.