When I lost her, all my happiness died; the only consolation I found was going about from place to place trying to do good where I could.

This little incident on the Chain Pier aroused me more than anything had done for some time.
I had one comfort in life--a friend whom I loved dearer than a brother, Lancelot Fleming; and lately he had come into possession of a very nice estate called Dutton Manor, a fine old mansion, standing in the midst of an extensive park, and with it an income of three thousand per annum.
Lance Fleming had been brought up to the bar, but he never cared much for his profession, and was much pleased when he succeeded to his cousin's estate.
He had invited me several times to visit Dutton Manor, but something or other had always intervened to prevent it.

Lance came to see me; we traveled together; we were the very opposite of each other.

He was frank, gay, cheerful, always laughing, always with some grand jest on the tapis--a laughing, sunny, blue-eyed fellow, who was like a sunbeam in every house he entered; he was always either whistling or singing, and his bright, cheery voice trolled out such snatches of sweet song that it was a pleasure to hear him.
I am naturally melancholy, and have a tendency to look always on the dark side of things.

You can imagine how I loved Lance Fleming; the love that other men give to wives, children, parents and relatives I lavished on him.