eatest misery that she, by her doing, had placed
him in the terrible position which he had lately been called upon to
fill.

"Dearest mother, it did not make me unhappy," he said, caressing her.

"You bore it like a man, Herbert, as I shall ever remember. But it
did make me unhappy,--more unhappy than it should have done, when we
remember how very short is our time here below."

He remained with his mother for more than an hour, and then returned
to the drawing-room, where the girls were waiting for him with the
tea-things arranged before them.

"I was very nearly coming up to fetch you," said Mary, "only that we
knew how much mamma must have to say to you."

"We dined early because we are all so upset," said Emmeline; "and
Clara must be dying for her tea."

"And why should Clara die for tea any more than any one else?" asked
Lady Clara herself.

I will not venture to say what hour it was before they separated for
bed. They sat there with their feet over the fender, talking about
things gone and things coming,--and there were so many of such things
for them to discuss! Even yet, as one of the girls remarked, Lady
Desmond had not heard of the last change, or if she had so heard, had
had no time to communicate with her daughter upon the subject.

And then Owen was spoken of with the warmest praise by them all, and
Clara explained openly what had been the full tenor of his intended
conduct.

"That would have been impossible," said Herbert.

"But it was not the less noble in him, was it?" said Clara, eagerly.
But she did not tell how Owen Fitzgerald had prayed that her love
might be given back to him, as his reward for what he wished to do on
behalf of his cousin. Now, at least, at this moment it was not told;
yet the day did come when all that was described,--a day when Owen
in his absence was regarded by them both among the dearest of their
friends.

But even on that night Clara resolved that he should have some meed
of praise. "Has he not been noble?" she said, appealing to him who
was to be her husband; "has he not been very noble?"

Herbert, too happy to be jealous, acknowledged that it was so.

CHAPTER XLIII.

PLAYING ROUNDERS.

My story is nearly at its close, and all readers will now know how
it is to end. Those difficulties raised by Mr. Die were all made to
vanish; and though he implored Mr. Prendergast over and over again
to go about this business with a moderated eagerness, that gentl