ady Desmond at her ease. But this
letter was brought to her in the most open manner, and an answer to
it openly demanded.

She turned it round slowly in her hand, and then looking up, said,
"Mamma, this is from Owen Fitzgerald; what had I better do with it?"

"From Owen Fitzgerald! Are you sure?"

"Yes, mamma." And then the countess had also to consider what steps
under such circumstances had better be taken. In the mean time Clara
held out her hand, tendering the letter to her mother.

"You had better open it, my dear, and read it. No doubt it must be
answered." Lady Desmond felt that now there could be no danger from
Owen Fitzgerald. Indeed she thought that there was not a remembrance
of him left in her daughter's bosom; that the old love, such
baby-love as there had been, had vanished, quite swept out of that
little heart by this new love of a brighter sort. But then Lady
Desmond knew nothing of her daughter.

So instructed, Clara broke the seal, and read the letter, which ran
thus:--

Hap House, February, 184--.

My promised Love,

For let what will happen, such you are; I have this
morning heard tidings which, if true, will go far to drive
me to despair. But I will not believe them from any lips
save your own. I have heard that you are engaged to marry
Herbert Fitzgerald. At once, however, I declare that I do
not believe the statement. I have known you too well to
think that you can be false.

But, at any rate, I beg the favour of an interview
with you. After what has passed I think that under any
circumstances I have a right to demand it. I have pledged
myself to you; and as that pledge has been accepted, I am
entitled to some consideration.

I write this letter to you openly, being quite willing
that you should show it to your mother if you think fit.
My messenger will wait, and I do implore you to send me an
answer. And remember, Lady Clara, that, having accepted
my love, you cannot whistle me down the wind as though I
were of no account. After what has passed between us, you
cannot surely refuse to see me once more.

Ever your own--if you will have it so,

OWEN FITZGERALD.

She read the letter very slowly, ever and anon looking up at her
mother's face, and seeing that her mother was--not reading her book,
but pretending to read it. When she had finished it, she held it for
a moment, and then said, "Mamma, will you not l