to himself. In the
mean time Herbert had run back to his father's room.

"Has he gone?" murmured Sir Thomas.

"Yes, he has gone. There; you can hear the wheels of his gig on the
gravel."

"Oh, my boy, my poor boy!"

"What is it, father? Why do you not tell me? Why do you allow such
men as that to come and harass you, when a word would keep them from
you? Father, good cannot come of it."

"No, Herbert, no; good will not come of it. There is no good to come
at all."

"Then why will you not tell us?"

"You will know it all soon enough. But Herbert, do not say a word to
your mother. Not a word as you value my love. Let us save her while
we can. You promise me that."

Herbert gave him the required promise.

"Look here," and he took up the letter which he had before crumpled
in his hand. "Mr. Prendergast will be here next week. I shall tell
everything to him."

Soon afterwards Sir Thomas went to his bed, and there by his bedside
his wife sat for the rest of the evening. But he said no word to her
of his sorrow.

"Mr. Prendergast is coming here," said Herbert to Mr. Somers.

"I am glad of it, though I do not know him," said Mr. Somers. "For,
my dear boy, it is necessary that there should be some one here."

CHAPTER XVI.

THE PATH BENEATH THE ELMS.

It will be remembered that in the last chapter but one Owen
Fitzgerald left Lady Desmond in the drawing-room at Desmond Court
somewhat abruptly, having absolutely refused to make peace with the
Desmond faction by giving his consent to the marriage between Clara
and his cousin Herbert. And it will perhaps be remembered also, that
Lady Desmond had asked for this consent in a manner that was almost
humble. She had shown herself most anxious to keep on friendly terms
with the rake of Hap House,--rake and roue, gambler and spendthrift,
as he was reputed to be,--if only he would abandon his insane claim
to the hand of Clara Desmond. But this feeling she had shown when
they two were alone together, after Clara had left them. As long
as her daughter had been present, Lady Desmond had maintained her
tone of indignation and defiance; but, when the door was closed and
they two were alone, she had become kind in her language and almost
tender.

My readers will probably conceive that she had so acted, overcome by
her affection for Owen Fitzgerald and with a fixed resolve to win him
for herself. Men and women when they are written about are always
supposed to have