he will; and therefore, as I was saying, it would be absurd
for you to quarrel with Mr. Owen Fitzgerald. For myself, I am sorry
for him--very sorry for him. You know the whole story of what
occurred between him and Clara, and of course you will understand
that my duty at that time was plain. Clara behaved admirably, and if
only he would not be so foolish, the whole matter might be forgotten.
As far as you and I are concerned I think it may be forgotten."

"But then his coming here?"

"That will not be repeated. I thought it better to show him that we
were not afraid of him, and therefore I permitted it. Had I conceived
that you would have objected--"

"Oh, no!" said Herbert.

"Well, there was not much for you to be afraid of, certainly," said
the countess. And so he was appeased, and left the house promising
that he, at any rate, would do nothing that might lead to a quarrel
with his cousin Owen.

Clara, who had still kept on her bonnet, again walked down with him
to the lodge, and encountered his first earnest supplication that an
early day should be named for their marriage. She had many reasons,
excellent good reasons, to allege why this should not be the case.
When was a girl of seventeen without such reasons? And it is so
reasonable that she should have such reasons. That period of having
love made to her must be by far the brightest in her life. Is it not
always a pity that it should be abridged?

"But your father's illness, Herbert, you know."

Herbert acknowledged that, to a certain extent, his father's illness
was a reason--only to a certain extent. It would be worse than
useless to think of waiting till his father's health should be
altogether strong. Just for the present, till Mr. Prendergast should
have gone, and perhaps for a fortnight longer, it might be well to
wait. But after that--and then he pressed very closely the hand which
rested on his arm. And so the matter was discussed between them with
language and arguments which were by no means original.

At the gate, just as Herbert was about to remount his horse, they
were encountered by a sight which for years past had not been
uncommon in the south of Ireland, but which had become frightfully
common during the last two or three months. A woman was standing
there, of whom you could hardly say that she was clothed, though she
was involved in a mass of rags which covered her nakedness. Her head
was all uncovered, and her wild black hair was strea