bold that I may hope for no answer?" But still she
said nothing. In lieu of speaking she uttered a long sigh; and then
Fitzgerald could hear that she was sobbing.

"Oh, Clara, I love you so fondly, so dearly, so truly!" said he in an
altered voice and with sweet tenderness. "I know my own presumption
in thus speaking. I know and feel bitterly the difference in our
rank."

"I--care--nothing--for rank," said the poor girl, sobbing through her
tears. He was generous, and she at any rate would not be less so. No;
at that moment, with her scanty seventeen years of experience, with
her ignorance of all that the world had in it of grand and great, of
high and rich, she did care nothing for rank. That Owen Fitzgerald
was a gentleman of good lineage, fit to mate with a lady, that
she did know; for her mother, who was a proud woman, delighted to
have him in her presence. Beyond this she cared for none of the
conventionalities of life. Rank! If she waited for rank, where was
she to look for friends who would love her? Earls and countesses,
barons and their baronesses, were scarce there where fate had placed
her, under the shadow of the bleak mountains of Muskerry. Her want,
her undefined want, was that some one should love her. Of all men
and women whom she had hitherto known, this Owen Fitzgerald was the
brightest, the kindest, the gentlest in his manner, the most pleasant
to look on. And now he was there at her feet, swearing that he loved
her;--and then drawing back as it were in dread of her rank. What did
she care for rank?

"Clara, Clara, my Clara! Can you learn to love me?"

She had made her one little effort at speaking when she attempted to
repudiate the pedestal on which he affected to place her; but after
that she could for a while say no more. But she still sobbed, and
still kept her eyes fixed upon the ground.

"Clara, say one word to me. Say that you do not hate me." But just at
that moment she had not one word to say.

"If you will bid me do so, I will leave this country altogether. I
will go away, and I shall not much care whither. I can only stay now
on condition of your loving me. I have thought of this day for the
last year past, and now it has come."

Every word that he now spoke was gospel to her. Is it not always
so,--should it not be so always, when love first speaks to loving
ears? What! he had loved her for that whole twelvemonth that she had
known him; loved her in those days when she had been wo