nt to look up
into his face, wondering why he was so nice, so much nicer than any
one else that came near her! A year was a great deal to her; and had
he loved her through all those days? and after that should she banish
him from her house, turn him away from his home, and drive him forth
unhappy and wretched? Ah, no! She could not be so unkind to him;--she
could not be so unkind to her own heart. But still she sobbed; and
still she said nothing.

In the mean time they had turned, and were now walking back towards
the house, the gentle-natured mare still following at their heels.
They were walking slowly--very slowly back--just creeping along the
path, when they saw Lady Desmond and her son coming to meet them on
the road.

"There is your mother, Clara. Say one word to me before we meet
them."

"Oh, Mr. Fitzgerald; I am so frightened. What will mamma say?"

"Say about what? As yet I do not know what she may have to say. But
before we meet her, may I not hope to know what her daughter will
say? Answer me this, Clara. Can you, will you love me?"

There was still a pause, a moment's pause, and then some sound did
fall from her lips. But yet it was so soft, so gentle, so slight,
that it could hardly be said to reach even a lover's ear. Fitzgerald,
however, made the most of it. Whether it were Yes, or whether it were
No, he took it as being favourable, and Lady Clara Desmond gave him
no sign to show that he was mistaken.

"My own, own, only loved one," he said, embracing her as it were with
his words, since the presence of her approaching mother forbade him
even to take her hand in his, "I am happy now, whatever may occur;
whatever others may say; for I know that you will be true to me. And
remember this--whatever others may say, I also will be true to you.
You will think of that, will you not, love?"

This time she did answer him, almost audibly. "Yes," she said. And
then she devoted herself to a vain endeavour to remove the traces of
her tears before her mother should be close to them.

Fitzgerald at once saw that such endeavour must be vain. At one time
he had thought of turning away, and pretending that they had not seen
the countess. But he knew that Clara would not be able to carry out
any such pretence; and he reflected also that it might be just as
well that Lady Desmond should know the whole at once. That she would
know it, and know it soon, he was quite sure. She could learn it
not only from Clara, but f