h amazement, not so much at
the quixotic generosity of the proposal, as at the singular mind of
the man in thinking that such a plan could be carried out. Herbert's
best quality was no doubt his sturdy common sense, and that was
shocked by a suggestion which presumed that all the legalities and
ordinary bonds of life could be upset by such an agreement between
two young men. He knew that Owen Fitzgerald could not give away his
title to an estate of fourteen thousand a year in this off-hand way,
and that no one could accept such a gift were it possible to be
given. The estate and title must belong to Owen, and could not
possibly belong to any one else, merely at his word and fancy. And
then again, how could the love of a girl like Clara Desmond be
bandied to and fro at the will of any suitor or suitors? That she had
once accepted Owen's love, Herbert knew; but since that, in a soberer
mood, and with maturer judgment, she had accepted his. How could he
give it up to another, or how could that other take possession of it
if so abandoned? The bargain was one quite impossible to be carried
out; and yet Owen in proposing it had fully intended to be as good as
his word.

"That is impossible," said Herbert in a low voice.

"Why impossible? May I not do what I like with that which is my own?
It is not impossible. I will have nothing to do with that property of
yours. In fact, it is not my own, and I will not take it; I will not
rob you of that which you have been born to expect. But in return for
this--"

"Owen, do not talk of it; would you abandon a girl whom you loved for
any wealth, or any property?"

"You cannot love her as I love her. I will talk to you on this matter
openly, as I have never yet talked to any one. Since first I saw
Clara Desmond, the only wish of my life has been that I might have
her for my wife. I have longed for her as a child longs--if you know
what I mean by that. When I saw that she was old enough to understand
what love meant, I told her what was in my heart, and she accepted my
love. She swore to me that she would be mine, let mother or brother
say what they would. As sure as you are standing there a living man
she loved me with all truth. And that I loved her--! Herbert, I have
never loved aught but her; nothing else!--neither man nor woman, nor
wealth nor title. All I ask is that I may have that which was my
own."

"But, Owen--" and Herbert touched his cousin's arm.

"Well; why do you not