expression about his face to which the young
earl thought that he had never seen the like. There was a gleam in
his eye which, though not of joy, was so bright; and a smile round
his mouth which was so sweet, though full of sadness! "How can she
not love him?" said he to himself, thinking of his sister. "And now,
Desmond, go back to your mother and tell her all. She has sent you
here."

"No, she did not send me," said the boy, stoutly,--almost angrily;
"she does not even know that I have come."

"Go back then to your sister."

"Nor does she know it."

"Nevertheless, go back to them, and tell them both what I have told
you; and tell them this also, that I, Owen Fitzgerald of Hap House,
still love her better than all that the world else can give me;
indeed, there is nothing else that I do love,--except you, Desmond.
But tell them also that I am Owen of Hap House still--that and
nothing more."

"Owen," said the lad, looking up at him; and Fitzgerald as he glanced
into the boy's face could see that there was that arising within his
breast which almost prevented him from speaking.

"And look, Desmond," continued Fitzgerald; "do not think that I shall
blame you because you turn from me, or call you mercenary. Do you
do what you think right. What you said just now of your sister's--,
well, of the possibility of our marriage, you said under the idea
that I was a rich man. You now find that I am a poor man; and you may
consider that the words were never spoken."

"Owen!" said the boy again; and now that which was before rising in
his breast had risen to his brow and cheeks, and was telling its tale
plainly in his eyes. And then he rose from his chair, turning away
his face, and walking towards the window; but before he had gone two
steps he turned again, and throwing himself on Fitzgerald's breast,
he burst out into a passion of tears.

"Come, old fellow, what is this? This will never do," said Owen. But
his own eyes were full of tears also, and he too was nearly past
speaking.

"I know you will think--I am a boy and a--fool," said the earl,
through his sobs, as soon as he could speak; "but I can't--help it."

"I think you are the dearest, finest, best fellow that ever lived,"
said Fitzgerald, pressing him with his arm.

"And I'll tell you what, Owen, you should have her to-morrow if it
were in my power, for, by heaven! there is not another man so worthy
of a girl in all the world; and I'll tell her so; and I don'