of
him but what was evil. He had come complaining loudly, and her heart
had been somewhat hardened against him. Now he was there at her
bidding, and her heart and very soul were full of tenderness. She
rose rapidly, and sat down again, and then again rose as she heard
his footsteps; but when he entered the room she was standing in the
middle of it.

"Clara," he said, taking the hand which she mechanically held out, "I
have come here now at your brother's request."

Her name sounded so sweet upon his lips. No idea occurred to her that
she ought to be angry with him for using it. Angry with him! Could it
be possible that she should ever be angry with him--that she ever had
been so?

"Yes," she said. "Patrick said something to me which made me think
that it would be better that we should meet."

"Well, yes; it is better. If people are honest they had always better
say to each other's faces that which they have to say."

"I mean to be honest, Mr. Fitzgerald."

"Yes, I am sure you do; and so do I also. And if this is so, why
cannot we say each to the other that which we have to say? My tale
will be a very short one; but it will be true if it is short."

"But, Mr. Fitzgerald--"

"Well, Clara?"

"Will you not sit down?" And she herself sat upon the sofa; and he
drew a chair for himself near to her; but he was too impetuous to
remain seated on it long. During the interview between them he was
sometimes standing, and sometimes walking quickly about the room; and
then for a moment he would sit down, or lean down over her on the
sofa arm.

"But, Mr. Fitzgerald, it is my tale that I wish you to hear."

"Well; I will listen to it." But he did not listen; for before she
had spoken a dozen words he had interrupted her, and poured out upon
her his own wild plans and generous schemes. She, poor girl, had
thought to tell him that she loved Herbert, and Herbert only--as a
lover. But that if she could love him, him Owen, as a brother and a
friend, that love she would so willingly give him. And then she would
have gone on to say how impossible it would have been for Herbert,
under any circumstances, to have availed himself of such generosity
as that which had been offered. But her eloquence was all cut short
in the bud. How could she speak with such a storm of impulse raging
before her as that which was now strong within Owen Fitzgerald's
bosom?

He interrupted her before she had spoken a dozen words, in order that
he migh