Mr. Fitzgerald, be kind to me, be forbearing with me, be
good to me," and she almost embraced his arm as she appealed to him,
with her eyes all swimming with tears.

"Good to you!" he said. And a strong passion came upon him, urging
him to throw his arm round her slender body, and press her to his
bosom. Good to her! would he not protect her with his life's blood
against all the world if she would only come to him? "Good to you,
Clara! Can you not trust me that I will be good to you if you will
let me?"

"But not so, Owen." It was the first time she had ever called him
by his name, and she blushed again as she remembered that it was so.
"Not good, as you mean, for now I must trust to another for that
goodness. Herbert must be my husband, Owen; but will not you be our
friend?"

"Herbert must be your husband!"

"Yes, yes, yes. It is so. Do not look at me in that way, pray do not;
what would you have me do? You would not have me false to my troth,
and false to my own heart, because you are generous. Be generous to
me--to me also."

He turned away from her, and walked the whole length of the long
room; away and back, before he answered her, and even then, when he
had returned to her, he stood, looking at her before he spoke. And
she now looked full into his face, hoping, but yet fearing; hoping
that he might yield to her; and fearing his terrible displeasure
should he not yield.

"Clara," he said; and he spoke solemnly, slowly, and in a mood unlike
his own,--"I cannot as yet read your heart clearly; nor do I know
whether you can quite so read it yourself."

"I can, I can," she answered quickly; "and you shall know it
all--all, if you wish."

"I want to know but one thing. Whom is it that you love? And,
Clara--," and this he said interrupting her as she was about to
speak. "I do not ask you to whom you are engaged. You have engaged
yourself both to him and to me."

"Oh, Mr. Fitzgerald!"

"I do not blame you; not in the least. But is it not so? as to that I
will ask no question, and say nothing; only this, that so far we are
equal. But now ask of your own heart, and then answer me. Whom is it
then you love?"

"Herbert Fitzgerald," she said. The words hardly formed themselves
into a whisper, but nevertheless they were audible enough to him.

"Then I have no further business here," he said, and turned about as
though to leave the room.

But she ran forward and stopped him, standing between him and the
door.