t her, and now by
degrees he had got her hand in his. "Mary," he said, "will you be my
wife,--my own wife?"

When half an hour had passed, they were still together, and now she
had found the use of her tongue. "Do whatever you like best," she
said. "I do not care which you do. If you came to me to-morrow and
told me you had no income, it would make no difference. Though to
love you and to have your love is all the world to me,--though it
makes all the difference between misery and happiness,--I would
sooner give up that than be a clog on you." Then he took her in his
arms and kissed her. "Oh, Phineas!" she said, "I do love you so
entirely!"

"My own one!"

"Yes; your own one. But if you had known it always! Never mind. Now
you are my own,--are you not?"

"Indeed yes, dearest."

"Oh, what a thing it is to be victorious at last."

"What on earth are you two doing here these two hours together?" said
Barbara, bursting into the room.

"What are we doing?" said Phineas.

"Yes;--what are you doing?"

"Nothing in particular," said Mary.

"Nothing at all in particular," said Phineas. "Only this,--that we
have engaged ourselves to marry each other. It is quite a trifle,--is
it not, Mary?"

"Oh, Barbara!" said the joyful girl, springing forward into her
friend's arms; "I do believe I am the happiest creature on the face
of this earth!"

CHAPTER LXVII

Job's Comforters

Before Phineas had returned to London his engagement with Mary Flood
Jones was known to all his family, was known to Mrs. Flood Jones, and
was indeed known generally to all Killaloe. That other secret of his,
which had reference to the probability of his being obliged to throw
up his office, was known only to Mary herself. He thought that he had
done all that honour required of him in telling her of his position
before he had proposed;--so that she might on that ground refuse
him if she were so minded. And yet he had known very well that such
prudence on her part was not to be expected. If she loved him, of
course she would say so when she was asked. And he had known that
she loved him. "There may be delay, Mary," he said to her as he was
going; "nay, there must be delay, if I am obliged to resign."

"I do not care a straw for delay if you will be true to me," she
said.

"Do you doubt my truth, dearest?"

"Not in the least. I will swear by it as the one thing that is truest
in the world."

"You may, dearest. And if this should co