I will go away, and I shall not much care whither. I can only stay now on condition of your loving me. I have thought of this day for the last year past, and now it has come."

Every word that he now spoke was gospel to her. Is it not always so,--should it not be so always, when love first speaks to loving ears? What! he had loved her for that whole twelve-month that she had known him; loved her in those days when she had been wont to look up into his face, wondering why he was so nice, so much nicer than any one else that came near her! A year was a great deal to her; and had he loved her through all those days? and after that should she banish him from her house, turn him away from his home, and drive him forth unhappy and wretched? Ah, no! She could not be so unkind to him;--she could not be so unkind to her own heart. But still she sobbed; and still she said nothing.

In the mean time they had turned, and were now walking back towards the house, the gentle-natured mare still following at their heels. They were walking slowly--very slowly back--just creeping along the path, when they saw Lady Desmond and her son coming to meet them on the road.

"There is your mother, Clara. Say one word to me before we meet them."

"Oh, Mr. Fitzgerald; I am so frightened. What will mamma say?"

"Say about what? As yet I do not know what she may have to say. But before we meet her, may I not hope to know what her daughter will say? Answer me this, Clara. Can you, will you love me?"

There was still a pause, a moment's pause, and then some sound did fall from her lips. But yet it was so soft, so gentle, so slight, that it could hardly be said to reach even a lover's ear. Fitzgerald, however, made the most of it. Whether it were Yes, or whether it were No, he took it as being favourable, and Lady Clara Desmond gave him no sign to show that he was mistaken.

"My own, own, only loved one," he said, embracing her, as it were, with his words, since the presence of her approaching mother forbade him even to take her hand in his, "I am happy now, whatever may occur; whatever others may say; for I know that you will be true to me. And remember this--whatever others may say, I also will be true to you. You will think of that, will you not, love?"

This time she did answer him, almost audibly. "Yes," she said. And then she devoted herself to a vain endeavour to remove the traces of her tears before her mother should be close to them.

Fitzgerald at once saw that such endeavour must be vain. At one time he had thought of turning away, and pretending that they had not seen the countess. But he knew that Clara would not be able to carry out any such pretence; and he reflected also that it might be just as well that Lady Desmond should know the whole at once. That she would know it, and know it soon, he was quite sure. She could learn it not only from Clara, but from himself. He could not now be there at the house without showing that he both loved and knew that he was beloved. And then why should Lady Desmond not know it? Why should he think that she would set herself against the match? He had certainly spoken to Clara of the difference in their rank; but, after all, it was no uncommon thing for an earl's daughter to marry a commoner. And in this case the earl's daughter was portionless, and the lover desired no portion. Owen Fitzgerald at any rate might boast that he was true and generous in his love.

So he plucked up his courage, and walked on with a smiling face to meet Lady Desmond and her son; while poor Clara crept beside him with eyes downcast, and in an agony of terror.

Lady Desmond had not left the house with any apprehension that there was aught amiss. Her son had told her that Owen had gone off "to do the civil to Clara;" and as he did not come to the house within some twenty minutes after this, she had proposed that they would go and meet him.

"Did you tell him that I wanted him?" said the countess.

"Oh yes, I did; and he is coming, only he would go away to Clara."

"Then I shall scold him for his want of gallantry," said Lady Desmond, laughing, as they walked out together from beneath the huge portal.

But as soon as she was near enough to see the manner of their gait, as they slowly came towards her, her woman's tact told her that something was wrong;--and whispered to her also what might too probably be the nature of that something. Could it be possible, she asked herself, that such a man as Owen Fitzgerald should fall in love with such a girl as her daughter Clara?

"What shall I say to mamma?" whispered Clara to him, as they all drew near together.

"Tell her everything."

"But, Patrick--"

"I will take him off with me if I can." And then they were all together, standing in the road.

"I was coming to obey your behests, Lady Desmond," said Fitzgerald, trying to look and speak as though he were at his ease.

"Coming rather tardily, I think," said her ladyship, not altogether playfully.

"I told him you wanted him, as we were crossing to the house," said the earl. "Didn't I, Owen?"

"Is anything the matter with Clara?" said Lady Desmond, looking at her daughter.

"No, mamma," said Clara; and she instantly began to sob and cry.

"What is it, sir?" And as she asked she turned to Fitzgerald; and her manner now at least had in it nothing playful.

"Lady Clara is nervous and hysterical. The excitement of the ball has perhaps been too much for her.