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?"