"Sit down, my dear, and I will explain it all. But, dearest Clara, grieved as I must be to grieve you, I am bound to tell you again that it must be as I say. For both your sakes it must be so; but especially, perhaps, for his. But when I have told you my story, you will understand that this must be so." "Tell me, then, mother." She said this, for Lady Desmond had again paused. "Won't you sit down, dearest?" "Well, yes; it does not matter;" and Clara, at her mother's bidding, sat down, and then the story was told to her. It was a difficult tale for a mother to tell to so young a child--to a child whom she had regarded as being so very young. There were various little points of law which she thought that she was obliged to explain; how it was necessary that the Castle Richmond property should go to an heir-at-law, and how it was impossible that Herbert should be that heir-at-law, seeing that he had not been born in lawful wedlock. All these things Lady Desmond attempted to explain, or was about to attempt such explanation, but desisted on finding that her daughter understood them as well as she herself did. And then she had to make it also intelligible to Clara that Owen would be called on, when Sir Thomas should die, to fill the position and enjoy the wealth accruing to the heir of Castle Richmond. When Owen Fitzgerald's name was mentioned a slight blush came upon Clara's cheek; it was very slight, but nevertheless her mother saw it, and took advantage of it to say a word in Owen's favour. "Poor Owen!" she said. "He will not be the first to triumph in this change of fortune." "I am sure he will not," said Clara. "He is much too generous for that." And then the countess began to hope that the task might not be so very difficult. Ignorant woman! Had she been able to read one page in her daughter's heart, she would have known that the task was impossible. After that the story was told out to the end without further interruption; and then Clara, hiding her face within her hands on the head of the sofa, uttered one long piteous moan. "It is all very dreadful," said the countess. "Oh, Lady Fitzgerald, dear Lady Fitzgerald!" sobbed forth Clara. "Yes, indeed. Poor Lady Fitzgerald! Her fate is so dreadful that I know not how to think of it." "But, mamma--" and as she spoke Clara pushed back from her forehead her hair with both her hands, showing, as she did so, the form of her forehead, and the firmness of purpose that was written there, legible to any eyes that could read. "But, mamma, you are wrong about my not marrying Herbert Fitzgerald. Why should I not marry him? Not now, as we, perhaps, might have done but for this; but at some future time when he may think himself able to support a wife. Mamma, I shall not break our engagement; certainly not."