"And look, Desmond," continued Fitzgerald; "do not think that I shall blame you because you turn from me, or call you mercenary. Do you do what you think right. What you said just now of your sister's--, well, of the possibility of our marriage, you said under the idea that I was a rich man. You now find that I am a poor man; and you may consider that the words were never spoken." "Owen!" said the boy again; and now that which was before rising in his breast had risen to his brow and cheeks, and was telling its tale plainly in his eyes. And then he rose from his chair, turning away his face, and walking towards the window; but before he had gone two steps he turned again, and throwing himself on Fitzgerald's breast, he burst out into a passion of tears. "Come, old fellow, what is this? This will never do," said Owen. But his own eyes were full of tears also, and he too was nearly past speaking. "I know you will think--I am a boy and a--fool," said the earl, through his sobs, as soon as he could speak; "but I can't--help it." "I think you are the dearest, finest, best fellow that ever lived," said Fitzgerald, pressing him with his arm. "And I'll tell you what, Owen, you should have her to-morrow if it were in my power, for, by heaven! there is not another man so worthy of a girl in all the world; and I'll tell her so; and I don't care what the countess says. And, Owen, come what come may, you shall always have my word;" and then he stood apart, and rubbing his eyes with his arm tried to look like a man who was giving this pledge from his judgment, not from his impulse. "It all depends on this, Desmond; whom does she love? See her alone, Desmond, and talk softly to her, and find out that." This he said thoughtfully, for in his mind "love should still be lord of all." "By heavens! if I were her, I know whom I should love," said the brother. "I would not have her as a gift if she did not love me," said Owen, proudly; "but if she do, I have a right to claim her as my own." And then they parted, and the earl rode back home with a quieter pace than that which had brought him there, and in a different mood. He had pledged himself now to Owen,--not to Owen of Castle Richmond, but to Owen of Hap House--and he intended to redeem his pledge if it were possible. He had been so conquered by the nobleness of his friend, that he had forgotten his solicitude for his family and his sister. CHAPTER XXXVII. A TALE OF A TURBOT.