ced as she had been, would have given her
girl to Owen Fitzgerald? So she had banished from the house the only
voice that sounded sweetly in her ears, and again she had been alone.

And then, perhaps, thoughts had come to her, when Herbert Fitzgerald
was frequent about the place, a rich and thriving wooer, that Owen
might come again to Desmond Court, when Clara had gone to Castle
Richmond. Years were stealing over her. Ah, yes. She knew that full
well. All her youth and the pride of her days she had given up for
that countess-ship which she now wore so gloomily--given up for
pieces of gold which had turned to stone and slate and dirt within
her grasp. Years, alas, were fast stealing over her! But nevertheless
she had something to give. Her woman's beauty was not all faded; and
she had a heart which was as yet virgin--which had hitherto loved
no other man. Might not that suffice to cover a few years, seeing
that in return she wanted nothing but love? And so she had thought,
lingering over her hopes, while Herbert was there at his wooing.

It may be imagined with what feelings at her heart she had seen and
listened to the frantic attempt made by Owen to get back his childish
love. But that too she had borne, bravely, if not well. It had not
angered her that her child was loved by the only man she had ever
loved herself. She had stroked her daughter's hair that day, and
kissed her cheek, and bade her be happy with her better, richer
lover. And had she not been right in this? Nor had she been angry
even with Owen. She could forgive him all, because she loved him. But
might there not even yet be a chance for her when Clara should in
very truth have gone to Castle Richmond?

But now! How was she to think about all this now? And thinking of
these things, how was it possible that she should have heart left to
feel for the miseries of Lady Fitzgerald? With all her miseries would
not Lady Fitzgerald still be more fortunate than she? Let come what
might, Lady Fitzgerald had had a life of prosperity and love. No; she
could not think of Lady Fitzgerald, nor of Herbert: she could only
think of Owen Fitzgerald, of her daughter, and of herself.

He, Owen, was now the heir to Castle Richmond, and would, as far
as she could learn, soon become the actual possessor. He, who had
been cast forth from Desmond Court as too poor and contemptible in
the world's eye to be her daughter's suitor, would become the rich
inheritor of all those bro