"Emmeline," said he, "I have got a letter this morning."

"Not from Clara?"

"Yes, from Clara. There; you may read it;" and he handed her the
precious epistle.

"But she could not have got your letter?" said Emmeline, before she
looked at the one in her hand.

"Certainly not, for I have it here. I must write another now; but in
truth I do not know what to say. I can be as generous as she is."

And then his sister read the letter. "My own Clara!" she exclaimed,
as she saw what was the tenor of it. "Did I not tell you so, Herbert?
I knew well what she would do and say. Love you ten times better!--of
course she does. What honest girl would not? My own beautiful Clara,
I knew I could depend on her. I did not doubt her for one moment."
But in this particular it must be acknowledged that Miss Emmeline
Fitzgerald hardly confined herself to the strictest veracity, for she
had lain awake half the night perplexed with doubt. What, oh what,
if Clara should be untrue! Such had been the burden of her doubting
midnight thoughts. "'I will not be given up,'" she continued, quoting
the letter. "No; of course not. And I tell you what, Herbert, you
must not dare to talk of giving her up. Money and titles may be
tossed to and fro, but not hearts. How beautifully she speaks of dear
mamma!" and now the tears began to run down the young lady's cheeks.
"Oh, I do wish she could be with us! My darling, darling, darling
Clara! Unhappy? Yes: I am sure Lady Desmond will give her no peace.
But never mind. She will be true through it all; and I said so from
the first." And then she fell to crying, and embracing her brother,
and declaring that nothing now should make her altogether unhappy.

"But, Emmeline, you must not think that I shall take her at her word.
It is very generous of her--"

"Nonsense, Herbert!" And then there was another torrent of eloquence,
in answering which Herbert found that his arguments were of very
little efficacy.

And now we must go back to Desmond Court, and see under what all but
overwhelming difficulties poor Clara wrote her affectionate letter.
And in the first place it should be pointed out how very wrong
Herbert had been in going to Desmond Court on foot, through the mud
and rain. A man can hardly bear himself nobly unless his outer aspect
be in some degree noble. It may be very sad, this having to admit
that the tailor does in great part make the man; but such I fear is
undoubtedly the fact. Could the Chan