“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.
A TALE OF A TURBOT
It would have been Owen Fitzgerald’s desire
to disclaim the inheritance which chance had put in
his way in absolute silence, had such a course been
possible to him. And, indeed, not being very well
conversant with matters of business, he had thought
for a while that this might be done—or
at any rate something not far different from this.
To those who had hitherto spoken to him upon the subject,
to Mr. Prendergast, Mr. Somers, and his cousin, he
had disclaimed the inheritance, and that he had thought
would have sufficed. That Sir Thomas should die
so quickly after the discovery had not of course been
expected by anybody; and much, therefore, had not been
thought at the moment of these disclaimers;—neither
at the moment, nor indeed afterwards, when Sir Thomas
did die.
