In the mean time Clara held out her hand, tendering the letter to her mother.
"You had better open it, my dear, and read it.

No doubt it must be answered." Lady Desmond felt that now there could be no danger from Owen Fitzgerald.

Indeed she thought that there was not a remembrance of him left in her daughter's bosom; that the old love, such baby-love as there had been, had vanished, quite swept out of that little heart by this new love of a brighter sort.

But then Lady Desmond knew nothing of her daughter.
So instructed, Clara broke the seal, and read the letter, which ran thus:-- Hap House, February, 184--.
My promised Love, For let what will happen, such you are; I have this morning heard tidings which, if true, will go far to drive me to despair.

But I will not believe them from any lips save your own.