Chapter 28

so that he might despatch it when he awoke, he was soon asleep. After all, that walk, terrible as it had been, was in the end serviceable to him.

He slept without waking till the light of the February morning was beginning to dawn into his room, and then he was roused by a servant knocking at the door. It was grievous enough, that awaking to his sorrow after the pleasant dreams of the night.

"Here is a letter, Mr. Herbert, from Desmond Court," said Richard. "The boy as brought it says as how--"

"A letter from Desmond Court," said Herbert, putting out his hand greedily.

"Yes, Mr. Herbert. The boy's been here this hour and better. I warn't just up and about myself, or I wouldn't have let 'em keep it from you, not half a minute."

"And where is he? I have a letter to send to Desmond Court. But never mind. Perhaps--"

"It's no good minding, for the gossoon's gone back any ways." And then Richard, having drawn the blind, and placed a little table by the bed-head, left his young master to read the despatch from Desmond Court. Herbert, till he saw the writing, feared that it was from the countess; but the letter was from Clara. She also had thought good to write before she betook herself to bed, and she had been earlier in despatching her messenger. Here is her letter:

Dear Herbert, my own Herbert,

I have heard it all. But remember this; nothing, nothing, _nothing_ can make any change between you and me. I will hear of no arguments that are to separate us. I know beforehand what you will say, but I will not regard it--not in the least. I love you ten times the more for all your unhappiness; and as I would have shared your good fortune, I claim my right to share your bad fortune. _Pray believe me_, that nothing shall turn me from this; for I will _not be given up_.

Give my kindest love to your dear, dear, dearest mother--my mother, as she is and must be; and to my darling girls. I do so wish I could be with them, and with you, my own Herbert. I cannot help writing in confusion, but I will explain all when I see you. I have been so unhappy.

Your own faithful

CLARA.

Having read this, Herbert Fitzgerald, in spite of his affliction, was comforted.