about him which had come to him, no doubt, from the royal Finns of old, which ever served him in great stead.  He was, indeed, only Phineas Finn, and was known by the world to be no more; but he looked as though he might have been anybody,—­a royal Finn himself.  And then he had that special grace of appearing to be altogether unconscious of his own personal advantages.  And I think that in truth he was barely conscious of them; that he depended on them very little, if at all; that there was nothing of personal vanity in his composition.  He had never indulged in any hope that Lady Laura would accept him because he was a handsome man.

“After all that climbing,” he said, “will you not sit down for a moment?” As he spoke to her she looked at him and told herself that he was as handsome as a god.  “Do sit down for one moment,” he said.  “I have something that I desire to say to you, and to say it here.”

“I will,” she said; “but I also have something to tell you, and will say it while I am yet standing.  Yesterday I accepted an offer of marriage from Mr. Kennedy.”

“Then I am too late,” said Phineas, and putting his hands into the pockets of his coat, he turned his back upon her, and walked away across the mountain.

What a fool he had been to let her know his secret when her knowledge of it could be of no service to him,—­when her knowledge of it could only make him appear foolish in her eyes!  But for his life he could not have kept his secret to himself.  Nor now could he bring himself to utter a word of even decent civility.  But he went on walking as though he could thus leave her there, and never see her again.  What an ass he had been in supposing that she cared for him!  What a fool to imagine that his poverty could stand a chance against the wealth of Loughlinter!  But why had she lured him on?  How he wished that he were now grinding, hard at work in Mr. Low’s chambers, or sitting at home at Killaloe with the hand of that pretty little Irish girl within his own!

Presently he heard a voice behind him,—­calling him gently.  Then he turned and found that she was very near him.  He himself had then been standing still for some moments, and she had followed him.  “Mr. Finn,” she said.

“Well;—­yes:  what is it?” And turning round he made an attempt to smile.

“Will you not wish me joy, or say a word of congratulation?  Had I not thought much of your friendship, I should not have been so quick to tell you of my destiny.  No one else has been told, except papa.”

“Of course I hope you will be happy.  Of course I do.  No wonder he lent me the pony!”

“You must forget all that.”

“Forget what?”

“Well,—­nothing.  You need forget nothing,” said Lady Laura, “for nothing has been said that need be regretted.  Only wish me joy, and all will be pleasant.”

“Lady Laura, I do wish you joy, with all my heart,—­but that will not make all things pleasant.  I came up here to ask you to be my wife.”