Rank! If she waited for rank, where was she to look for friends who would love her?
Earls and countesses, barons and their baronesses, were scarce there where fate had placed her, under the shadow of the bleak mountains of Muskerry.

Her want, her undefined want, was that some one should love her.

Of all men and women whom she had hitherto known, this Owen Fitzgerald was the brightest, the kindest, the gentlest in his manner, the most pleasant to look on.

And now he was there at her feet, swearing that he loved her;--and then drawing back as it were in dread of her rank.

What did she care for rank?
"Clara, Clara, my Clara! Can you learn to love me ?" She had made her one little effort at speaking when she attempted to repudiate the pedestal on which he affected to place her; but after that she could for a while say no more.