Freda, rather peremptorily, for she
disliked that the Nugents should carry off the all-fascinating colonel.

He bowed and said 'yes,' and Rowland, who was near, saw Freda's cheek
flush as he looked at her.

It chanced that Rowland and Miss Gwynne were left together at a distance
from the revel. They stood awhile, looking on, and talking over the day.
Rowland said it had been most successful. Indeed he felt that all had
been pleased; none more than himself, for had not everyone congratulated
him, and above all, had not Miss Gwynne been even kinder and more
friendly, than when by his mother's bed side she had seemed to him as a
sister?

'If it has been successful, Mr Rowland, it is in a great measure due to
you,' said Miss Gwynne, looking up into his face with a smile of real
satisfaction. 'I should never have managed the children so well, and I
must say, much as I like your uncle, I don't think he would have managed
the services so well as you have done.'

Reader! were you ever praised by a very handsome woman, whom you have
loved all your life, when standing with her alone under a wide-spreading
oak, in a noble park, with mountains bathed in the red and yellow of the
sunset before you, and a broad harvest-moon rising above your heads? If
so, you will not wonder at the end of this chapter.

Rowland suddenly fixed his fine, dark eyes upon Freda's face, and looked
into it, as if he would read her soul. For a moment she was abashed at
the gaze, and coloured deeply, whilst her eye-lids drooped over the eyes
he sought. Was there ever a woman who was not flattered and excited by
such a look?

'Miss Gwynne,' at last said Rowland tremulously, 'if in any way I can
have served and pleased you I am happy. For this, in part, I have
laboured, and still would labour. You do not, you cannot know how I have
loved you all my life.'

Poor Rowland almost whispered these few words, and as he did so, wished
he could recall them, but now the deed was done, and she knew the secret
of his childhood, boyhood, and manhood. He said no more, but stood
looking down upon her with his heart beating as it had never beaten
before.

Higher and higher rose the colour on her cheek. What were the feelings
that deepened it so? Alas! poor Rowland! Pride, only pride. For a moment
she stood as if hesitating what to say, then, suddenly drawing herself
up to her full height, she looked haughtily at him, and said words that
he never forgot to his dying d