.

Poor Freda! She has more colour than usual, more animation in her eyes,
and more anxiety at her heart. Were she to analyse her feelings, she
would thoroughly despise herself for the envy, vanity, and distrust she
would find in them, and think herself unworthy of the name of woman for
allowing herself to study to gain the attentions of any man who might
feel disposed to give them to another. But her pride is for a time
swamped in her weakness; and the hitherto haughty and unsuspectible Miss
Gwynne is no better than the most sentimental of school girls.

Whilst Gladys is putting the last pin into the dress, and Freda is still
watching her own shadow, there is a knock at the door.

'Make haste, Gladys. The carriage, I suppose. Come in,' says Freda.

'Mr Gwynne wishes to know, ma'am, whether you have seen Colonel Vaughan,
or whether he intends dressing at Pentre?' asks the servant who opens
the door.

'I have not seen him since the morning, and do not know what he means to
do,' is the reply. 'Did you see anything of him when you were out,
Gladys?' continues Miss Gwynne, after the servant has left the room.

As she makes the inquiry, she, for the first time catches the reflection
of Gladys' face in the glass, and is struck with its unusual pallor. She
turns quickly and looks at the girl.

'What is the matter, Gladys? Something must have happened? It must have
something to do with Colonel Vaughan. Did you see him? Speak.'

'Yes, ma'am, I saw him in the wood.'

'And is that the reason you are looking so frightened? What has happened
to him? Speak, I say, or I must ring the bell and send some one in
search of him.'

With her usual impetuosity, Freda's hand was on the bell. Gladys
exclaimed quickly,--

'Do not ring, Miss Gwynne. I can tell you all I know. Nothing has
happened to injure Colonel Vaughan, bodily at least'

'What do you mean, girl?' said Miss Gwynne, turning round again and
facing Gladys.

Gladys stood before her mistress with clasped hands, heaving breast,
quivering lips, and downcast eyes. She tried to summon courage and
words, but neither would come. How could she crush the love and hopes of
one so dear to her? her benefactress, her all? But it must be done.

With one great effort she began, and in as few words as possible,
without comment or gloss, related what had passed between her and
Colonel Vaughan. She told all, as nearly as she could remember, in his
own words, merely omitting what he