said about Miss Gwynne.

As she spoke, she felt like a culprit before a judge, who, though
conscious of his innocence, has not courage to meet the glance of him on
whom his fate depends. But not on her own account had she that throbbing
fear at her heart; she felt for her mistress alone.

That mistress stood erect, towering above the drooping girl, like a
queen above a slave or suppliant. Red and pale by turns, with compressed
lips and flashing eyes, she listened to the tale.

When it was finished, she, too, strove for words, but none came; so she
laughed a short, sarcastic laugh, and moved back a few paces. At last,--

'Why do you tell me this ridiculous tale? Have you no better confidante
for such absurd imaginations? You have dreamt it, Gladys. I do not
believe you. Go!'

Gladys gave one penetrating, truthful look at her mistress, before which
the defiant glance fell: but the rigid features alarmed her, and she
would fain have remained, had not another. 'Go! I do not want you any
longer!' sent her at once from the room.

When Gladys was gone, Miss Gwynne sat down upon the nearest chair, and
covered her face with her hands.

Another knock at the door.

'Come in! What do you want?' she exclaimed in a suppressed voice.

'My master says the carriage is ready, and he thinks you had better go,
ma'am. Colonel Vaughan has just come in. The heat has made his nose
bleed so violently that he cannot be ready for dinner, but will be at
Pentre for the ball, ma'am, my master says.'

'Very well; I shall be ready in a few moments.'

Freda rose from her chair, and went to her dressing-table. There was a
bottle of eau-de-cologne on it. She poured out nearly half a
wine-glassful, added water, and drank the dose. Then she dashed a
quantity over her forehead; wetted her handkerchief with more, and
having nearly exhausted the bottle, prepared to leave the room. Suddenly
she stopped, exclaiming,--

'I cannot go! I feel as if I must faint; yet I must see the farce played
out.'

A bitter smile, almost ghastly, passed over her face, as she muttered
these words. She took up a splendid bouquet of greenhouse flowers that
had been prepared for her, and were placed on the table, almost
mechanically, and looking like one in a dream, left the room.

'It is half-past six, Freda,' said Mr Gwynne in the loudest tone of
which his voice was capable, as he descended the stairs.

The servants remarked to one another how very ill Miss Gwynn