ared next, and the colonel soon afterwards. She exerted herself to
talk and laugh as usual, and the only difference in her manner to
Colonel Vaughan was, that instead of shaking hands with him, as was her
custom every morning, she busied herself with the cups and saucers when
he approached, and simply said good morning. Her father remarked that
she was looking ill, and she said she had one of her old headaches.

When breakfast was over, she expressed her intention of visiting the
school, and said that, as Colonel Vaughan was going to Sir Hugh's, she
probably should not see him again before he left. She wished him good
morning and a pleasant visit, stiffly, but courteously; felt compelled
to shake hands with him, and went her way with a proud but aching heart.
He also went his, wondering in his very selfish heart whether Freda
really cared for him after all, and scheming to see Gladys, whose utter
carelessness of him had roused his vanity.

When he had left Glanyravon, with a promise to Mr Gwynne of returning,
Freda no longer strove to appear what she was not, and went to bed
really ill. She was subject to occasional severe nervous headaches, and
was obliged to be very quiet when so attacked, in order to prevent
congestion of the brain, which the doctors had once threatened her with.
Her father, therefore, insisted on her keeping her room until she was
quite well, which she was only too thankful to do, and so great were her
actual sufferings from her head, that they distracted her mind from
brooding over her real or imaginary miseries.

Gladys waited on her quietly and patiently for about a week, at the end
of which time she began to feel better. Her gratitude to Gladys for the
perfectly unobtrusive nature of her attention was so great that she felt
as if she could never do enough for her, and she frequently assured her
that she knew she had been unjust towards her in accusing her of
falsehood. She never, however, again mentioned Colonel Vaughan's name to
her.

Mr Gwynne paid daily visits to his daughter's sick-room. In spite of her
head, she could not help noticing something peculiar in his manner. He
did not talk, because conversation was forbidden during these attacks,
but there was an increased briskness in his eyes and step as he
approached her, and, she fancied, more of anxious care in his tone when
he spoke. She was sure he had something to communicate.

'Gladys, what makes you so calm and patient?' she sudden