te sure you love me, Gladys? It is not _gratitude_, but
love!' said Owen, looking into the pure, lustrous 'violets dropping
dew,' that he had studied so long and so lovingly.

The answering glance and the quick blush were quite satisfactory.

'Then, will you come with me to father and Netta. We owe it all to
her--poor dear Netta!'

'Please to wipe my frock first,' said Minette to her grandmother; 'and
tell me if uncle is going to marry Gladys. I am so glad.'

The frock was wiped, and Owen took the child up in his arms, and told
her to love her new aunt better than ever.

'I can't love her better, uncle,' was the simple assurance of the little
girl.

'Nor can I, even as my daughter,' said Mrs Prothero, pressing the hand
she held with a mother's love.

They all went to the parlour, where Mr Prothero and Netta were sitting,
quite silent, by the fire-light.

Owen led Gladys to his father, who did not well know what to do on the
occasion, not being quite satisfied with the respectability of the
parentage of his future daughter-in-law.

Gladys summoned all her courage, and standing before Mr Prothero, said
firmly,--

'You will be glad, sir, to know that I have found my friends, and that
they acknowledge me as their relation. I could never have consented to
bring disgrace upon you and yours. I do not think I could have accepted
your present great kindness even, had I not been able to make my truth
as clear as the noon-day. Mr Jones, with whom Miss Gwynne and I have
been living so long, is my uncle--my mother's own brother.'

The general exclamations of surprise may be imagined.

'The girl's dreaming, like Netta,' from Mr Prothero.

'Why didn't you tell me before?' from Owen.

'I knew she was true,' from Mrs Prothero.

'How can this be, Gladys?' from Netta.

Gladys told her story simply. Every one was too much engrossed with it,
to think of the pretty picture that wondering family group made; but as
we know it already, we will look at the picture whilst she is telling
her tale.

The large, old-fashioned sofa is placed at one side of the fire-place,
its head against the wall, its foot towards the window, so as to give
Netta warmth and the view of the distant hills at the same time. Between
the head of the sofa and the fire-place is an arm-chair, also against
the wall, Mr Prothero's favourite seat; and Minette's footstool is by
the side of her mother, and at the feet of her grandfather.

Netta's pale face i