’Never mind, Mally, but attend to me.  Will you not be so cold and stiff, and respectful to me?  I hate a girl who “sir’s” me as if I were a lord, and makes me curtseys, and never looks at me, and seems as if she hated me—­’

‘Oh, no, indeed no, sir—­’

’And lives all day long in the same house, and scarcely speaks to me. 
You will drive me off to sea again, ma’am, if you don’t take care. 
Look into my face, and say why you hate me so!’

‘I hate no one in the world, sir; much less any one of your name.’

Here the girl looked up from the poor cow who was licking her hand, and round whose neck her arm was flung, into the face of the young man.  Owen put his hand on the arm that rested on the cow, and said earnestly,—­

‘Then treat me as your brother.’

’I have lost my brothers and sisters, and father and mother, and kith and kin.  I have seen them all die—­all that ever loved me.  Oh!  Mr Owen! you are too kind—­too kind; but do not talk to me so, or it will break my heart.’

Here was even more of Irish feeling than Owen either expected or desired.  But he took Gladys’s hand in his, and, looking kindly from his large honest dark eyes into hers, said,—­

’Forgive me, Gladys, for making you think of your sorrows.  But you know my dear sister Netta is as good as lost to me, and I want some one who will be like her, or at least, who will not be quite as cold as clay.’

’Gladys withdrew her eyes and her hand.  There was even more than brotherly warmth in that kind glance and winning manner.

‘Thank you, sir, I will try; indeed I will,’ said Gladys, as she took up the bucket, and turned to leave the shed.

’Thank you, ma’am, you are very obliging, but you are not going to carry my bucket.’

‘Oh,’ sir! if you please do not speak so to a poor servant girl like me.  I would rather not hear it.’

’You will not see, or hear, or believe what I do, and say and think all day long; so now, here, where nobody else can listen, you must hear me.  You must learn to be happy with us, you must love us, you must—­’

‘Oh!  I do, sir, I do.  Let me go, sir, if you please.’

’Not until you hear that you must love me, even me whom you cannot bear.’

’Oh!  I do, sir—­I do.  I thank you, I pray for you, I love you all, always; indeed, indeed, I do.’

’But better than all the others, as I love you, so as to be my wife when—­when—­’

’Let me go, Mr Owen, if you please.  You must not talk to me so, sir; me, just now a beggar at your gate.’

’But I must, I will, and you must listen.  In spite of myself, and of your cold manners and pale face, and all the trouble you take to avoid me, I love you, Gladys, and will marry you if you will have me.  I will give up the sea, and become a steady fellow, and live at home, and make you and my parents happy, and—­’