‘Then you are a—­’

Gladys checked herself.

’A villain, you would say.  Not at all.  I merely pay Miss Gwynne the civilities due to her.  I am not obliged to fall in love with every young lady in whose father’s house I am visiting.  But I admired you the first moment I saw you; and now, at this moment, I vow that I love you as I never loved in my life before.’

They stood face to face, looking at each other.  Gladys’ eyes drooped before the gaze of the colonel.

‘This to me!’ she exclaimed, ’and yet you say you do not insult me!  Let me go, sir, I insist!’

She tried to hasten on, but the strong hand was again on her arm.

’I do not insult you, Gladys, I honour and respect you.  If you will only say you love me, I will—­yes, I will—­I think, at least—­I will marry you privately, and take you abroad at once.  I vow this is more than I ever said to any woman in my life before.’

’And you will repent having said it to me before the night is out, Colonel Vaughan, and you do not mean it.  Think of who I am; think of Miss Gwynne; think of yourself.  Oh! this is cruel, cruel jesting to all!’

‘I was never more serious in my life.’

As Colonel Vaughan said this, he saw nothing, thought of nothing, but the peculiar beauty of the creature who stood, flushed and agitated, at his side.  He forgot himself and his purposes, in his temporary blind admiration.

‘Now, Gladys, I await your answer,’ he said, not doubting what that answer would be.

’I have no answer to give, sir, because I know that, even if you now think yourself in earnest, you will be no longer so to-night.’

’Before we leave this wood, girl, I will and must have an answer, and beware how you irritate me.’

He seized her hand as he spoke, and held it tight.

’You will release me before I answer you, sir; I have gone through too many dangers and temptations to be frightened into speech.’

He released her hand, but kept his eyes fixed on her face.  She did not quail, though she felt her heart beat violently.

’If you are serious, sir, I ought, I suppose, to be grateful for so strange an honour; but I do not believe you are so, and my answer is, that a servant such as I, can have nothing to say to a gentleman such as you.’

’A servant!  You will be no longer a servant.  You are not one at this moment.’

Again he seized her hand.  She was frightened, but did not loose her self-command.

’Sir, you had now better let me return home.  Miss Gwynne will wonder what has become of me.  It is time that she should be ready—­that you, sir, should be ready.  What will she think and say?’

’I care not; nothing shall turn me from my purpose.  You shall not leave this wood until you promise.’

’Then I shall never leave it, sir; and if you persist in detaining me, I will make known to every one, how a gentleman can demean himself to a poor, unprotected girl, who has no friend near her but her God.  To Him I appeal for help in this hour, when you, sir, a gentleman and a Christian, so far forget yourself as to insult and persecute me.’