‘I shall save her,’ thinks Gladys, ‘if I ruin my own happiness.’

When the dressing is completed, Freda stands before a cheval glass to see that all is right.  Gladys has never before seen her examine every portion of her attire so minutely, or look so satisfied with the survey.  In truth she never before saw her look so handsome, or so perfectly well dressed.  The full, light, many-skirted blue dress, with its bouquets of forget-me-nots and lilies, its fringes and ribbons, suits so well the fine complexion of the very distinguished-looking girl who wears it—­whilst the wreath slightly crowns the well-shaped head, and falls gracefully down the neck and back in becoming simplicity and elegance.

Poor Freda!  She has more colour than usual, more animation in her eyes, and more anxiety at her heart.  Were she to analyse her feelings, she would thoroughly despise herself for the envy, vanity, and distrust she would find in them, and think herself unworthy of the name of woman for allowing herself to study to gain the attentions of any man who might feel disposed to give them to another.  But her pride is for a time swamped in her weakness; and the hitherto haughty and unsuspectible Miss Gwynne is no better than the most sentimental of school girls.

Whilst Gladys is putting the last pin into the dress, and Freda is still watching her own shadow, there is a knock at the door.

‘Make haste, Gladys.  The carriage, I suppose.  Come in,’ says Freda.

’Mr Gwynne wishes to know, ma’am, whether you have seen Colonel Vaughan, or whether he intends dressing at Pentre?’ asks the servant who opens the door.

’I have not seen him since the morning, and do not know what he means to do,’ is the reply.  ’Did you see anything of him when you were out, Gladys?’ continues Miss Gwynne, after the servant has left the room.

As she makes the inquiry, she, for the first time catches the reflection of Gladys’ face in the glass, and is struck with its unusual pallor.  She turns quickly and looks at the girl.

’What is the matter, Gladys?  Something must have happened?  It must have something to do with Colonel Vaughan.  Did you see him?  Speak.’

‘Yes, ma’am, I saw him in the wood.’

’And is that the reason you are looking so frightened?  What has happened to him?  Speak, I say, or I must ring the bell and send some one in search of him.’

With her usual impetuosity, Freda’s hand was on the bell.  Gladys exclaimed quickly,—­

’Do not ring, Miss Gwynne.  I can tell you all I know.  Nothing has happened to injure Colonel Vaughan, bodily at least’

‘What do you mean, girl?’ said Miss Gwynne, turning round again and facing Gladys.

Gladys stood before her mistress with clasped hands, heaving breast, quivering lips, and downcast eyes.  She tried to summon courage and words, but neither would come.  How could she crush the love and hopes of one so dear to her? her benefactress, her all?  But it must be done.