Miss Gwynne had little sleep that night, and the next morning she felt very ill.  Much as she longed to lie in bed, however, and to avoid meeting Colonel Vaughan again, she got up when Gladys called her, and was, as usual, first downstairs.  Much to her satisfaction, her father appeared 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 suddenly asked, when she was getting better, and trying to reason herself out of her fancy for Colonel Vaughan.

’Perhaps, ma’am, trouble has made me calm, and I pray to be made patient; but I have a rebellious heart,’ was the reply.