A little voice from behind is heard.

‘Mamma! mamma! think of your poor Minette!’

And in another minute Minette is on the sofa, in the midst of her mother, grandfather, and grandmother.

Blessed are the warm, gushing tears that fall on the child’s head—­tears of love and reconciliation.

Soon the worthy vicar and his wife, who have thus far been only spectators of the scene, draw near to bless and welcome their niece.

‘She will faint again,’ whispers Gladys to Owen.

‘She is happy now,’ replies Owen, looking into Gladys’ tearful eyes from his own, equally dimmed with tears.  It is the first time he has seen that face since he has known that Gladys loves him.

But Gladys is right—­happiness is too overpowering for Netta.  She faints in the midst of all those dear ones, so kind and loving.

Again Gladys is at her side to revive her, which she is able to do more quickly than before.  When she is better, Gladys raises her pillows, and places her in a more comfortable posture.  By degrees every one is conscious that Gladys is present.

‘Dear Gladys!’ says Netta, ‘I am better now; quite—­quite well, father!’

‘Drink this first,’ says Gladys, giving her some wine and water that Owen has brought.

She drinks the wine and water, and again calls her father

’I brought Gladys, father; I cannot do without her.  She has saved my life, I think, and mother’s, so Owen told me—­didn’t you, Owen?  May she stay with me, father?’

Netta presses her hand to her head, and looks at her father with those bewildered eyes, which are only too sadly irresistible.

‘Gladys!’ he replies.  ‘Oh, yes!  I haven’t seen her yet.’

Gladys is by his side, and he turns and shakes her hand warmly, and says,—­

’Thank you, Gladys, thank you, I have heard all; but we will talk of this another time.’

’Best now, father, whilst I remember.  She may stay?  You like to have her?’

‘Of course, of course, my dear.’

Mr Prothero glances rather uneasily at the very lady-like looking young woman, for whom he is thus humbly petitioned, and in doing so spies Owen close behind her.

His feelings are too much softened by Netta to allow him to feel angry; still he does not know what to make of if.  Mrs Prothero kisses Gladys, and Mr and Mrs Jonathan shake hands with her.

‘Nothing like the present time,’ thinks Owen; but Gladys declares decidedly that Netta ought to go to her room, and everybody yields to her calm, assured voice.

‘Then you will stay with us?’ asks gentle Mrs Prothero, looking the while at her husband.

‘To be sure she will,’ says Mr Prothero.

‘Thank you, sir; thank you, ma’am.  I shall be only too glad,’ replies Gladys, as humbly as if she were really the servant she professes to be.  ‘Miss Gwynne will allow me to stay, if you wish it.’