‘All right, Gladys! all right!  Father has consented!’ cried Owen, literally tumbling down the passage between the milk-pans.

Down went a splendid tin of milk right over Minette.  Owen didn’t mind.  His arm was round Gladys’ waist, and the candle stowed away somewhere, before any one knew what he was about.  Mother and niece saw the long, fervent embrace to which Gladys yielded; but Owen didn’t mind that.  If all the servants, domestic and otherwise, had been there, he wouldn’t have cared.

‘Oh, Mr Owen!’ said Gladys.

‘Oh, Mrs. Owen,’ said he.

‘Mother, she is mine and yours now for ever!’ he continued, releasing Gladys somewhat from his firm clasp.  ’Father has given her to me.  I needn’t ask you.  We will live all together.  I will herd the cows, and she shall milk them.’

‘Come into the kitchen, Owen,’ said Mrs Prothero, utterly astonished.

‘Uncle, you have wet me all over,’ sighed Minette.

‘Never mind.  Come by the fire and dry yourself.’

They all went into the kitchen, which was empty.  There, by the blazing wood fire, Owen kissed Gladys and his mother and Minette, and Mrs Prothero kissed Gladys; and the women cried and Owen laughed.  It was a long time before he could explain the real state of the case.

’You are quite sure you love me, Gladys?  It is not gratitude, but love!’ said Owen, looking into the pure, lustrous ’violets dropping dew,’ that he had studied so long and so lovingly.

The answering glance and the quick blush were quite satisfactory.

’Then, will you come with me to father and Netta.  We owe it all to her—­poor dear Netta!’

‘Please to wipe my frock first,’ said Minette to her grandmother; ’and tell me if uncle is going to marry Gladys.  I am so glad.’

The frock was wiped, and Owen took the child up in his arms, and told her to love her new aunt better than ever.

‘I can’t love her better, uncle,’ was the simple assurance of the little girl.

‘Nor can I, even as my daughter,’ said Mrs Prothero, pressing the hand she held with a mother’s love.

They all went to the parlour, where Mr Prothero and Netta were sitting, quite silent, by the fire-light.

Owen led Gladys to his father, who did not well know what to do on the occasion, not being quite satisfied with the respectability of the parentage of his future daughter-in-law.

Gladys summoned all her courage, and standing before Mr Prothero, said firmly,—­

’You will be glad, sir, to know that I have found my friends, and that they acknowledge me as their relation.  I could never have consented to bring disgrace upon you and yours.  I do not think I could have accepted your present great kindness even, had I not been able to make my truth as clear as the noon-day.  Mr Jones, with whom Miss Gwynne and I have been living so long, is my uncle—­my mother’s own brother.’