Miss Gwynne entered.

‘I have sent off the servant, and now let me go to the girl.’

This was said with the decision of an empress, and with equal grandeur and dignity was the bow made with which she honoured Rowland as she made her exit, followed meekly by Mrs Prothero.

A short time afterwards she was alone by the bedside of the sick girl.  Every comfort had been provided for her by Mrs Prothero, and Miss Gwynne had little to do but to administer medicines and nourishment.

‘Is there anything I can do for you, my poor girl?’ she said, leaning over her bed.  ‘Anything you have to say—­any letter I can write—­any—­’

‘If—­you—­would—­pray—­my lady,’ was the slow, almost inarticulate reply.

Pray!  This was what Miss Gwynne could not do.  ‘Why,’ she asked herself, ’can I not say aloud what I feel at my heart for this unhappy creature?  I never felt so before, and yet I know not how to pray.’

She went to the head of the stairs, and called Netta.

’Will you ask your brother whether he will come and read a prayer to the poor girl?’ she said.

A few seconds after there was a knock at the door.  She opened it and admitted Rowland.  He went to the bed, and began to whisper gently of the hope of salvation to those who believe.  Gladys opened her eyes, and caught the hand extended to her.

‘More—­more,’ she murmured.  ‘Lord, I believe, help thou mine unbelief.’

Rowland read the Office for the Sick, from the prayer book, and she responded inwardly, her lips moving.  Miss Gwynne came to the bed, and kneeling down, joined in the prayers.

Again Rowland spoke soothingly to the girl of the need of looking to Christ, the Saviour, alone in the hour of her extremity; and she murmured, ‘He is my rock and my fortress.’

‘Do you trust wholly in Him?’

‘In whom else should I trust?  All human friends are gone.’

‘Not all, you have friends around you.’

‘Have I?  Thank you, sir?  God bless you.’

‘I will come again and read to you when you are able to bear it.’

Rowland said this and withdrew, without speaking again to Miss Gwynne, or even bowing as he left the room.

‘He certainly reads most impressively,’ thought Miss Gwynne; ’I could scarcely believe he was not English born and bred; but still he is quite a Goth in manners, and I am sure he thinks no one in the country so clever as himself.’

Rowland met Netta at the foot of the stairs.

’Netta, I really am ashamed to think that you can allow Miss Gwynne to wait upon that girl in your own house.’

’I’m sure, Rowland, Miss Gwynne needn’t do it if she didn’t choose.  I don’t want to catch the fever, and I never will run the risk by nursing such a girl as that.’

’Surely, Netta, you cannot be our mother’s daughter, or you could not use such unchristian expressions.’