'If it has been successful, Mr Rowland, it is in a great measure due to you,' said Miss Gwynne, looking up into his face with a smile of real satisfaction. 'I should never have managed the children so well, and I must say, much as I like your uncle, I don't think he would have managed the services so well as you have done.' Reader! were you ever praised by a very handsome woman, whom you have loved all your life, when standing with her alone under a wide-spreading oak, in a noble park, with mountains bathed in the red and yellow of the sunset before you, and a broad harvest-moon rising above your heads? If so, you will not wonder at the end of this chapter. Rowland suddenly fixed his fine, dark eyes upon Freda's face, and looked into it, as if he would read her soul. For a moment she was abashed at the gaze, and coloured deeply, whilst her eye-lids drooped over the eyes he sought. Was there ever a woman who was not flattered and excited by such a look? 'Miss Gwynne,' at last said Rowland tremulously, 'if in any way I can have served and pleased you I am happy. For this, in part, I have laboured, and still would labour. You do not, you cannot know how I have loved you all my life.' Poor Rowland almost whispered these few words, and as he did so, wished he could recall them, but now the deed was done, and she knew the secret of his childhood, boyhood, and manhood. He said no more, but stood looking down upon her with his heart beating as it had never beaten before. Higher and higher rose the colour on her cheek. What were the feelings that deepened it so? Alas! poor Rowland! Pride, only pride. For a moment she stood as if hesitating what to say, then, suddenly drawing herself up to her full height, she looked haughtily at him, and said words that he never forgot to his dying day. 'Mr Rowland Prothero, have you quite forgotten who I am, and who you are?' With these words she made a stately bow, and turned towards the house. Proudly and hastily she walked up the avenue; once she had turned round, and seeing Rowland standing exactly where she had left him, hurried on until she found herself in her own room, indulging in a very decided flood of indignant tears. CHAPTER XXI. THE BROTHERS. During this short conversation between Rowland and Miss Gwynne, Gladys was still playing with the children at no great distance from them. With all a woman's penetration, she had guessed Rowland's secret during his mother's illness, and had perceived no symptoms of attachment on the part of Miss Gwynne; and now, with all a woman's pity, she was watching him from afar. She had seen them standing together, had marked the hasty bow and retreat of the lady, and the immoveable attitude of the gentleman; she saw that he continued to stand where Miss Gwynne had left him, as if he were a statue; she guessed something must have passed between them.