'Do you love that rough sailor?' No answer. 'I must know all, Gladys. I must and will.' 'Colonel Vaughan, I shall only answer such questions as you, as a gentleman, may _think_ you have a right to ask a friendless girl, whom you forcibly detain. You _know_ you have no right to ask this.' Colonel Vaughan looked at the usually shy girl, and saw a spirit and resolution in her bearing that he had not believed were in her. 'I beg your pardon, Gladys, I was wrong. Can you endure the state of dependence you are now in?' 'I consider myself independent I work for my bread, and am paid for it.' 'But you might be independent without working.' 'Impossible, unless beggary is independence.' 'Quite possible; I am sure you must feel your dependence on such an imperious mistress as you now have.' 'My present mistress, sir, Miss Gwynne, is far too noble to let any one feel dependent, even those who are, like myself, wholly her servants.' 'You like Miss Gwynne?' 'I respect and love her. Perhaps you will now let me go to her.' 'Not yet. This independence. I could make you independent.' 'You! How? Impossible!' 'I love you, Gladys.' 'Me! This to me! Is it to insult me that you have detained me? Let me go, sir--I insist--and my mistress! You, Colonel Vaughan, who have been paying her such attentions as no man has a right to pay a lady unless he loves her, to dare to say this to me, and I a servant in her house. You, sharing her father's hospitality, to deceive her, and insult me. What have I done to encourage you to speak thus to me?' Gladys stood still amidst the lights and shadows of the sun-crowned trees, and looked the colonel steadily in the face. That look, voice, manner, completed the conquest that had been maturing for weeks and months. The flushed cheek, the sparkling eyes, the tall, slight, erect figure, the voice, deportment--all were those of a lady in mind as well as person. 'Gladys, hear me calmly. I do not wish to insult you; I have never meant anything by my attentions to Miss Gwynne.' 'Then you are a--' Gladys checked herself. 'A villain, you would say. Not at all. I merely pay Miss Gwynne the civilities due to her. I am not obliged to fall in love with every young lady in whose father's house I am visiting. But I admired you the first moment I saw you; and now, at this moment, I vow that I love you as I never loved in my life before.' They stood face to face, looking at each other. Gladys' eyes drooped before the gaze of the colonel. 'This to me!' she exclaimed, 'and yet you say you do not insult me! Let me go, sir, I insist!' She tried to hasten on, but the strong hand was again on her arm. 'I do not insult you, Gladys, I honour and respect you. If you will only say you love me, I will--yes, I will--I think, at least--I will marry you privately, and take you abroad at once. I vow this is more than I ever said to any woman in my life before.'