Colonel de Crespigney found himself alone with his ward for the first time (with the exception of the few minutes they had talked together in the little island cot, whose very walls had ears). He drew her hand within his arm, and supporting her carefully, walked slowly on through that boat-house built in the sea-wall, and then up through the fields and ornamented grounds that lay between it and the hall. “Gloria, my beloved, can you really estimate all I have suffered during your unexpected absence?” he inquired, as he pressed the hand that rested on his arm. “Yes, uncle, I think I can. I am very sorry. I was not worth so much anxiety, uncle, dear.” “Do not call me uncle! I cannot bear to hear you call me so!” he burst forth with such energy that the girl shrank from him, and shuddered through all her frame. “Gloria! Do you not understand me? Will you never understand me? Child, I can smother my feelings no longer! I have tried to keep silence, but I cannot! Twenty-four hours of agony have overcome my last power—self-control! Oh, my love, I love you! I love you!” he cried, stopping suddenly and facing her. “Uncle!—for Heaven’s sake, uncle!” she exclaimed, in deadly terror. “Do not call me by that name unless you would drive me mad! I am not the least kin to you! I thank the Lord I am not your uncle; for I must be—your husband! There, it is spoken! I love you, Gloria, with a love that has broken down every barrier of prudence, self-control, expediency, everything! I love you with a love that is my fate, and must be yours! For you must be my wife, Gloria!” he cried, clasping her hands in his and gazing on her with eyes that seemed to burn into her soul. One amazed and terrified look she cast upon him, and then, with a half-suppressed cry, she broke away and fled! CHAPTER XV THE LAST RESORT Me miserable! Which way shall I fly? MILTON. Gloria fled towards the house, sped through the open door, rushed up the stairs, nor ever paused until she had reached her own chamber and locked herself within it. There she sank down into her arm-chair to recover breath. Her heart was beating fast, her head reeling. She seemed to herself on the point of swooning or dying, and she neither feared nor cared if this were her last hour on earth. She only feared to hear again the revolting words that had just been breathed in her shuddering ears. She only cared to escape their repetition. This, then, was the meaning of those fixed looks that had so thrilled her nerves and curdled her blood—Marcel de Crespigney wanted to marry her! Marcel, whom she always so loyally loved as her dear aunt’s husband and widower, and as her own uncle by marriage, now wished to make her his wife! She shuddered, and covered her eyes with her hands, as if to shut out the vision of such a marriage.