“The truth, uncle! David Lindsay saved my life,” said the girl, with a glow of gratitude and pride. “A gallant deed, for which he shall be most liberally rewarded,” said Colonel de Crespigney, as he sank into the chair that Dame Lindsay had silently placed for him at the side of the bed. Gloria darted a glance full of scorn and indignation at this speech. It fell harmlessly on the colonel’s unobservant head, and he repeated: “A gallant deed, truly, of the young fisherman, and he shall be munificently paid! But, my dear girl, how could you have been so imprudent as to cross the main alone? Did you not know there was great danger?” “I did not care. I was weary of myself and everybody else! And now I am very glad I went, for David Lindsay saved my life,” said Gloria, luxuriating over the words and the thought. “I say it was a brave deed, for which he shall be munificently rewarded,” repeated the colonel; “but still, my darling, I think that it was a pity your life should be risked for the sake of having it saved, even by David Lindsay,” he added, with a little sarcasm. “I think not! The risk and pain are compensated by the memory left behind—a sweetness that will last me all my days,” replied the girl, as a strange tenderness of joy melted and irradiated her face. The colonel’s brow grew dark. He did not speak for a few moments; when he did it was to say: “My dear Gloria, we owe a deep debt of gratitude to this good woman and her son—or grandson, is he? But we must not trespass on their kind hospitality. I am sure you must be sufficiently recovered to rise and dress and return with me to the hall.” “Oh, no, sir, indeed she is not. She has been so shaken by her shock. Take an old ’oman’s word for it, sir, she had better bide here a day or two,” said Dame Lindsay, speaking earnestly for her guest. “Indeed, uncle, she is right. I need to stay here where I am,” added Gloria. “Will you have the kindness to withdraw for a few moments and leave me alone with my ward? I have something to say to her in private,” said Colonel de Crespigney, turning to the woman. Dame Lindsay bent her head and went up into the little loft, and improved her time there by making David’s bed. “Gloria, my dearest, I could not speak freely to you in the presence of your humble hostess——” began the colonel; but the willful girl impatiently interrupted him. “‘Humble hostess,’ uncle? Why should Dame Lindsay be called ‘humble,’ indeed? I call her my honored hostess, in my own thoughts.” “Well, well, my little girl, call her what you will. I shall not differ with you. But, my dear, I was about to say that it is not fitting or proper that you should remain here any longer.” “Why is it not fitting or proper, uncle?” “Because this is the house of a young laboring man, and while you are here you are his visitor.” “But I am his grandmother’s guest,” persisted Gloria.