Gladys stood before her mistress with clasped hands, heaving breast,
quivering lips, and downcast eyes. She tried to summon courage and
words, but neither would come. How could she crush the love and hopes of
one so dear to her? her benefactress, her all? But it must be done.
With one great effort she began, and in as few words as possible,
without comment or gloss, related what had passed between her and
Colonel Vaughan. She told all, as nearly as she could remember, in his
own words, merely omitting what he said about Miss Gwynne.
As she spoke, she felt like a culprit before a judge, who, though
conscious of his innocence, has not courage to meet the glance of him on
whom his fate depends. But not on her own account had she that throbbing
fear at her heart; she felt for her mistress alone.
That mistress stood erect, towering above the drooping girl, like a
queen above a slave or suppliant. Red and pale by turns, with compressed
lips and flashing eyes, she listened to the tale.
When it was finished, she, too, strove for words, but none came; so she
laughed a short, sarcastic laugh, and moved back a few paces. At last,--
'Why do you tell me this ridiculous tale? Have you no better confidante
for such absurd imaginations? You have dreamt it, Gladys.
Pages:
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468