as a great relief to
Netta. She looked up briskly at the latter, as if sure of sympathy, and
if eyes full of tears could give it, she certainly was satisfied.

Mr Rowland Prothero perceived the tears, and retired to his sofa, taking
up his book and pretending to read.

'Can I help you, Mrs Prothero? There does not seem a moment to lose. I
will send for a doctor, or do anything I can,' said Miss Gwynne.

'Thank you, dear Miss Gwynne,' replied Mrs Prothero, 'I will put her in
Owen's room.'

'Who can we get to bring her in? Shall I go and fetch one of the men?
Netta, do get some one to help us.'

'I will help you, if you will allow me,' said Mr Rowland, rising from
his sofa, and looking at Miss Gwynne with a glance of warm approval.

'Pray do; now; at once. I will go with you whilst your mother prepares
the room. You could carry her quite well, for she is as thin as a ghost;
I never saw such a wretched girl.'

Miss Gwynne hurried to the barn, followed by Rowland. They found Gladys
with a farm-servant by her side, apparently either dead or asleep.

Rowland Prothero knelt down, and took her up gently in his arms, Miss
Gwynne assisting. The poor girl unclosed her eyes, and looked wistfully
at the face that was bending over her.

'You are with friends, and in God's hands,'said Rowland gently, as the
eyes languidly reclosed.

He carried her upstairs to his brother's room, and having placed her on
the bed, left her to the care of his mother and Miss Gwynne.

Whilst they were employed in getting her into bed, a house-servant came
to say that Miss Gwynne was wanted. She found a footman awaiting her,
who told her that his master had sent him in search of her, and was in a
state of great anxiety about her. She ran up to Mrs Prothero for a few
minutes.

'Really papa is too absurd, too provoking,' she said with a vexed voice;
'he has sent after me again, and I am sure he must know I am here. Let
me hear if I can be of any service, Mrs Prothero; I will send anything
in the way of medicine or nourishment. Good-bye, I will come again
to-morrow.'

'Mr and Mrs Prothero, the Vicarage, come to-morrow,' said Mrs Prothero.

'Yes, they are to dine with us on Wednesday, and told me they meant to
sleep here. Good evening. Dear me, how wretched that poor girl looks.'

Miss Gwynne was soon hastening homewards, heedless of the splendid sky
above, or the glowing fields beneath. She was making reflections on the
excellence of Mrs Pro