Gladys looked from Miss Gwynne to Miss Hall, and then from her master to her mistress, through the tears that were gathering faster and faster. She answered in a voice half choked by them,—
'Thank you, ma'am, thank you over and over and over again. If I must go away—if I must—whichever—you—like—I—' Here she finally gave way, and, sitting down on a chair, sobbed aloud. Mrs Prothero went to her, and put her arm round her neck. Miss Gwynne looked on compassionately, and Miss Hall turned to Mr Prothero.
'She does not like to leave you, Mr Prothero,' she said gently.
'I don't want to turn the girl out of the house. But if Miss Gwynne wants her, I think it is better for all parties for her to go.'
'If you please—certainly,' said Gladys, recovering herself with an effort. 'I would much rather go to Miss Gwynne in any capacity, and if I can be of use—it is best, my dear mistress.'
'Then go you, Gladys, and stop crying,' said Mr Prothero. 'Why, your eyes'll be as red as ferrets when the gentleman comes, and he'll think we've been giving you an appetite by making you cry. I was near forgetting, Miss Hall, that we left a strange gentleman at the Park gate, who said he was going to call on you; he's going to take a bed here, because there's no inn nearer than the "Coach and Horses."'
'Who can that be?' said Miss Hall.
'We had better make haste home, or we shall miss him,' said Freda.
'Good-bye, Mrs Prothero; I will come again and settle about Gladys.'
It was nearly dusk when the ladies left the farm, and they walked very fast. They had not gone far when they saw some one on horseback coming towards them.