“Gloria, my darling!” he exclaimed, as soon as his eyes fell upon her. “Heavens, what a fright you have given us! What insufferable tortures of anxiety and suspense! And to find you here, and in bed, too! What does all this mean?” he demanded, turning in more displeasure than gratitude to the old dame.
“It means that the little lady, while trying to walk across the Rogue’s Neck, was overtaken by the tide and swept off to sea, and was picked up by my Davie, who happened to be out with his boat, and who brought her here as to the nearest house,” replied Dame Lindsay.
“What is all this that she tells me, Gloria?” inquired the shocked colonel.
“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: