With Laban’s last words, the boat grounded on the beach below the sea-wall, and the boatman drew in his oars.
“Go on to the house as fast as you can, Laban, and relieve the anxiety of your fellow-servants, so that they may be in a condition to attend Miss Davero when we get home,” said Colonel de Crespigney, as he handed his ward from the boat.
The man very gladly obeyed, and ran on before them so rapidly that he was soon out of sight.
Colonel de Crespigney found himself alone with his ward for the first time (with the exception of the few minutes they had talked together in the little island cot, whose very walls had ears).
He drew her hand within his arm, and supporting her carefully, walked slowly on through that boat-house built in the sea-wall, and then up through the fields and ornamented grounds that lay between it and the hall.
“Gloria, my beloved, can you really estimate all I have suffered during your unexpected absence?” he inquired, as he pressed the hand that rested on his arm.
“Yes, uncle, I think I can. I am very sorry. I was not worth so much anxiety, uncle, dear.”
“Do not call me uncle! I cannot bear to hear you call me so!” he burst forth with such energy that the girl shrank from him, and shuddered through all her frame.
“Gloria! Do you not understand me? Will you never understand me? Child, I can smother my feelings no longer! I have tried to keep silence, but I cannot! Twenty-four hours of agony have overcome my last power—self-control! Oh, my love, I love you! I love you!” he cried, stopping suddenly and facing her.
“Uncle!—for Heaven’s sake, uncle!” she exclaimed, in deadly terror.