Where is she?
Where's Gladys ?' Mr Prothero was off his horse, and Lion was over the hedge in a moment.
The former climbed the gate somewhat less speedily--and both were, in a few seconds, in the quarry, where, either dead or asleep, lay Gladys, beneath and upon the hard stones.
As the rays of the moon fell upon her pale face, Mr Prothero almost thought it was death and not sleep; but when Lion began to bark joyously, and to lick the cold hands and cheek, and when Mr Prothero ventured to stoop down and whisper, 'Gladys! Gladys!' and to take one of the damp, clammy hands in his, the white eyelids unclosed, and with a little scream of terror, the poor girl started up.
There, beneath the moonlight, she recognised her master, and falling down on her knees before him, clasped her hands, but uttered no word.
Where was Mr Prothero's ready-prepared lecture on ingratitude?
Where were the questions about Owen?
Where was the passion of the previous day?
He could not tell.

He only knew that he raised the poor kneeling girl kindly, almost tenderly.

She threw her arms round him, and for the first time kissed him as if he were her father.

Then, suddenly, recollecting herself, she exclaimed,--'Oh! Master! Oh, sir! forgive me.' Her master did not speak, but lifted her in his strong arms, and carried her to the gate; lifted her over, lifted her on his horse, and, amidst the joyous caperings of Lion, mounted himself.
'Put you your arms round me, and hold fast,' he said to Gladys.
'Come you, Lion, good dog! we'll have a supper by now!' And so they all went, as fast as they could, to the neighbouring village.
Mr Prothero, with no small noise and bluster, knocked up the inmates of the little inn of that little place, and succeeded in getting Gladys ensconced by a cheerful fire in the kitchen.

The poor girl was benumbed with cold and overpowered with fatigue.