The word 'dutiful' was scratched through and affectionate added.

When Mrs Prothero had read this letter, she turned very pale, and stood like one in a dream; she could not realise the contents. That Netta was wilful and obstinate she knew, but she had never known her guilty of resolute disobedience; she felt very faint, and sat down on a chair opposite the open door--she tried to rise to go downstairs to her husband, but found that her head was too giddy, and she could not move; she put her hand before her eyes, and became unconscious.

At this moment Gladys pa.s.sed down the pa.s.sage, and seeing Mrs Prothero in this strange att.i.tude, went into the room and asked if anything was the matter. Receiving no answer, she put her hand tenderly on Mrs Prothero's, and removing it from before her face, saw that she was pale, and appeared to have fainted. She ran hastily downstairs, and finding Owen alone, told him that his mother was ill. He followed her upstairs, and soon perceived that Mrs Prothero was really in a kind of swoon.

Whilst he supported her, Gladys brought water and such restoratives as she could procure; she begged him to go for his father, and whilst he was gone, succeeded in restoring Mrs Prothero. At the sight of the open letter, however, she sank again into a fainting fit.

Mr Prothero and Owen appeared.

'Mother, what is the matter? Name o' goodness what is the matter?' said Mr Prothero in great alarm.

Gladys pointed out the letter to Owen, who glanced at it whilst his father took his wife into his arms.

Gladys put vinegar to her temples and nostrils, and begged Mr Prothero to take her to the open window; as he did so he saw Owen reading a letter.

'How can you read now, you unnatural son?' he said sternly.

'Oh, father! father, Netta!' he exclaimed.

'Never mind her; think of your mother, ten thousand times as precious.'

At last Gladys succeeded in restoring Mrs Prothero to consciousness and when she found herself in her husband's arms, with Owen bending over her, she burst into a flood of hysterical tears, which partially relieved her.

'Oh, Netta! Netta!' was all she could say, when they asked her what was the matter.

'Never mind her, mother, but get better,' said Mr Prothero, his usually rosy face almost as pale as his wife's.

'If you please, sir, we will lay her on the bed,' said Gladys.

'Not here--not here,' gasped Mrs Prothero.

They took her to her own room, and Gladys said,--'Perhaps, sir, if you would leave her to me a little I could get her into bed, I am used to illness.'

Mr Prothero looked at the girl, and saw her eyes full of tears, but her face was calm and pale, and seemed to indicate a self-possession that no one else present had.

'I will come back again soon, mother,' he said as he left the room, followed by Owen.

When they were gone, Mrs Prothero gave way to an uncontrollable grief, and threw herself upon the neck of the girl Gladys.

'What will he say? what will he do when he knows it all?' she sobbed.

'If you only hope and pray, ma'am, perhaps all will be right that troubles you now,' faltered Gladys.

'My only girl! to be so wilful, so disobedient!'

'May I ask what has happened to Miss Netta?'

'She has run away with her cousin, and her father will never forgive her--never!'

'Ah! that was what my poor mother did; but she was happy with my father; and Mr Jenkins is rich and kind. Take comfort, ma'am, it may not be so very bad.'

Gladys managed to get Mrs Prothero into bed, who, happily, did not see the effect produced by Netta's letter on her husband. Whilst she was shedding quiet tears on her pillow, he was raging with furious pa.s.sion to his son. Over and over again did he comment on every word of the letter, sometimes with keen irony, sometimes with a burst of rage, until Owen endeavoured to suggest pursuit.

'Go after her! the ungrateful, disobedient, good-for-nothing hussey! No, not if she were stopping a mile off instead of whirling away in her grand coach and four n.o.body knows where. Let her go, the impertinent baggage! "Father 'ont consent! father was very cross! father had better let us marry! he will be sorry when he sees how grand and happy I am!

father called me bad names!" I wish I had called her worse! she deserves every name that was ever written!'

'But, perhaps,' suggests Owen, 'she will be happy, and Howel will be steady.'

'Steady! hold your tongue and don't be a fool! Make a drunkard steady!

make a bad son steady! make a gambler steady! make a horse-racer steady!

make--make--make--hold your tongue, sir: don't say a word for the ungrateful girl--never mention her name to me again--I never wish to see her face more as long as I live--I--I--I--'

Mr Prothero's pa.s.sion choked his words. Could Netta have suddenly returned and seen her father shaking with suppressed grief, his face crimson with rage, and his hands and teeth clenched, and her mother pale and weeping on her bed, she would, I think, have paused longer before she caused them this great grief.

Mr Prothero returned to his wife before his pa.s.sion was calmed. He found her sitting up in bed wringing her hands, and crying as if her heart would break.

'Now, mother, there's no good in this,' began the farmer. 'That girl don't deserve tears and lamentations, and I 'ont have 'em. We 'ont have the house turned upside down because a bad, obstinate, ungrateful daughter has run away with a miser's son, and a good-for-nothing spendthrift. Let 'em go, I say! I 'ouldn't stir a step to bring 'em back--'

'Oh, David! dear, dear husband! if only you will find out that they are married; if only you would send some one to see that Howel marries her!

This is all--all--all! I will never name her again! I will try to forget her--I will do all you wish! but for my sake, for yours, for all, for G.o.d's sake, see to this, or I shall die.'

Mr Prothero was cowed at once by this pa.s.sionate burst of grief. He had never seen his submissive, patient little wife excited in this way before, for never before had she felt so deep a pain. Her only daughter!

'G.o.d help me! G.o.d help me!' she sobbed, when she had controlled her great emotion. 'I know I have indulged her--spoilt her perhaps. I know she is proud and wilful, and obstinate; but oh! to disobey us all--to go off, she doesn't know where--with Howel, too, who has no religion, nothing to keep him pure and honest--this is too much! too hard! No, David, bach! it is no good to be angry now--if you won't go after her I must.'

'Stop you, mother, stop you! we'll see the s.l.u.t married anyhow; that is to say, Howel shall marry her--who ever doubted that? but I'll never set eyes on her again as long as I live, I 'ont.'

Whilst Mr Prothero was speaking, Gladys, who had been waiting upon Mrs Prothero until that moment, slipped out of the room, and ran in search of Owen. She found him amongst servants making inquiries.

'Mr Owen, may I speak with you if you please.'

Owen followed her into the hall.

'Oh! sir, if you would go after Miss Netta, now that the master is willing, at once; may be you will save your mother's life. If she goes on this way, she will surely be very ill.'

'What use would it be for me to go after her? The cow-boy saw her pa.s.s at about five this morning, and she is at Swansea by this time. My father ought to have let 'em marry, and get on together like other young couples.'

'But, Mr Owen, the mistress is afraid--she wants to be sure--she would be happier, sir, if some one could see them married!'

'Oh! that's the way the wind blows! You may tell mother that I'll try to track them--but it won't be of any use. At any rate it will calm her to think we are making the attempt. You write to my brother Rowland, Gladys, and tell him of this affair; but the truth is, we must make the best of it. They are off to London to be married, and 'tis no good to try to look for 'em there.'

Here Shanno entered.

'Mr Owen, Mr Jones, Tenewydd, did tell Mr Thomas, Trefortyn, who did tell John, blacksmith, who did tell Betto, that he saw Miss Netta and Mrs Jenkins, tallow-chandler, this morning about six o'clock, and they did get into a carriage by there.'

'Go and tell mother that Aunt Jenkins was with Netta, Gladys, and I'll go and see whether Mr Jones really saw her or not.'

Gladys returned to her mistress, who had become more quiet, and was trying to persuade Mr Prothero to go after the fugitives.

'Mr Owen is gone, ma'am,' said Gladys, 'and Mr Jones, of Tynewydd, saw Miss Netta this morning with Mrs Griffith Jenkins, and they got into a carriage together.'