'Gladys says she is ready to go at once, if necessary,' said Freda; 'and we can do without her, cannot we, Serena?'

'Quite well,' said Mrs Jones; 'but it will not do to excite an invalid, and so sudden a visit may not be good for her.'

'She must not be left another night without a friend at hand,' said Freda decidedly.

Rowland looked his thanks.

'Could not Mr Rowland prepare her for my coming? And I could sleep in the sitting-room, and not even see her to-night, but be ready to wait upon her to-morrow morning,' said Gladys.

'Yes,' said Freda. 'If you will go back and try to prepare her for Gladys, Mr Prothero, she shall follow you in a short time.'

'I will bring her,' said Mr Jones, 'and she can but return, if you cannot prevail on your sister to see her.'

Rowland could only press the hands of his kind friends, and hurry back to Netta.

He found her sitting in an old easy-chair, with Minette on a stool at her feet, fast asleep. The child refused to go to bed till 'Uncle Rowland' came back. There was a bright fire in the grate, and a supper was spread on a table drawn close to it. Candles replaced the gas-lamp, and the room looked almost cheerful, in spite of its faded red curtains and dingy furniture.

Netta had a small book in her hand, which she gave Rowland to look at.

'Mother gave me that when I was ill years ago--how long ago? How old is Minette?'

'She must be nearly eight, I think,' said Rowland, turning over the small, well-read Testament that had once been his mother's.

'I like that book now, Rowland!' said Netta. 'I am so glad you have come back. It seemed so lonesome when you were gone. Ha! ha! Howel used to say I must say _lonely_ and not lonesome. Are you sure he won't come and find you here?'

'Quite sure. And I am going to bring another old friend to see you?--you remember Gladys?'

'Gladys! No, I don't remember her. What! The Irish beggar? I don't like her, and she don't like me. I think I was very unkind to her. Yes, I should like to see her once to ask her pardon.'

Minette awoke just at this moment, and Rowland took her on his knee, and gave her some supper, and tried to make Netta eat, but it was evident that she had neither appet.i.te nor inclination for food, though she did her best to please her brother.

'This is like old times, Rowland,' she said. 'I like it better than grandeur. When will Gladys come? Owen told me she saved mother's life.

Is it true? Why doesn't mother come?'

'Would you like to see Gladys to-night, Netta?'

'Yes. Will you go and fetch her?'

Rowland found Gladys and Mr Jones in Mrs Saunders' parlour. Gladys said she would take her bonnet off, that she might meet Netta as she used to do at the farm.

Rowland did not know that Gladys had put on the identical print gown that Netta had given her years ago, and which she had kept carefully, in remembrance of her. This and a plain cap transformed her into the Gladys of Netta's recollection, from the Gladys of Miss Gwynne's attiring.

Her heart beat almost as quickly as Netta's as she entered her room, but she steadied her nerves and voice as she went up to Netta, curtseyed, and said quite naturally,--

'How do you do, Miss Netta?'

Netta put her hand to her brow, as if to clear her memory, and fixed her large bewildered eyes on Gladys. Then she put out her hand, rather condescendingly, with something of the old attempt at superiority, and finally burst into tears.

The tears were so natural that Rowland and Gladys let them flow on; only the latter knelt down by poor Netta's side, and taking her hands in hers, pressed them tenderly. Netta threw her arms round Gladys' neck and kissed her, and called her, 'Gladys, Gladys, fach!' and said, 'You will not leave me.'

And thus the once proud little Netta and the always humble Gladys clave to one another, as Naomi and Ruth.

Minette got off her uncle's knee, and climbed up into the chair, and put her arms, too, round her mother's neck, and began to cry with her.

Rowland's emotion at this scene found vent in prayer. Inwardly he asked that Gladys might be a comfort and support to his dear, wandering, forsaken sister.

When Netta's emotion had worn itself out, Rowland prepared to go, promising to return early on the morrow.

He asked Netta if she would like him to offer up a few words of thanksgiving for their reunion before he left her, and when she a.s.sented they all knelt together in family prayer. Eight full years had pa.s.sed since Netta had so knelt before.

When Rowland had departed, Gladys asked Minette if she might put her to bed. The child looked shyly at her at first, and then allowed her to undress her, and to take her to the close, gloomy bedroom. It was so late, and the child was so tired, that her little head drooped in sleep even before she was undressed, and when Gladys laid her pale cheek on the pillow she slept soundly at once. Then Gladys returned to the sitting-room, and found Netta at the door listening.

'Hush! you had better go. I think he is coming,' she said.

Gladys withdrew for a moment, till the steps were no longer heard. As long as Netta had been occupied with her brother and Gladys, she seemed to have forgotten the pa.s.sing sounds, but when left alone she listened as before.

With some difficulty Gladys prevailed on her to go to bed. Mrs Jones had given her night-lights, and a slight sleeping potion before she left home, upon the chance of their being wanted; and she put one of the former in the bedroom, and gave Netta the latter. She sat by her side until she fell asleep, and then returned to the sitting-room, literally 'to watch and pray.'

CHAPTER XLI.

THE SISTER OF CHARITY.

The following morning, soon after eight o'clock, there arrived a basket from Miss Gwynne, containing various meats and condiments that she thought might be good for Netta and her child, and, above all, a nosegay of Glanyravon flowers. Mr Gwynne had of late taken to send his daughter baskets of game, poultry, and other country cheer, to which her particular ally, the old gardener always added a tin of well-packed flowers. These Miss Gwynne was in the habit of tending and treasuring, as people in large cities alone can tend and treasure flowers, until their last odour and colour departed, and these she now gladly sacrificed to Netta.

It was an October morning, dull and misty. Gladys had kept up the fire, and when Rowland's friend, Sarah, came to clean the room, she found that her work had been done for her.

'Oh, Miss Gladys,' said the girl, 'why did you?'

'Never mind, Sarah, you get the breakfast things and boiling water, and I will do the rest.'

Netta and her child slept late, and so heavily, that Gladys thought they would never awake. She had arranged and rearranged the room, the breakfast, everything; and was employed in mending a rent in Minette's frock, when she heard the little girl say 'Mamma!' She went into the bedroom, and found Minette sitting up in bed, and her mother still sleeping. She washed and dressed the child, who seemed to take to her naturally, and then led her into the sitting-room. Her delight was so unbounded at the sight of the breakfast and the flowers on the table, that her exclamations pierced the thin part.i.tion, and awoke her mother.

'He is come! he is come!' cried Netta, jumping out of bed, and hastening into the sitting-room in her night-dress through the door that communicated with the bedroom.

When Gladys saw the wild excitement of Netta's manner, and the unusual gleam of her eyes, she understood what Rowland meant by saying that her mind was unsettled; when she saw Gladys, she started, and ran back again into the bedroom, whither Gladys followed her. A fit of depression and pain at the heart succeeded, as they always did, this new disappointment; and it was evident to Gladys that the only chance of restoring her to health of mind or body was by keeping her amused, and distracting her thoughts from her husband.

Minette brought in the flowers, and Gladys ventured to say that they came from Glanyravon, and that Miss Gwynne had sent them. The flowers, or their a.s.sociations, brought the tears, which were the best outlets for poor Netta's hysterical feelings, and when she had minutely examined each--chrysanthemums, verbenas, salvias, geraniums--she shook the one carnation from the vase, and kissing it, and pressing it to her heart, said,--

'This came from mother, how good of her to think of me.'

Then she let Gladys help her to dress, and went to the well-stored breakfast-table, sitting down on a chair Gladys placed for her. She seemed to take up the teapot mechanically, and began to pour out the tea; Gladys did not attempt to sit down, but waited upon her and Minette, as if she were, indeed, the servant she professed to be. Either Netta took this as a matter of course, or was too much absorbed in other thoughts to give it consideration.