'It is all like a dream,' said Netta, pa.s.sing her hand over her eyes and forehead, as she did constantly, as if to clear away some cloud that obscured her memory. 'If mother were only here, it would be quite home-like.'

Truly Gladys had made the room almost a pleasant place. The books and work she had brought with her, were already on the tables, and the flowers filled all the old-fashioned vases, taken from the mantelpiece.

The fire was bright, and the hearth swept, and poor Netta and Minette were neat and clean.

'Uncle, what have you done with the geranium?' suddenly asked Minette.

'I left it at home, dear.'

'How cross of you, uncle, to let the pretty flower die.'

'I put it in water, Minette, because it came from Glanyravon, where your mother and I were born, and where your grandfather and grandmother live.'

'I don't like grandmamma, uncle, she was so fat, and talked so strangely.'

'You should not say that; but you have another grandmother whom you have never seen.'

'Shall we go to her, mammy dear? and will you come, Uncle Rowland? and shall the kind lady come, and Gladys? and then we can gather those pretty flowers. I saw them growing once at the Crystal Palace, and they would not let me pick them.'

Netta forgot her grief, Rowland his sermon, Miss Gwynne her dignity, in talking to Minette of Glanyravon and its inhabitants; and, by degrees, they fell into a conversation upon old friends and old times, that ended in the days when they played together as children in the garden at the vicarage, whilst the squire and his lady were paying their periodical visits to the vicar and his lady.

Unconsciously it oozed out how every incident of those childish games was remembered and treasured up by Rowland, as well as the meetings of a more advanced age, when, as a Rugby boy, he tried to make himself agreeable to the young heiress, who bestowed no thought on him.

But Rowland suddenly remembered that he was treading on dangerous ground, and must not forget who he was, and who Miss Gwynne was. Those words always came to haunt him, whenever he felt more than usually happy; and how could he feel happy for one moment, with Netta possibly dying, and Howel an exile for forgery. Poor fellow, it was only a pa.s.sing gleam through the mists of a hard life; let him enjoy it.

Gladys returned, and Rowland got a cab for Miss Gwynne, who went home to dinner. Rowland had some tea, and went to his evening service in the church.

After tea, Gladys read a story to Minette, which interested Netta, and so the day pa.s.sed, with but a slight recurrence of Netta's nervous excitement.

Gladys asked Netta if she would like her to read a chapter in the Bible, and Netta said yes; so, with Minette on her lap, she read one of the lessons of the day, which she knew to be particularly applicable to her.

'I will read the other with you,' said Netta, when it was concluded taking her mother's little Testament out of her pocket.

'I wish you would teach me to read, Gladys?' said Minette. 'Justine taught me to read French, and to say French prayers, but I can't read English,'

'Perhaps mamma will teach you, darling!' said Gladys, 'and I will help when she is poorly.'

'We will begin to-morrow,' said Netta? 'I meant to get her a governess, but we were always moving about, and so I never did.'

They read the second lesson, and when it was finished, Netta asked Gladys to sing her a hymn. 'The Evening Hymn, Gladys. I could sing and play that once, before I learnt to sing French songs.'

Gladys' beautiful, clear voice soon began the 'Glory to Thee, my G.o.d, this night,' that has been the evening song of praise of so many thousands for so many years. Netta joined at intervals, and her wandering eyes seemed to be steadied, for the time, into a fixed attention, as she gazed at Gladys whilst she sung.

When she finished, Minette was crying. Gladys soothed her, and asked her what was the matter.

'It was so beautiful!' she said. 'Your voice was like the lady's I heard at the play, only the words were so solemn. I thought of my papa. I do not love him much, because he was cross to mamma, but I want to see him, that you may sing to him and make him good.'

Gladys saw Netta's countenance lose the expression of calm it had worn for a few moments, and regain the bewildered and painful one of the morning.

'We can pray for your papa, my love,' she said, gently.

'Will you, will you, Gladys!' almost screamed Netta. 'Your prayers will be heard, you are so good. Now, before Minette goes to bed, that she, too, may pray for her father.'

Gladys had long been in the habit of praying with and for people in great misery, as well as in great sin, so the request did not startle her as it might have startled many. She read, from the Prayer Book, the Confession, and then chose the concluding portion of the Litany, feeling sure that almost any part of that list of pet.i.tions was suitable both for Howel and themselves. When she read the words, 'That it may please Thee to have mercy upon all men,' she paused, and added earnestly, 'especially upon him for whom we now desire to pray,' and little Minette added to this, 'that is my poor papa.'

It was with difficulty that Gladys could conclude, she was herself so affected by Netta's sobs, and Minette's innocent pet.i.tion, but when they rose from their knees, Netta said, 'I have not really prayed before, Gladys, for a long time. Will G.o.d ever forgive me?' and Minette entreated Gladys 'to teach her prayers in English; she liked them so much better than in French.'

Gladys endeavoured to comfort the poor mother by pa.s.sages from the Scripture, and promised the child 'to teach her to pray,' and so she helped to repay to her mother and grandmother the debt of grat.i.tude she owed to her and her family.

CHAPTER XLII.

THE NIECE.

THE following day Mrs Jones came to see Netta, and to do her part in amusing her, and distracting her mind from Howel's promised return. Mr Jones also accompanied Rowland in the afternoon in his visit to his sister, and, the ice once broken, these kind and Christian people came, alternately with Miss Gwynne, daily, for about a week, during which period there had been no news of Howel, either public or private. Mr Wenlock visited Netta regularly, but said there could be no improvement in her health, and comparatively little strengthening of the mind, until she could be removed to country air; this, however, she would not hear of, although she cried very much, and was painfully excited, when Rowland gave her a letter from her mother, entreating her to come to Glanyravon, and made her acquainted with the contents of a letter he had received from his father, which we will transcribe.

GLANYRAVON FARM, _October 9, 18--._

'MY DEAR SON,--Your letter came duly to hand, and I will not deny that it affected me very much. Netta, set up above her station at Abertewey, after disobeying her parents by running away, is very different from Netta, deserted by her scamp of a husband, and left in a poor London lodging. Bring her home, and we will take care of her and her child, though I would rather lose a thousand pounds than have to see her as she is. Mother wants to go up and nurse her, but as that would kill her, I don't choose to let her go. If you can't bring her down, Owen shall fetch her. I always said how it would all end. Netta will believe me now it's no good; but no need to tell her that. I wish Howel the--Well, I won't say more, but remain your affectionate father, DAVID PROTHERO.'

Miss Gwynne was very anxious to tell Netta that Howel was supposed to be in America, and that it was well known he could not return; and at last Rowland took Mr Wenlock into full confidence and asked him whether it would be advisable to do so. He said that he feared she would be frightened at first, and then consider it a _ruse_ to get her away.

However, something must be done. To tell her that her husband was a felon would kill her; and she would die if she remained in that close air. He would think the matter over, and decide.

It was, however, decided for them the following morning. Netta was the first to hear, as usual, the postman's rap. Manoeuvre as she would, Gladys could not prevent this, and it always brought on considerable excitement. This morning, however, there was actually a letter for Netta, and Sarah went upstairs with it to Gladys. Although she called Gladys out of the room to give it to her, Netta suspected something, ran into the pa.s.sage, and seized the letter.

Gladys was obliged to support her back to the sofa, and give her some medicine, before she was sufficiently herself to open it When she recovered, she waited for Gladys to leave the room, which she thought it best to do, and then broke the seal. The letter contained the following words:--

'DEAREST,--You had better go to your mother or mine. Kiss our child for me. Believe that I love you. G.o.d bless you.'

When Gladys returned to the sitting-room, upon a cry from Minette, she found Netta in a swoon. The letter was tightly clasped in her hand, the envelope was on the floor. She ventured to look at the address and postmark. The former was to Mrs Mills, the latter some illegible place in America. She wanted no more information, and asked for none. She brought poor Netta to herself with difficulty, and let her put the letter in its envelope, and both in her bosom, without a question. Netta lay on the sofa, with her eyes closed, and said not a word. All that Gladys or Minette could do to attract her attention was unavailing. But when Rowland came, she roused herself sufficiently to say, 'I am ready to go home now, Rowland: I must go directly.' And then she relapsed into a state of pa.s.sive inaction. Rowland went for Mr Wenlock, and was fortunate in finding him at home. He accompanied him to Netta, and said that she must be roused by a change of some kind. Rowland said that it was absolutely necessary to write to summon his brother to fetch Netta, and that by the time the letter reached home, and Owen reached London, three days must elapse. Fortunately, Miss Gwynne arrived, and with her usual prompt.i.tude, proposed that Netta should be taken for those three days to Mrs Jones'; and she returned home at once to expedite any arrangements Mrs Jones might have to make.

'I am afraid, my dear Serena,' she said, when she had begun the subject, 'that it will put you out. But the poor creature shall have my bedroom, and I can sleep anywhere for those few nights. The dressing-room, Gladys' workroom, will do beautifully for her to sit in if she shouldn't be able to come into the drawing-room.'

'Yes,' said Mrs Jones, 'we can put a sofa in it and easy-chair, and make a regular snuggery of it.'

Mr Jones came in and entered into consultation.

'I shall be thankful if she can come here,' he said, 'for poor Prothero is making himself quite ill with anxiety and overwork. I don't think he has slept four hours a night since he found her. And then, Gladys! she is not strong, she will be laid up.'

'I believe you love Gladys better than me,' laughed Mrs Jones.

'It was love at first sight, my dear. She was the first pretty girl that I saw after I came from Australia. And I have gone on loving her better and better ever since.'

'The worst of it is, that it is mutual,' said Miss Gwynne. 'I wonder whether it is on your account or Owen Prothero's that she has refused all the London swains who are dying for her.'