Mrs Jones and Freda were soon hard at work arranging rooms. Every available comfort was put into Freda's bedroom and dressing-room, and her own clothes and general possessions were turned out to find a home elsewhere. Gladys' little workroom soon wore a most cheerful aspect, and the easiest chair and sofa the house afforded were put into it. Whilst these matters were being arranged, Mr Jones was despatched to tell Rowland to bring his sister as soon as possible, and in the course of a few hours they arrived, accompanied by Gladys and Minette. The shock of the morning had so weakened Netta's nervous system, that Rowland was obliged to carry her upstairs. When she was put on the sofa in the little room, and saw so many kind friends about her once more, the bewildered, wandering eyes found relief in tears.

'Gladys! you will not go away?' she said, holding Gladys by the hand.

'She may come home with me, Miss Gwynne?'

Gladys knelt down by the sofa, and tried to soothe her, by telling her that her brother was coming to fetch her.

'I can't go home without Gladys!' persisted Netta, casting wild, beseeching glances from one to the other of the friends who stood round her.

'She shall go with you, Netta, decidedly,' said Miss Gwynne. 'It will be much the best plan.'

'Gladys, you will come with us?' said Minette, throwing her arm round her neck, as she knelt by her mother. 'You won't go away from poor mamma, and your little Minette.'

Gladys felt, that in this, she was but an instrument. However it was settled that she was to accompany Netta home; and if the inmates of the farm did not receive her willingly, she was to go to the Park, whither Miss Gwynne was to follow shortly, for her long-promised Christmas visit.

When Netta and Rowland were left alone, Minette having been seduced by Miss Gwynne into another room, Netta said,--

'You see, Rowland, I must go away directly, because I don't know when he may come. I am sure he will fetch me, and if I stay here he will not know where to find me.'

'Only two or three days, dear Netta. I have written to Owen. He will get the letter to-morrow, and be here the next day. You can start the day after to-morrow, if you will try to rouse yourself, and eat and drink.'

'Yes, I will; but I am afraid of father. It is nearly ten years since I saw him, and if he is cross now, I shall die.'

'He will be kind, quite kind.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes, quite sure.'

'And will you come and see me, Rowland? I used to think you cross too, but now you are very good to me. Do you think it was wrong of me to run away with Howel? You know he loves me; he says so, Rowland.'

Here Netta pressed her hand upon the letter that was in her bosom, and Rowland kissed her tenderly.

At intervals, during that day and the next, Netta made fitful efforts to exert herself, but it was evident to all that her body was getting weaker, and every one dreaded the journey in prospect, and longed for its conclusion.

Netta had taken a sudden and violent interest in teaching her child to read and repeat hymns. The hymns that it pleased Minette best to learn were some that Gladys had sung at her mother's request. These Netta did not know by heart, indeed, her failing memory prevented her retaining anything she had once known; so an old hymn book was produced from Gladys' book-shelf, which contained these hymns that she had been taught in her childhood by her mother.

It was the second evening of Netta's stay with the Joneses, and she had been prevailed upon to go into the drawing-room, where Rowland was added to the usual little party.

She was gradually sinking into a state of apparent forgetfulness of those around her, from which it had been so difficult to rouse her since Howel's letter, when Miss Gwynne said,--

'I think Minette knows the hymn now, Mr Jones. Ask mamma if you may say it, dear.'

'Mamma, may I try to say the hymn now? Mr Jones will take me to see the little children to-morrow if I know it,' asked the child.

Netta was roused.

'Where is the book? I don't think I remember it, she said.

'I will go to Gladys for the book. I know the way, mamma.'

Minette ran to the little room where Gladys was at work busily preparing for the journey. She got the hymn book, asked Gladys to find the place, and returning to the drawing-room triumphantly, gave the book to Mr Jones.

'You must hear me, to see that I say it quite, quite right,'

The hymn was somewhat difficult for a child, but it had taken Netta's fancy, because the words were written for an old Welsh air that she knew well; indeed the book consisted princ.i.p.ally of English and Welsh hymns that had been composed for some of the fine old Welsh tunes.

The words were as follow:--

MORNING, Y FOREU.

Great G.o.d, look on me, From Thy throne eternal; Make pure unto Thee This my hymn diurnal.

I my grateful voice would blend, With nature's loud thanksgiving;

Praises through the earth would send For the bliss of living.

Then, G.o.d, look on me, From Thy throne eternal, Make pure unto Thee, This my hymn diurnal.

On the wings of morning, With songs of birds up-soaring, I address Thee, Praise and bless Thee, Joying and adoring.

O Lord! bless this day, All my thoughts and doings, And keep my heart away From all vain pursuings.

Shield me with Thy fostering wings, From every wild temptation.

Let the daily course of things, Work for my salvation.

O Lord I bless this day, All my thoughts and doings, And keep my heart away From all vain pursuings.

With the hymns of flowers, And streams and fountains blending?

I adore Thee, And implore Thee, Prayer and praise upsending.

Minette was in a great state of excitement whilst saying her hymn, and repeated it so energetically, and withal so feelingly, that the attention of Mrs Jones, Miss Gwynne, and Rowland was quite drawn towards her. They did not, therefore, notice the still greater excitement of Mr Jones, as he was, professedly, looking at the hymn book to see whether the child repeated her task correctly.

'Well done, my little niece,' cried Rowland, catching her up in his arms, and giving her a hearty kiss.

'Let me go, uncle. Mr Jones, Mr Jones,' screamed Minette, 'may I go with you to see the poor children, Mr Jones?'

Mr Jones did not even hear the entreating appeal of the little girl. He was out of the drawing-room, book in hand, and in Gladys' work-room, almost before the struggling Minette was released from her uncle's arms, and forcibly caught by Miss Gwynne.

Gladys was sitting quietly at her work, humming low the air of the hymn Minette had been saying, when Mr Jones entered the room abruptly.

'Gladys, tell me where you got this book?' he said, putting the hymn book on the table before her.

He looked so nervous and excited that Gladys was almost frightened.

'My mother gave it me, sir,' was the reply.

'And who wrote these names?' he asked, pointing to the words written on the fly-leaf, which were, "Margaret Jones, from her affectionate brother, William Jones."

'My uncle, sir, I believe, who gave the book to my mother.'

'And your mother--your mother, who was she?'

'The daughter of a clergyman, sir.'

'I know that. But where--what--who?'