Gladys, the Reaper Part 75

'Mamma, I should like Gladys to have some breakfast with us,' said Minette, 'she must be so hungry. I think she is a lady, mamma; I like her, she is so kind.'

'Yes, Gladys, do,' said Netta, 'you know this is not Abertewey. But where did you get this game?'

'Miss Gwynne sent it, ma'am, she will come and see you by-and-by. I am sure I hear Mr Rowland's voice on the stairs,'

Gladys said this to avoid another start, and Rowland appeared. Having kissed his sister and niece, and shaken hands with Gladys, he sat down to the breakfast-table. Gladys was still standing, but he begged her to sit down, and she did so.

'Miss Gwynne sent me all this, Rowland,' said Netta, 'except the carnation, that was mother's.'

Netta had placed it in her bosom.

'Uncle must have a flower too, mamma,' said Minette, jumping up, and taking him a red geranium. 'Let me put it into your b.u.t.ton-hole, it smells so sweet.'

Rowland smiled and coloured as that sprig of red geranium from Glanyravon was placed in his coat by his little niece, and in spite of his better resolutions, when he went home, it was transferred to a gla.s.s, and treasured as long as imagination could fancy it a flower.

After breakfast, Gladys asked Netta if Minette might go with her to see Miss Gwynne, as she was obliged to leave for a short time.

'Gladys, you are going away, and would carry off my child, I know you are,' said Netta, 'all, all! n.o.body cares what becomes of me. Why can I not die?'

Minette's arms were round her mother's neck in a moment.

'I will stay till you return, Gladys,' said Rowland.

'She will not come back if once she goes,' repeated Netta; 'none of them do, except you, Rowland. Owen never did--mother never did--Howel--oh! he will! he will!'

'They will both return, dear Netta, only let Minette go.'

'No, uncle, I won't leave mamma, never--never!'

Gladys went away alone. Sarah came to clear the breakfast things, and when Netta was seated in her old armchair, Rowland again began to urge her to leave the lodgings she was in, and either come to his, or accept an invitation that he brought her from Mrs Jones to go to her house.

'I will never leave these rooms, Rowland,' she said solemnly, 'until _he_ fetches me, or sends for me, or bids me go. He loves me, Rowland, dearly; he said so. Do you know, I once fancied he did not, and tried not to care for him. But when he was in debt and trouble, it all came back again. And, you know, he is my husband, even if I did run away from home, and I must do as he bids me.'

Mrs Saunders came to say that Mr Wenlock wanted Rowland.

'Perhaps it is he, Rowland,' said Netta.

'No, dear Netta; it is a great friend of mine, a doctor. Will you see him to please me? We all want so much to get you better.'

'Yes, if you will not tell him about Howel. I must get well, for it may be a long, long journey. Do you know that I dreamt last night that he sent for me, and that I was to travel thousands of miles before I met him. I must get well, so I will see your friend, Rowland, only don't tell him my name. Minette, go with Mrs Saunders, whilst mamma sees Uncle Rowland's friend.'

Mrs Saunders took Minette away, and Mr Wenlock, a gentle-looking, elderly medical man, a great friend of Rowland's, made his appearance.

Netta rose with a little attempt at her Parisian curtsey, and an effort to a.s.sume her Abertewey manners; but she soon forgot her grandeur when the doctor spoke to her in a soothing, fatherly way, and won her to confide her long-concealed illness to him. Rowland left them together, and went down to Mrs Saunders' parlour to amuse his little niece.

In something less-than half-an-hour he was joined by Mr Wenlock, who took Minette on his knee, and looked at her thin cheeks and hollow eyes, felt her weak pulse, and asked her many questions.

When she went upstairs to her mother, Mr Wenlock said,--

'The poor lady is very ill, dangerously, I fear. She must have had some heavy sorrows for years to have reduced her to her present state of nervousness, nearly amounting to insanity, but not quite. This may yet be warded off with great care, total freedom from all excitement, and change of air and scene. She has heart complaint of an alarming nature.

This can never be cured; but if her strength can be restored, she may live for years--her natural life, in short--or she may be taken at any moment. Any sudden shock would probably be fatal.'

Rowland had not told Mr Wenlock that Netta was his sister. When he heard his opinion, so clearly and unreservedly expressed, he was greatly distressed.

'She will not be moved from these lodgings,' he said. 'She positively refuses. Will it do to oblige her to leave?'

'By no means. But I hear that admirable young woman, whom I call _our_ Sister of Charity, Miss Gladys, has undertaken to nurse her. If any one can persuade her to submit to go elsewhere she will do it. It should be into the country. To her native air, if possible.'

Just at this juncture, Gladys returned, and Rowland called her into the consultation. Mr Wenlock continued,--

'Lead her to think of her child, who is also in a most delicate state.

Tell her, that change of air, country air, is absolutely necessary for her--which it really is--but she must not be taken from her mother.

Distract her mind as much as possible from the trouble, whatever it is, that oppresses it. Had she been left much longer to herself, she would have quite lost her reason. Let her see such friends as can be trusted to talk to her cheerfully and to amuse, without wearying her. If you undertake this office, Miss Gladys, you will require all your patience, and more than your natural health; and once undertaken, you must not give it up, for she will get used to you, and depend upon you. Poor thing! poor thing! I have seen many such cases, and never need to inquire much into private history to know their origin. Wicked, morose, unfeeling, cruel husbands are generally at the root, and G.o.d only knows what their victims have to bear. There will be a pretty large account to make up at the Great Day, Mr Prothero, between man and wife, of marriage vows broken, and feelings outraged.'

'And my poor--and Mrs Mills,' said Rowland, 'ought, you think, to be removed at once from London?'

'Decidedly, if she can be prevailed upon to go of her own free will, not otherwise. I will see her again to-morrow, and watch her case as long as she remains here. As regards the poor child, Miss Gladys, she, too, must be nursed and amused, and well fed. I suppose she has been neglected since the measles that her mother told me of, or else she never was a strong child. Poor little lamb! It would kill her mother if she were to be taken! But, really, I couldn't say--however, we shall see. Good morning. I ought to be elsewhere by this time.'

Mr Wenlock took his departure.

'Miss Gwynne is coming directly, Mr Rowland,' said Gladys; 'I suppose I had better tell Mrs Jenkins so. She has been out all the morning, purchasing everything she thought Mrs Jenkins and Miss Minette could want, and is going to bring what she has bought, in a cab, herself,'

'G.o.d bless her!' murmured Rowland. 'Gladys, do say Minette, and not Miss. Why will you not consider yourself as a friend--a sister?'

Why did that quick, bright flush spread so suddenly over Gladys' pale face?

'Thank you, Mr Rowland, I will. But I cannot forget what I really was, and am.'

'You are and have been everything to us all, and now all our hopes seem to centre in you. Can Miss Gwynne spare you?'

'She proposed my coming herself; but even if she had not, my first duty is to my dear mistress and her children.'

'You will receive Miss Gwynne, Gladys. It will be less awkward. I have a hundred things to do. Tell Netta that I will come again.'

Rowland went first of all to his lodgings, and wrote a long letter to his father. He told him boldly and plainly what Mr Wenlock had said; he had already written to his mother the good news of his having found Netta. He asked his father in a straightforward manner to receive Netta, and to forgive her. He made no comments, preached no sermon. He thought that a statement of facts would have more effect on his father than all his eloquence, or all the texts of the Bible, every one of which his father knew as well as he did. He also began to feel it was not for him to lecture and reprimand a parent, even though he knew that parent to be in the wrong. As he folded his manly and affectionate letter, he prayed for a blessing upon it, and went to preach and pray with many members of his flock, who, alas! knew not, like his father, those blessed texts, which teach us to 'forgive as we hope to be forgiven.'

Later in the afternoon he went to Netta again; he found Miss Gwynne with her, cloak and bonnet thrown off, and Minette in full and eager talk on her lap. Netta was looking quite cheerful under the influence of Miss Gwynne's animated manners, and Minette's shouts of laughter. Toys and picture-books were on the table before the child, and all sorts of garments spread about the room. Miss Gwynne had sent Gladys home for a large dressing-gown for Netta, and had expressed her intention of remaining some time.

Minette jumped off her lap when Rowland entered, and ran towards him, with a book in one hand, and a doll in the other.

'Look, uncle, what this kind lady has brought me; and she has made mamma quite well. She has been laughing like she used to laugh. Oh, uncle, I love her very much, don't you?'

Rowland did not say 'yes,' but went up to Miss Gwynne, and with all his heart,--

'Oh, Miss Gwynne, how can we ever thank you enough for all this kindness?'

'By not thanking me at all,' replied Miss Gwynne, stooping to pick up a book, doubtless to conceal a very decided increase of colour.

These were the first genuine and natural words that Rowland had spoken to Miss Gwynne since those fatal sentences under the great oak in her father's park.