Gladys, the Reaper Part 90

'On the other hand, Serena--I owe her everything; all my few good thoughts, words and works. She owes me nothing. Mr Jones, ditto; I am wholly creditor in London: the poor, the ragged schools, I owe them every farthing I can give, for they want it, and have few to help them.

I feel almost sure I should be best in London. Rowland Prothero, I owe him compensation for my great, unpardonable rudeness and pride; I am more ashamed of that one action than of any other. He so superior to me in every way, but the mere accident of birth.'

Thus far Freda got in her arithmetic. But Rowland seemed to open a new rule, farther on in Butler than addition and substraction. In short, she found herself lost in the maze of fractions, and could not extricate herself. When she jumped up from her easy-chair, she was trying to reduce the following complex fractions, into one simple one, and entirely failed.

'A curate, the son of my father's tenant, the brother-in-law of my former maid, brother-in-law also of a man indicted for forgery. But, proud as myself; below me here, but above me in London; infinitely my superior in everything worth the consideration of a person travelling quickly through a world of silly distinctions, to one where we shall all begin life on very different principles. The fact is, Freda, that the tables are turned, and you now esteem this same Rowland Prothero much higher than he esteems you. Constant intercourse has brought out all his grand points, and all your weak ones. His mind has conquered your vulgar prejudices, but has also fully seen through them, and despises you accordingly. Well, I suppose duty and propriety concur in my remaining at Glanyravon Park, discretion being the better part of valour.'

And so ended Freda's arithmetic.

CHAPTER XLVIII.

THE PENITENT.

A week after the marriage of Owen and Gladys, the following conversation took place between Gladys and Netta. The latter had been much more wandering in mind since the wedding, and had been occupying herself by writing a variety of letters, all of which were addressed to Howel, with the exception of one, which was to her brother Rowland.

'You see, dear sister,' said Netta, 'that Howel cannot come to me, because he is in debt, so I must go to him. He is in America, I know.

His letter was from America.'

'But America is an immense continent, dear Netta,' said Gladys; 'you would not know where to seek him.'

'Oh, yes! I should find him very soon. My love would point the way. I should track his steps like a dog, Gladys--like a dog.'

'But you cannot go till you are better and stronger. Then we can all consult upon the best way.'

'Hush not a word to any one. They would stop me. And you know now Howell is my husband, I must leave father and mother to follow him. I know I was wrong to leave them to marry him; though he loves me, Gladys!

he loves me! Don't you think he does?'

'I am sure he does. Still, it might not be well for you to go to him, if he is hiding for debt. He might prefer your remaining here?'

'Would you not go to Owen? Would he like you to be away from him in trouble? You, who have only been married a week, know better; and I have been married years.'

'Owen shall tell you, my dear love, whether he would wish me to go to him at such a time. Perhaps men know best what other men would like?'

'But I mean to go, Gladys. Neither Owen nor you can hinder me.'

'And what of Minette? You would kill her, if you took her so far.'

'Ah! that is what I wanted to say to you. I knew there was something; but my head aches so, I forget. If I go away, will you take care of Minette till I come back. Will you love her as if she were your own?'

'Wherever you go I will be a mother to her; but she would not like to part from her own dear mother, any better than you will from yours. We will not think of the journey just yet, dear; we will be happy together, all of us, for a little longer. You cannot leave so soon, after you have made Owen and me so blest.'

'None of you want me now; father and mother have a new daughter, a better one than I have ever been; Owen a wife! What a word that is, Gladys! We don't understand it till we are parted from our husband; and I give Minette a mother in my place. I must go very soon.'

Poor Netta laid her head on Gladys' shoulder, and began to cry.

'Well, dear,' said Gladys soothingly, 'we will see about it, you and I.

But you must not go till I think you strong enough, and till we are prepared with clothes and money.'

'Oh! I can beg! I don't want clothes or money to get to Howel.'

Gladys knew that it was of no use to try to combat Netta's purpose. All she could do was to seem to yield.

'We will see,' she said, 'when the days are a little longer. But you have not told me about the letters yet.'

'No, I was forgetting them. If anything happens to me, or it I should miss Howel on my way, I want him to have this packet of letters. In them, I have told him that I wish Minette to remain here with you and mother; I have said a great deal to him, but mostly to beg him to forgive me, as I forgive him, all our unkindness to one another. Was that right, Gladys?'

'Quite right, love. We must forgive, as we hope to be forgiven.'

'Father and mother have forgiven me. Do you think my heavenly Father has?'

'Yes, I do; because you have repented, and "come to your Father," and asked forgiveness for His Son's sake.'

'I have, Gladys; so I can go on my journey cheerfully.'

Gladys could scarcely refrain from tears, when she thought of the journey she was really travelling.

'I know you have forgiven me, Gladys, for all I said of you when you came here first. Strange that I should have been willing to leave you in the barn, or anywhere, to die; you who have done so much for me! Oh, Gladys!'

'Don't think of those times, Netta, dear; they are past, thank G.o.d.'

Here the door opened, and Owen appeared, his face beaming with a happiness that it did all around him good to see.

'What! tears! both of you! Only a week married!' he said, half playfully, half reproachfully, as he kissed, alternately, his wife and sister, and finally, sat down by the side of the former.

'It was my fault, Owen,' said Netta.

'Is that true, Gladys--quite true?' asked Owen, taking Gladys' hands in his, and looking into her eyes.

'Quite true, Owen,' said Gladys, smiling lovingly on the open countenance of Owen, whilst a quiet tear rolled down her cheek.

Owen kissed off the tear.

'You are happy, my love?' again he asked, as if fearing that a shadow should pa.s.s over that fair, sweet face, to obscure the light of their spring of wedded life.

Gladys pressed his hands, a.s.sured him by a glance true as oaths, and looked at Netta. The hint was taken.

In a moment Netta's were the thin hands that Owen clasped, her's the face into which he gazed.

'Owen,' she said earnestly, 'if I go away, will you take my child, as if she were your own? Will you love her, and bring her up?'

'You are not going away, Netta! But you may be quite sure that I will love Minette, without any going away. We will all keep together now, we are too happy--so happy, my Gladys, are we not?'

There was a strange restlessness about Netta. This resolution to go away had taken such a hold upon her, that she reverted to it again and again. Gladys confided it to Owen and their mother, and they all decided that it would be necessary to watch her night and day, without letting her know that she was watched.