Part 75 (1/2)

'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.'