Part 79 (1/2)

'I understand, Gladys,' said Miss Gwynne. 'You are quite right. Let them all value you for yourself, and then we will introduce you as--'

'I didn't mean that, indeed, indeed, Miss Gwynne,' said Gladys, her pale face growing red. 'I only wanted to show my grat.i.tude, as I am, to them all. Perhaps even Mr Prothero may excuse me then, and--'

Here Gladys broke down again. She could not explain her own bewildered thoughts; but her friends understood her, and respected the honest pride that would be known, welcomed and beloved for merit, and not for a bettered position and condition. Miss Gwynne saw a vision of Owen in the background, with his handsome, honest, black eyes, and white teeth; but she did not mention what she saw.

'At any rate, I must go and make the best of lame excuses,' she said, 'and leave you in your new relations.h.i.+p, to dry your eyes, and learn to say ”Uncle.” Such a pleasant name! I always longed for an uncle.'

Miss Gwynne returned to the drawing-room, and told Rowland that Mr Jones had been quite upset by the Welsh hymn that Minette had repeated, having known it under peculiar circ.u.mstances when he was young. She apologised for his non-appearance, and Rowland, seeing that something unusual had occurred, took his departure. She promised Minette a visit to the school, and prevailed on the little girl to allow one of the servants to put her to bed, instead of Gladys. Minette begged Miss Gwynne to let her say her 'English prayers' to her first, which she, of course, did.

Then Freda did her best to amuse Netta until Mrs Jones appeared, and said Gladys was quite ready to a.s.sist Netta, if she liked to retire for the night.

When Netta was in bed, Gladys joined her friends, and they discussed, more calmly than before, their newly-found relations.h.i.+p.

Gladys brought with her her Bible, in which her mother had written her name, and Mr Jones recognised his sister's hand writing. She had also a lock of her mother's hair, and her wedding-ring, and one or two other trifles, that drew fresh tears from a brother's eyes.

Gladys said that she should like, for her own satisfaction, that a certificate of her mother's marriage, and of her birth, should be obtained. Her mother was married, she believed, during the short time she was in Ireland; and she was born, she knew, in the parish where her father's parents lived, to whose care her father had confided her mother. Two children had been born, and died before her birth, during the period that her parents were abroad.

It may be as well to say here, that the certificates were duly procured, through the clergyman of the parish, to whom Mr Jones wrote a statement of the case. Also that letters, written for the gratification of Gladys, to the Protestant and Roman Catholic clergy of her parent's last neighbourhood were duly answered, and confirmed all that Gladys had said of them and of herself from first to last. This, of course, took some time to effect; but I have so far antic.i.p.ated the event, to avoid fanning to it again.

Gladys now recapitulated, more minutely, the circ.u.mstances of her early history, a sketch of which she gave Miss Gwynne and Mrs Prothero when she was recovering from her fever.

There were a few points that she did not mention at that time, which, we will insert for the benefit of the reader, in Gladys' own words.

'My father left my mother in Ireland, and went with his regiment to India. My mother lived with my grandfather, who was old and infirm, but still managed a small farm, in which my mother a.s.sisted. He died, and then my mother kept a school, took in needlework, and did what she could to help out my father's remittances, which were small, but regular. He was severely wounded in the head, and got his discharge upon his corporal's pay. Being a clever man, he soon procured work, as a kind of under-agent, and we lived very happily together for some years. He was never a saving man, so what he earned he spent, and my poor mother spent it with him. I had two brothers and three sisters, and when my father died, rather suddenly, we had nothing but our own exertions to depend upon. My mother and I managed to live and keep the children--how, I scarcely know--till the famine from the failure of the potato crop, and consequent fever and starvation came upon us. G.o.d preserve me, and every one else, from witnessing such misery again! One child died after another, and then the darling mother! I had nothing to give her; literally nothing. Every one round us was in the same state. On her death-bed she was rambling and incoherent, but talked of Wales, and her father and brother.

'”Go to them, Gladys,” she said, ”when I am gone. Maybe they'll take to ye.” ”Where, mother dear!” I asked. But she did not hear me. Thank G.o.d!

she clasped her hands and prayed for pardon of her sins through Jesus Christ; and so she died. I don't know how I lived after her--how I buried her--how I came into Wales. I scarcely remember anything, till I awoke from that illness in calm, clean, beautiful Glanyravon; with my mistress's blessed face looking down upon me, and Miss Gwynne waiting on me, and Mr Rowland praying for me.'

For some years past Gladys had succeeded in obtaining a calm and even spirit, by striving to banish these dreadful scenes from her mind, by active labours for others, and abnegation of self. Now, they opened once more the flood-gates of memory, and as the old recollections rushed through, like repressed waters, her strength of mind gave way, and she could do nothing but weep.

'Only to-night--forgive me!' she sobbed. 'I shall be better to-morrow.

But it all comes back, all; even in the moment of my great happiness.'

Her kind friends soothed and comforted her--her uncle wept with her, and by degrees she once more grew calm.

Before they separated for the night, Mr Jones offered up a thanksgiving for the great mercy G.o.d had vouchsafed to them; and commending his newly-found niece to the further protection of that gracious Providence, who had led the orphan to her home; in His presence, and that of his wife and her friends, he solemnly blessed her, and adopted her as his own child.

It need scarcely be added that his wife registered and signed the vow that her husband made.

CHAPTER XLIII.

THE HAPPIEST MAN IN THE WORLD.

Most people know what it is to awake from sleep the morning after a great sorrow; some, also, know what it is to awake after a great and unexpected joy. Gladys opened her eyes upon a dark, thick, cheerless November fog in London, one of the most depressing of all the atmospheric influences. But she did not think of the fog. Although she did not at first fully realise the happiness that she had experienced, and was to experience, she felt, on awakening, a strange sensation of spirits so light, and a heart beating to such cheerful measure, that it all seemed too ethereal to be real. She thought it was the continuation of a blissful dream. For many a long year she had retired to rest, and arisen in the morning calm, resigned, nay, cheerful; but it was the calmness and resignation of a soul attuned by prayer and self-restraint to an equanimity that rarely was disturbed by mirth or pleasure. Now, that soul seemed to dance within her to exhilarating melodies. So happy had been her dreams, so joyous her sleep, that her eyes sparkled unwonted fires when she opened them; and as she jumped out of bed, there was an elasticity in her movements that surprised her very self.

Netta and Minette were still sleeping, and as she dressed herself carefully and neatly, she almost forgot that every one else was not as suddenly raised from sorrow to joy as herself.