THE SERVANT.
We must now leave Netta and her husband for a time, and return to the
morning when Netta left her home to go forth in search of a new one.
The breakfast-table was spread at the farm, and all were assembled
except Netta.
'Owen, go and call Netta,' said Mr Prothero, seating himself before some
smoking rashers of bacon; 'she's always late, I'll say that for her.'
Owen did his father's bidding, but returned exclaiming,--
'She is up and out of her room. There must be something wonderful to
make her go out before breakfast.'
'Such a lovely morning,' said Mrs Prothero, 'I daresay she is in the
garden.'
'Well, let her find her way in,' said the farmer; 'she knows the hour,
and we'll fall to. Say grace, mother, if you please.'
Mrs Prothero said grace, and the trio sat down to breakfast.
'I expect brother Jo and Mrs Jonathan to-day,' said Mr Prothero; 'they
are going to a clerical meeting, and are coming here on their way back.'
'Dear me!' said Mrs Prothero. 'What can we have for dinner?'
'Eggs and bacon. What better?' said the farmer. 'But you needn't be
afraid, they 'ont come till tea. Owen, I wish you'd just look out and
see after that idle slut Netta.'
Off started Owen with a piece of bread and butter in his hand.
'Mother, why don't you make that girl more regular?' asked Mr Prothero.
'Oh, David! you know she doesn't mind me.'
'Then you should make her.'
Mrs Prothero could have said, 'You should have helped me to make her all
her life,' but she refrained.
'Can't find her,' cried Owen, returning.
'Perhaps she is ill upstairs,' suggested Mrs Prothero, rising, and
running up to her room.
The room was empty, as we know, and Mrs Prothero was about to leave it
again, when she went to the open window to see if she could espy Netta
from it. She passed the dressing-table as she did so, and perceiving a
letter, glanced at the direction. She was surprised to find it addressed
to herself, and on a nearer examination saw that it was in Netta's
handwriting. It was with a trembling hand and foreboding heart that she
took it up and broke the seal After she had done this, she was some time
before she could summon courage to open it. When she did so, her brain
swam as she read the following words, written with trembling fingers:--
'DEAR MOTHER,--I am going to marry cousin Howel. Father won't
consent, so we are going to London to be married. I hope you will
forgive me for not telling you, but I knew it was no good, as
father is so much against it. I am sure I shall be very happy, only
I should like to have been married properly at home; but it is not
my fault that father would not hear of it, and that Howel would not
wait. We are going to France and a great many other countries, and
it grieves me to think how long it will be before I shall see you
again. I hope you and father will forgive me? as Howel is a
gentleman with plenty of money, and we have loved one another all
our lives. I don't see why we were not allowed to marry like
anybody else, instead of being obliged to go so far away; I am sure
it would have been better if father had let us. Dear mother, you
were always very good to me, and I am sorry if I ever offended you;
but father called me bad names, and was very cross; he will be
vexed, perhaps, when he sees how grand and happy I am.
'Good-bye for a little time, my dear mother. Don't be very angry
with your dutiful, affectionate daughter, JANETTA.'
The word 'dutiful' was scratched through and affectionate added.
When Mrs Prothero had read this letter, she turned very pale, and stood
like one in a dream; she could not realise the contents. That Netta was
wilful and obstinate she knew, but she had never known her guilty of
resolute disobedience; she felt very faint, and sat down on a chair
opposite the open door--she tried to rise to go downstairs to her
husband, but found that her head was too giddy, and she could not move;
she put her hand before her eyes, and became unconscious.
At this moment Gladys passed down the passage, and seeing Mrs Prothero
in this strange attitude, went into the room and asked if anything was
the matter. Receiving no answer, she put her hand tenderly on Mrs
Prothero's, and removing it from before her face, saw that she was pale,
and appeared to have fainted. She ran hastily downstairs, and finding
Owen alone, told him that his mother was ill. He followed her upstairs,
and soon perceived that Mrs Prothero was really in a kind of swoon.
Whilst he supported her, Gladys brought water and such restoratives as
she could procure; she begged him to go for his father, and whilst he
was gone, succeeded in restoring Mrs Prothero. At the sight of the open
letter, however, she sank again into a fainting fit.
Mr Prothero and Owen appeared.
'Mother, what is the matter? Name o' goodness what is the matter?' said
Mr Prothero in great alarm.
Gladys pointed out the letter to Owen, who glanced at it whilst his
father took his wife into his arms.
Gladys put vinegar to her temples and nostrils, and begged Mr Prothero
to take her to the open window; as he did so he saw Owen reading a
letter.
'How can you read now, you unnatural son?' he said sternly.
'Oh, father! father, Netta!' he exclaimed.
'Never mind her; think of your mother, ten thousand times as precious.'
At last Gladys succeeded in restoring Mrs Prothero to consciousness and
when she found herself in her husband's arms, with Owen bending over
her, she burst into a flood of hysterical tears, which partially
relieved her.
'Oh, Netta! Netta!' was all she could say, when they asked her what was
the matter.
'Never mind her, mother, but get better,' said Mr Prothero, his usually
rosy face almost as pale as his wife's.
'If you please, sir, we will lay her on the bed,' said Gladys.
'Not here--not here,' gasped Mrs Prothero.
They took her to her own room, and Gladys said,--'Perhaps, sir, if you
would leave her to me a little I could get her into bed, I am used to
illness.'
Mr Prothero looked at the girl, and saw her eyes full of tears, but her
face was calm and pale, and seemed to indicate a self-possession that no
one else present had.
'I will come back again soon, mother,' he said as he left the room,
followed by Owen.
When they were gone, Mrs Prothero gave way to an uncontrollable grief,
and threw herself upon the neck of the girl Gladys.
'What will he say? what will he do when he knows it all?' she sobbed.
'If you only hope and pray, ma'am, perhaps all will be right that
troubles you now,' faltered Gladys.
'My only girl! to be so wilful, so disobedient!'
'May I ask what has happened to Miss Netta?'
'She has run away with her cousin, and her father will never forgive
her--never!'
'Ah! that was what my poor mother did; but she was happy with my father;
and Mr Jenkins is rich and kind. Take comfort, ma'am, it may not be so
very bad.'
Gladys managed to get Mrs Prothero into bed, who, happily, did not see
the effect produced by Netta's letter on her husband. Whilst she was
shedding quiet tears on her pillow, he was raging with furious passion
to his son. Over and over again did he comment on every word of the
letter, sometimes with keen irony, sometimes with a burst of rage, until
Owen endeavoured to suggest pursuit.
'Go after her! the ungrateful, disobedient, good-for-nothing hussey! No,
not if she were stopping a mile off instead of whirling away in her
grand coach and four nobody knows where. Let her go, the impertinent
baggage! "Father 'ont consent! father was very cross! father had better
let us marry! he will be sorry when he sees how grand and happy I am!
father called me bad names!" I wish I had called her worse! she deserves
every name that was ever written!'
'But, perhaps,' suggests Owen, 'she will be happy, and Howel will be
steady.'
'Steady! hold your tongue and don't be a fool! Make a drunkard steady!
make a bad son steady! make a gambler steady! make a horse-racer steady!
make--make--make--hold your tongue, sir: don't say a word for the
ungrateful girl--never mention her name to me again--I never wish to see
her face more as long as I live--I--I--I--'
Mr Prothero's passion choked his words. Could Netta have suddenly
returned and seen her father shaking with suppressed grief, his face
crimson with rage, and his hands and teeth clenched, and her mother
pale and weeping on her bed, she would, I think, have paused longer
before she caused them this great grief.
Mr Prothero returned to his wife before his passion was calmed. He found
her sitting up in bed wringing her hands, and crying as if her heart
would break.
'Now, mother, there's no good in this,' began the farmer. 'That girl
don't deserve tears and lamentations, and I 'ont have 'em. We 'ont have
the house turned upside down because a bad, obstinate, ungrateful
daughter has run away with a miser's son, and a good-for-nothing
spendthrift. Let 'em go, I say! I 'ouldn't stir a step to bring 'em
back--'
'Oh, David! dear, dear husband! if only you will find out that they are
married; if only you would send some one to see that Howel marries her!
This is all--all--all! I will never name her again! I will try to forget
her--I will do all you wish! but for my sake, for yours, for all, for
God's sake, see to this, or I shall die.'
Mr Prothero was cowed at once by this passionate burst of grief. He had
never seen his submissive, patient little wife excited in this way
before, for never before had she felt so deep a pain. Her only daughter!
'God help me! God help me!' she sobbed, when she had controlled her
great emotion. 'I know I have indulged her--spoilt her perhaps. I know
she is proud and wilful, and obstinate; but oh! to disobey us all--to go
off, she doesn't know where--with Howel, too, who has no religion,
nothing to keep him pure and honest--this is too much! too hard! No,
David, bach! it is no good to be angry now--if you won't go after her I
must.'
'Stop you, mother, stop you! we'll see the slut married anyhow; that is
to say, Howel shall marry her--who ever doubted that? but I'll never set
eyes on her again as long as I live, I 'ont.'
Whilst Mr Prothero was speaking, Gladys, who had been waiting upon Mrs
Prothero until that moment, slipped out of the room, and ran in search
of Owen. She found him amongst servants making inquiries.
'Mr Owen, may I speak with you if you please.'
Owen followed her into the hall.
'Oh! sir, if you would go after Miss Netta, now that the master is
willing, at once; may be you will save your mother's life. If she goes
on this way, she will surely be very ill.'
'What use would it be for me to go after her? The cow-boy saw her pass
at about five this morning, and she is at Swansea by this time. My
father ought to have let 'em marry, and get on together like other young
couples.'
'But, Mr Owen, the mistress is afraid--she wants to be sure--she would
be happier, sir, if some one could see them married!'
'Oh! that's the way the wind blows! You may tell mother that I'll try to
track them--but it won't be of any use. At any rate it will calm her to
think we are making the attempt. You write to my brother Rowland,
Gladys, and tell him of this affair; but the truth is, we must make the
best of it. They are off to London to be married, and 'tis no good to
try to look for 'em there.'
Here Shanno entered.
'Mr Owen, Mr Jones, Tenewydd, did tell Mr Thomas, Trefortyn, who did
tell John, blacksmith, who did tell Betto, that he saw Miss Netta and
Mrs Jenkins, tallow-chandler, this morning about six o'clock, and they
did get into a carriage by there.'
'Go and tell mother that Aunt Jenkins was with Netta, Gladys, and I'll
go and see whether Mr Jones really saw her or not.'
Gladys returned to her mistress, who had become more quiet, and was
trying to persuade Mr Prothero to go after the fugitives.
'Mr Owen is gone, ma'am,' said Gladys, 'and Mr Jones, of Tynewydd, saw
Miss Netta this morning with Mrs Griffith Jenkins, and they got into a
carriage together.'
'Thank God that 'Lizbeth was with her,' said Mrs Prothero.
'The deceitful, pompous old vagabond,' thundered Mr Prothero. 'She to
connive and contrive! fit mother for such a son. They 'ont come to no
good end. No, mother, I can't, nor I 'ont go after 'em; Netta has made
her own bed, and she must lie on it.'
'Mr Owen is gone, ma'am,' whispered Gladys. 'Try to take comfort; there
is One who can make all our rough ways straight, and will bring poor
Miss Netta home again, if we pray for it.'
'What's the girl preaching about?' said Mr Prothero, glancing sternly at
Gladys, who was silenced at once. 'Now, mother, we mustn't let that
undutiful girl upset us. I must go to the wheat-field--you must--' he
looked at his wife, and changed what he was going to say to, 'lie in
bed.'
'No, Davy, I can't lie in bed, I must go and look for Netta.'
'Now, wife, I 'ont have none of this nonsense. You must either lie in
bed or go about your work. The whole house sha'n't be turned
topsey-turvey for a baggage like that.'
Mr Prothero left the room, and his wife insisted upon getting up.
'If you could pray for her, ma'am, you would be happier, and perhaps
poor Miss Netta might be helped in a way we cannot see.'
'Pray for me, Gladys, I cannot think or pray for myself, I am so
bewildered.'
The two earnest-minded women knelt down by the bedside, and Gladys
offered up a simple prayer in her clear, strong language, for the 'poor
lamb who had strayed from the fold;' in which the mother joined in the
midst of her sobs and tears. When they arose from their knees, Mrs
Prothero kissed Gladys, and said she would go downstairs, and try to
work, and seek to keep her heart in prayer.
And the day wore through, until the evening brought Mr and Mrs Jonathan
Prothero. For the first time, Mrs Jonathan comforted her sister-in-law.
'Now, really, I do not see why you should be so very much distressed,'
she said. 'Howel is a fine, clever young man, with plenty of money. He
is sure to make his way into good society, and to place Netta in a
superior position. Of course, it was very wrong of her to elope, very;
but your husband is so obstinate that they knew he would never consent,
and what else were they to do? I confess I should have done the very
same thing. As to his not marrying her after all, that is absurd. He is
devotedly attached to her, and he knows that with her beauty and spirit,
she will soon be fit for good society.'
Mr Jonathan was not so successful with his brother. After saying that he
had seen a carriage and pair pass at about six that morning, he
proceeded to offer consolation.
'It is according to nature, brother. Since the creation, the man has
cleaved to the woman and the woman to the man. You married according to
your fancy, so did I; so have men and women ever since the world began.
It may turn out better than you imagine.'
'Brother Jo!' thundered the farmer, 'hold your tongue. I know Howel
better than you do, or anybody else, except Rowland. I 'ont hear any
more about 'em, and the less you say the better. She's no daughter o'
mine any more.'
With this Mr Prothero walked away, leaving his brother very much
perplexed and distressed, but comforting himself with hoping that time
would soften even his choleric relative.
Owen returned about ten o'clock. He had ridden to the inn where Howel
had changed horses, and learnt the name of the house whence the fly
came; had left his own horse and taken another, and gone on to Swansea,
where he found from the drivers that the trio had gone direct to London.
Thinking it useless to try to track them farther, he returned, fully
impressed with the wisdom of Howel in running off with what he couldn't
get by fair means.
'Such a row as father makes,' he soliloquised. 'Why, I should do the
very same thing to-morrow. And Howel's a decent chap too; will be, at
least, when he's sown a few more wild oats. But if Netta doesn't lead
him a dance I'm mistaken. She's father all over. There's a difference
between her and that Irish girl! My wig! if she isn't a quiet one. But I
never saw such eyes as hers in all my life, or such a sweet temper. I
wonder what father would say if I ran off with her, and took her a
voyage or two to give her a little more colour. That's all she wants to
make her a downright angel'