THE BETROTHED.
Owen found Gladys in the dairy with his mother and Minette. She had a
candle in one hand, lighting Mrs Prothero, whilst she was looking at the
fresh milk just put into the pans; Minette held the other.
'All right, Gladys! all right! Father has consented!' cried Owen,
literally tumbling down the passage between the milk-pans.
Down went a splendid tin of milk right over Minette. Owen didn't mind.
His arm was round Gladys' waist, and the candle stowed away somewhere,
before any one knew what he was about. Mother and niece saw the long,
fervent embrace to which Gladys yielded; but Owen didn't mind that. If
all the servants, domestic and otherwise, had been there, he wouldn't
have cared.
'Oh, Mr Owen!' said Gladys.
'Oh, Mrs. Owen,' said he.
'Mother, she is mine and yours now for ever!' he continued, releasing
Gladys somewhat from his firm clasp. 'Father has given her to me. I
needn't ask you. We will live all together. I will herd the cows, and
she shall milk them.'
'Come into the kitchen, Owen,' said Mrs Prothero, utterly astonished.
'Uncle, you have wet me all over,' sighed Minette.
'Never mind. Come by the fire and dry yourself.'
They all went into the kitchen, which was empty. There, by the blazing
wood fire, Owen kissed Gladys and his mother and Minette, and Mrs
Prothero kissed Gladys; and the women cried and Owen laughed. It was a
long time before he could explain the real state of the case.
'You are quite sure you love me, Gladys? It is not _gratitude_, but
love!' said Owen, looking into the pure, lustrous 'violets dropping
dew,' that he had studied so long and so lovingly.
The answering glance and the quick blush were quite satisfactory.
'Then, will you come with me to father and Netta. We owe it all to
her--poor dear Netta!'
'Please to wipe my frock first,' said Minette to her grandmother; 'and
tell me if uncle is going to marry Gladys. I am so glad.'
The frock was wiped, and Owen took the child up in his arms, and told
her to love her new aunt better than ever.
'I can't love her better, uncle,' was the simple assurance of the little
girl.
'Nor can I, even as my daughter,' said Mrs Prothero, pressing the hand
she held with a mother's love.
They all went to the parlour, where Mr Prothero and Netta were sitting,
quite silent, by the fire-light.
Owen led Gladys to his father, who did not well know what to do on the
occasion, not being quite satisfied with the respectability of the
parentage of his future daughter-in-law.
Gladys summoned all her courage, and standing before Mr Prothero, said
firmly,--
'You will be glad, sir, to know that I have found my friends, and that
they acknowledge me as their relation. I could never have consented to
bring disgrace upon you and yours. I do not think I could have accepted
your present great kindness even, had I not been able to make my truth
as clear as the noon-day. Mr Jones, with whom Miss Gwynne and I have
been living so long, is my uncle--my mother's own brother.'
The general exclamations of surprise may be imagined.
'The girl's dreaming, like Netta,' from Mr Prothero.
'Why didn't you tell me before?' from Owen.
'I knew she was true,' from Mrs Prothero.
'How can this be, Gladys?' from Netta.
Gladys told her story simply. Every one was too much engrossed with it,
to think of the pretty picture that wondering family group made; but as
we know it already, we will look at the picture whilst she is telling
her tale.
The large, old-fashioned sofa is placed at one side of the fire-place,
its head against the wall, its foot towards the window, so as to give
Netta warmth and the view of the distant hills at the same time. Between
the head of the sofa and the fire-place is an arm-chair, also against
the wall, Mr Prothero's favourite seat; and Minette's footstool is by
the side of her mother, and at the feet of her grandfather.
Netta's pale face is in shadow, but the large, bright black eyes beam
upon Gladys, with preternatural lustre, and the raven hair shines
against the white pillow that supports her head. The broad, massive
figure of the father, in its rough work-a-day clothes, is also in
shadow. One elbow rests upon the arm of Netta's sofa, one hand smooths
mechanically the head of his grandchild, resting against his knee. This
large hand and that tender head come within the glow of the fire-light.
His grey head is lifted towards Gladys, on whom his keen black eyes, so
like Netta's, are also fixed. Minette, too, sitting at his feet, gazes
with child-like wonder on Gladys; her long black curls falling over her
pale face. Grandsire, daughter, child, so like one another, and yet so
far apart in age. Three types they are of the ancient Briton.
Opposite this trio, with her left hand clasped in that of Netta, and
close to her sofa, stands the fair, blue-eyed, graceful Gladys;
thoroughly Irish in beauty, if Welsh in heart. The red glare of the
large bright fire brings out her sweet, earnest face, and slight form.
Her eyes are cast down, as if they cannot support the gaze of so many
other eyes, and her cheeks are flushed with a strange excitement.
Towering a full head above her, his arm round her waist, the thick black
beard touching her hair is the manly, handsome Owen. Love, joy, pride,
in his honest black eyes, and health on his bronzed and ruddy cheeks.
Seated on the sofa, her arms on Netta's knees, her head, with its silver
hair, and plain white lace cap, eagerly pressed forward, is the
well-beloved mother. For the first time since Netta's return, grief for
the one child, has merged into joy for the other, and prayer and praise
for all are in her heart even whilst she listens.
The story is told, Gladys raises her eyes and head somewhat proudly for
her. Owen lowers his, and kisses the pure, white forehead. There is
silence for a few moments, no one can speak for tears. Owen is the
first.
'Well, father! all's right now, at any rate.'
'Treue for you there, Owen, my boy. The only objection is removed;
everybody will know now that Gladys was honest, God bless you both, and
make you happy.'
At this moment there was a suppressed sob from Netta. Her mind had
wandered from the open, straightforward betrothal of Owen and Gladys,
crowned, after years of difficulty, with a father's and mother's
blessing, to her own unhallowed marriage--to her lost husband.
Again poor Netta was the object of every one's thoughts, Gladys forgot
herself, and Owen his joy, to cheer and comfort her.
It was in private that Mrs Prothero poured out her feelings to Gladys,
and assured her of her unbounded satisfaction in the prospect of such a
daughter. It was also in private that Netta solemnly gave her child into
Gladys' care. She said,--
'If I die, Gladys, you are to be her mother. You are to bring her up;
she is never to leave you. If Howel comes back, say to him this was my
wish. But I will write it for him. You must teach her to love her
father, and to pray for him; and when she is old enough to be firm in
her duty, to go to him if he wishes it. But never let Aunt 'Lizbeth have
her--never. I _must_ see Aunt 'Lizbeth, I must tell her my wishes
myself; you must talk to her, Gladys; she must not have my child if I
die.'
Owen and Minette went together to see poor Mrs Griffey. They
found her much altered. Owen could scarcely recognise the brisk,
handsomely-dressed Aunt 'Lizbeth who came to announce her son's gay
wedding to Mrs Prothero, in that son's mother, as stricken by his crime.
Moreover, there was a very strong smell of spirits in the room, and Owen
perceived a bottle and glass, that had been hastily put aside, under a
table in the corner.
Mrs Jenkins cried a great deal when she saw Minette, and Owen was soon
very sorry that he had brought the child. However he told her to go to a
small inner room, the window of which looked into the street, and her
attention was soon quite absorbed. Her grandmother was in a maudlin
condition, out of which, under any other circumstances, Owen would have
extracted mirth, but now he only felt anger and sorrow.
'Have you heard anything of Howel, Aunt 'Lizbeth?' he asked.
'Oh, _annwyl_! No. Mr Rice Rice is telling me there is a 'ditement
brought against him for forgery, and now they can be taking him
anywhere, and bringing him to trial as soon as they do find him.
Forgery! name o' goodness, why 'ould he be forging, as I do say to every
one, and his own mother as 'ould be giving him thousands of pounds. My
Howels! Ach a fi! for sham to them! But he 'ont be found guilty, if they
do tak him. Owen, bach! it was killing me, 'deet to goodness it was,'
'Don't cry, Aunt 'Lizbeth, I wanted to speak to you about Netta.'
'Oh seure! she 'ont come to see her husband's mother! and I don't be
cheusing to be turned out of doors again.'
'She is very ill, aunt. We don't know whether she can ever recover. Her
mind is wandering, and has been ever since that--Howel left her; she
thinks he is gone for debt, and if she knew the real state of the case,
it would probably be the death of her. If we could manage a meeting
between you, could you speak only of Howel's debts, and not of this
terrible suspicion.'
'Seurely I could; but I 'ont go to Glanyravon; if your father was
turning me out of doors then, what will he be doing now?'
'We must see, Aunt 'Lizbeth? poor Netta sends her love to you, and begs
you to keep up; she says she is sure Howel will come back; I was to tell
you this.'
'Netta! Netta! poor dear, poor dear.'
Mrs Jenkins began to rock herself to and fro in her chair violently, and
to cry hysterically.
'He was very fond of her, Owen; you don't think she'll be dying? I do be
wishing all day long that she hadn't gone off with him, and that my
Griffey hadn't left all that money--and--and--tak you a glass of
brandy and water, Owen, it will be warming you after your cold walk, and
I do feel so poorly and wretched all over, that I'll be having a drop
along.'
'No thank you, aunt, we must be going; what of the counsel for Howel?'
'Oh, I do be having the best in all London; Prince Albert or Queen
Victoria 'ouldn't be having a better; to think of him as was dining with
them wanst.'
'Don't believe such nonsense, Aunt 'Lizbeth.'
'Was you thinking that my Howels is not telling the treuth? But I am
seure they 'ont be finding him; they was telling me that America, where
they do think he is gone, is bigger than all Wales, and England, and
London put together. Oh, if I could be going to him, I 'ouldn't be
vexing shocking, as I was now. All that money that my Griffey was
putting by in pence and sixpences and shillings all gone, and he no
better, and Howels no better, and I no better, 'scept that I did be
seeing London. Come you, Owen, tak you a drop of brandy and water. I do
tak it very kind of you to be coming to see me.'
'What message shall I give Netta, Aunt 'Lizbeth?'
'Give you her my love, and I'll be seeing her whenever she do like. Tell
you her that Howels shall be having every penny his poor old mother do
own to set him right again; he'll be seure to be proving himself right,
come you. Them Simpsons and Spendalls were always living upon him, and
now to be turning against him. Ach a fi! now do be taking a drop before
you do go.'
'No thank you, Aunt 'Lizbeth; and I don't think spirits good for you.
You had better be careful.'
'I don't be drinking a wine glass full in a week, but when I am having
the spasms, and now I am vexing so, they was coming oftener than they
was eused to.'
Owen left Mrs Jenkins with a heavy heart, foreseeing her end; Minette
said she didn't like her because she smelt so of wine, and wasn't a
lady.
The next day but one Gladys went to see her, and did what she could to
comfort and help her; she was used to all sorts of sorrow and sin, and
was so gentle a consoler, and so Christian an adviser, that poor Mrs
Jenkins asked her to come and stay with her always; but that could not
be; she went, however, as often as she could leave Netta.
Netta's will and word was now law with her father; he refused her
nothing; he even allowed her to see her mother-in-law, provided the
meeting was managed when he was from home. It was so managed, and a
melancholy meeting it proved; the old woman's tears and sobs were so
irrepressible, that Gladys was obliged to shorten it as much as
possible; Netta, however, was calmer than she expected.
'Mother,' she said, 'I want you to promise me one thing. If I die--'
'Oh, Netta, fach! why was you talking of dying? you 'ont be dying.'
'I said _if_, mother. I wish Gladys, who is going to marry Owen--'
'Gladys, Owen! name o' goodness! and your father! he 'ouldn't let you
marry my Howels, and she--'
'Is very good, mother, whilst I am very bad. But I wish her and Owen to
bring up my child; you must tell Howel so, when he comes back; and when
she is grown up, she will be a comfort to you and him. My head is
confused; I dreamt last night Howel was here, and he was going to take
away Minette. Is he with you, mother? tell me! do you know where he is?
Oh! if I could see him once more! once more!'
'He is being safe in America, Netta, fach, but is coming home soon I am
thinking. Don't you be dying; he was doating upon you, and if he do come
home, and don't be finding you, he'll be dying too.'
'Are you sure he will come back? Did he tell you so himself?'
'To be seure. He is coming back soon, only he must be paying his debts
first. Come you!'
Mrs Jenkins' unmitigated falsehoods did Netta a great deal of good; they
cheered her, and gave her hope for the time. Gladys doubted whether
hopes so based, and to be so miserably crushed, were to be encouraged,
but she had not the heart to undeceive her.
When Mr Prothero returned home that evening, he was surprised to see
Netta looking so much more cheerful than she had done since her return.
'Better, much better,' was her answer to his eager look of inquiry. 'And
now I am better, I have another favour to ask. I want to see Owen and
Gladys married while I am here. I think it would almost cure me to feel
that I had helped to do one kind and right thing in my wrong life. Would
you mind it, father?'
'I shall be very glad to see them married, my dear; the sooner the
better. Owen's good-for-nothing now but sitting with his arm round
Gladys' waist all day long, and I hate those sort of follies.'
'Oh! Davy,' said Mrs Prothero, 'young people will be young people, and
I'm sure no one can be so modest as Gladys,'
'Well, I'm of Netta's opinion, and the sooner they're married the
better. I must confess, now I know who Gladys is, there isn't a girl in
all the country I like so well. And Mr and Mrs Jones have written as a
gentleman and lady ought to write, owning her, and giving their free
consent to her marrying our Owen. So, Netta, fach, if you can get the
young folk's consent you have mine.'
Owen and Gladys had accompanied Mrs Jenkins part of the way home. She
had particularly asked Gladys to 'send her,' and as it was getting dusk,
Owen had 'sent her' also. They returned during the conversation
respecting their marriage and Mr Prothero who had forgotten, if he had
ever experienced, the shyness of affianced lovers, began the subject at
once.
'Netta wants you two young people to be married directly, so do I. I
shall be glad when 'tis all over. What do you say to it?'
They had nothing to say, Gladys blushed, and Owen felt awkward on her
account, not his own.
'There, I always said that lovers were fools,' said Mr Prothero.
'We will settle it another time,' said Netta.
'Go you and settle it directly,' said Mr Prothero; 'what my little girl
here says, is law in this house.'
Poor Netta always began to cry when her father said anything
particularly kind. She did so now. There was a reaction on her spirits,
and she suddenly became as depressed as she had previously been gay. The
constantly recurring contrasts between herself and Gladys continually
affected her, and her father's readiness for the marriage reminded her
of the scenes between him and herself previously to her own.
The topic was given up for that evening, but the following morning Netta
renewed it with Owen, who declared himself ready to marry Gladys that
very moment.
The upshot of it all was, that the wedding was settled for New Year's
Day, at Netta's particular request. No one cared, or indeed thought what
the world would say at a marriage taking place during a period of such
heavy affliction. Netta willed it, and to give her pleasure, and an
object for her poor wandering mind, every member of the family would
have made any sacrifice; and this was not a sacrifice at all, but an
event of importance to all.
Mr and Mrs Jones promised to come if only for one clear day, and sent a
box of presents to their niece, which Netta had the pleasure of
unpacking. Amongst them was a simple and pretty wedding dress and
bonnet, that poor Netta wept over, thinking of her own.
On the whole, however, Netta was better and more cheerful, and even
assisted in the preparations that were going forward. She helped to make
that pretty dove-coloured silk dress that was manufactured at home, and
tried to join in the happiness which her apparently improved health
seemed to make allowable.
But Netta's heart was with Howel, and the certainty that she felt of his
return and constant love, alone sustained her. Alas! that poor,
fluttering, uncertain heart!