They resorted to every possible means of amus.e.m.e.nt, but in vain. She was quite preoccupied, and even her child failed to attract her attention.
Again she became nervous at every sudden sound, and started at every footfall. She told Gladys that she knew that Howel would either come to her during the course of that week, or that she should go to him.
Her mother a.s.sisted her in going to bed that night, and before she laid down, she said,--
"Dear mother! do you remember that you used to come to this dear room when I was a child, the last thing at night, and, sleeping or waking, to kiss me before you went to sleep? and do you remember that I always said my prayers at your knee, in that very corner by the little table?
Sometimes I feel as if I was a child, or quite a young girl again. It was so good of you to give me my own room, and my own bed, that I love so well. If I go away, I should like Minette to have this room. It will make her think of me. I pray she may be a better child than I have been."
"Will you not get into bed, dear, and try to sleep?" said Mrs Prothero.
"I think I should like to say my prayers again alone with you; so, at your feet. You shall pray for me, and I will join with you."
Netta knelt, as if she were, indeed, once more a child, at her mother"s knees, and clasped her thin white hands together.
"Will you pray for Howel, mother?" asked Netta.
Mrs Prothero laid her hand on her kneeling daughter"s head, and uplifting her tearful eyes to heaven, prayed aloud for Netta, for Howel, for all. Netta repeated each sentence after her mother, and when the prayer was concluded, threw her arms around her, and thanked her for praying for Howel.
"I cannot deceive you again mother, fach," she said "I am going away to seek Howel, because he cannot come to me. If I should never find him, mother--but I shall, I know I shall, if I should die on the road--tell him that I never loved any one but him all my life, and I am sure he loves me. And now I am at peace with all the world, and have repented of all my sins. Gladys thinks I shall go to heaven if I die. And I humbly believe I shall. I feel quite calm and happy in my own mind, only wishful to go to my poor Howel, who is alone and unhappy. Now, mother, I will go to bed."
She went to bed accordingly.
"Let Minette come and say good-night to me, mother," she said, when Mrs Prothero had made her comfortable.
Mrs Prothero called the child, and her grandfather brought her upstairs.
"How does my girl feel to-night?" asked Mr Prothero cheerfully.
"Better, father, thank you; quite well indeed. G.o.d bless you, darling.
Be a good child to grandmother and Aunt Gladys, and all. G.o.d bless you, father. I think I should like to have Owen and Gladys to wish me good-night; it is so nice to see you all together."
Owen and Gladys came, and Netta bade "G.o.d bless" them all, and said she should now go to sleep quite happy.
Gladys went to put Minette to bed, and Mrs Prothero sat by Netta"s pillow.
"Good-night, mother; G.o.d bless you," Netta said, more than once, before she fell asleep.
When Gladys returned, she was sleeping peacefully.
"The excitement of the day seems to have pa.s.sed away," whispered Gladys.
"Let me watch by her, dear mother."
The words "mother" and "daughter" had come quite naturally to Mrs Prothero and Gladys.
"No, Gladys, thank you; not to-night. I will be in the room to-night."
"Then you will go to bed soon?"
"Yes, very shortly."
The two women embraced one another tenderly.
"We can only pray for her, poor lamb," said Mrs Prothero gently. "I have given her to the Lord to do with her according to His good pleasure."
"He will not leave her nor forsake her," said Gladys.
Mrs Prothero sat a long time by her child"s side watching her, but she slept so calmly that at last she went to the little table by the fire, and read her Bible. It was late--very late for the farm--when she undressed herself and lay down on the little bed, placed near the larger bed of Netta. Even then, more than an hour pa.s.sed before she slept. The last thing she heard before she closed her eyes was her daughter"s somewhat irregular breathing--the last words that rang in her ears were her "G.o.d bless you, mother."
Gladys, uneasy, she knew not wherefore, was in the room at about three o"clock in the morning. She had learnt to move so gently that the sleepers were not conscious of her presence. She was most thankful to find them sleeping.
Gladys was up and dressed by six o"clock. She was anxious to spare her mother all possible trouble, and to see that the household was astir before she arose. It was a cold, dark January morning. As she went down the pa.s.sage, a candle in her hand, towards Netta"s room, she felt the chill air press heavily around her. She put the candle on the floor, outside the room, and went in. The night-light had burnt out, and the fire was dim, though not extinguished. Gladys pa.s.ses Mrs Prothero without awaking her, and stands at Netta"s bedside.
She cannot see clearly the face of the sleeping Netta, but such a restless anxiety about her had haunted her all the night, that she stoops down to listen to her breathing. It is so faint that she kneels down, and puts her ear close to the face. So very faint it is, that she is not quite sure that she hears it at all. She goes into the pa.s.sage for the candle, and meets Owen. She signs him to silence, and her pale face frightens him. He goes with her into Netta"s room. Shading the candle with her hand, she again stoops over Netta, so does Owen.
Very calm, very pale, and most lovely is the face on which they gaze with an eager, throbbing anxiety. Gladys presses her hand on Owen"s arm, as she puts the candle near that placid face. He, too, puts his ear close to the half-open mouth, touches the hand that lies on the white counterpane, feels for the pulse, so quick but yesterday. He is about to utter the fear that oppresses him, but Gladys points to his mother, still heavily sleeping.
"Perhaps it is a swoon," she whispers, and goes for the draught ready for such an attack. The light of the candle awakes Mrs Prothero, and she is out of bed in a moment.
"Netta has fainted, mother; she has one of her spasms," says Owen, turning his pale face to his mother.
"My G.o.d, it is death!" cries the stricken mother, falling on her knees by the bedside of her child.
And it is death. Without a groan the spirit has quitted its dwelling of clay to enter upon its eternal rest!
CHAPTER XLIX.
THE RECTOR.
Life and death! What are they? A soul in chains, and a soul set free.
Darkness and light, uncertainty and certainty! Warfare and peace! A railway journey and the great terminus! A span of time and immeasurable eternity! A bounded horizon and illimitable s.p.a.ce! Earth and heaven!
Satan and Christ! Man and G.o.d!
Life! On New Year"s morning Glanyravon Farm was gay with preparations for a wedding. All its inmates were hopeful and cheerful! Two human beings were made as happy as human beings can be in this world. Three generations witnessed the auspicious event, and blessings and congratulations mingled with the marriage bells!
One short week, and Glanyravon Farm was mournful with lamentations for the dead. All its inmates were weeping. Death"s angel had glided in unawares and unexpected, and had borne away one of that loving family, leaving only her earthly tenement behind!
Another short week, and Glanyravon Farm held no longer even that once beautiful tenement. Quiet forms moved about in black clothing, and melancholy faces looked sadly at one another, and spoke low of her from whom they were parted for an indefinite period.
Such is life!
Death! what know the living of death? Is it not "swallowed up in victory?" Death, then, to the believer in Christ is victory.
Such is death!