CHAPTER XVIII.

THE NURSE.

Mrs Prothero continued very ill, and the doctor said there was no chance of her amendment until her mind was more at ease.  Four days had passed, and no intelligence of Netta.  Each day found her worse than the preceding, and brain fever was apprehended.  Gladys nursed her day and night.  Mr Prothero stormed and lamented by turns.  Owen did what he could to assist and comfort all, and Miss Gwynne and Miss Hall sent every kind of nourishing food from the Park.

On the fifth morning, Owen rode into the town in the vague hope that he should hear something of his sister, either through Mrs Jenkins’s servant or the post.  Mrs Jenkins had not returned, but there was a neat, smooth letter for his father, directed by Howel, with which he rode off homewards at full gallop.  He longed to open it, but he dared not.  He was fearful that his father would put it into the fire unread, so he formed twenty plans for securing it, which he knew he could not carry out; however, when he returned home and sought his father in the harvest field, he said,—­

’Father, I have a letter directed by Howel.  Will you let me open it for mother’s sake?’

’If it is yours, do what you will with it? if it is mine, burn it unread.’

’But, father, surely you would do something to save mother’s life.  Any news of Netta—­’

‘Don’t name that girl to me, sir, or I’ll horsewhip you!’

‘May I open the letter, father?’

’Do as you will, but don’t let me see it.  The deceitful up-start! the pompous fool! the—­the—­’

Owen waited for no more epithets but ran into the house, and stumbling upon Gladys in the passage, told her to come and see what the letter contained.  When he opened the outer envelope and took out the beautiful little glossy note with its silver border and white seal, stamped with a small crest of an eagle, he burst out laughing.

‘Cards, by jingo!’ he exclaimed.

’Oh, Mr Owen, just let me cut round the neat little seal.  I am sure your mother would like to see it,’ said Gladys, joining involuntarily in the laugh, and taking a pair of scissors out of her pocket.

The seal was cut, and two cards were taken out, silver-lettered and silver-bordered, showing that Netta was now Mrs Howel Jenkins.

Gladys ran off with them without asking any questions, followed by Owen.  They found Mrs Prothero crying, as she usually was when left alone.

‘I hope we have good news, ma’am,’ said Gladys.

‘All right, mother.  Cheer up!  Netta is married at any rate,’ cried Owen.

‘Thank God!’ said Mrs Prothero, taking the cards and pressing them to her lips.  ‘But not a line—­not a word from Netta!’

‘She would not dare to write, ma’am,’ suggested Gladys.

’I suppose not? but why did she go away?  Why did she leave me never to see me again?’