Rowland thanked Miss Gwynne for her kindness, and she said she would do anything in the world for Mrs Prothero.

She and Miss Hall went away in the carriage that brought Rowland, promising to return again in the afternoon.

When Rowland had swallowed some coffee, he went back to his mother’s room.  As he walked from the door to the foot of the bed, she opened her eyes, and seemed for a moment to look at him; a thrill of hope shot through him.  He went round and took her hand, and whispered, ‘Mother!’ Did she smile?  He thought she did.

Shortly afterwards her lips moved, and Gladys heard the name ever on them, ‘Netta.’  This was better, far better, than that death-like trance.

‘Mother, dear mother,’ again whispered Rowland, and once more her eyes opened and fixed on him, with something like consciousness.

At last an opiate which the doctor had given took effect, and she slept; her pulse was so weak, and her breathing so faint, that at first the watchers thought she was passing away into that sleep from which there is no awakening; but it was not so.  It was a weak troubled sleep; still it was a sleep.

By degrees all left the room but Rowland and Gladys.  Mrs Prothero’s hand seemed to be clasping that of her son, as if it would not let go; and Gladys never moved from the bedside.

She saw that there must be hope if real sleep came.  As she sat down in a kind of easy chair that Owen had placed for her by the bedside, she thanked God for this amount of hope,

‘Sleep, Gladys, I will watch,’ whispered Rowland.

And truly the poor girl had need of rest.  Scarce had she closed her eyes during that anxious week, and she knew well how necessary rest was to her.  But she felt as if she could not sleep whilst this uncertainty lasted.  All the anxious faces of the household flitted before her when she tried to compose herself.  Her poor master, his brother, Mrs Jonathan, Rowland, but mostly Owen.  He who had said the least, had shown the greatest self-command and done the most.  His large kind eyes seemed to be looking at his mother or at her, and trying to anticipate their wants.  His hands so brown and sinewy, yet so very gentle, seemed to be touching hers, as they had done when moving his mother or otherwise helping in the sick-room.  His cheery voice seemed to be telling her not to weary herself so much, or to be thanking her for the care she bestowed upon his dear parent.  In vain she tried to put aside this kind of haunting vision.  Her mistress and Owen were painted on the over-strained retina, and she could not efface the picture.  She prayed for them, for all.  Then, as the afternoon sunlight faded away, and a twilight hue crept over the room, with just a flickering streak of light playing on the wall opposite to her, the death-beds of her father, mother, sister, and brothers rose up before her with a vivid reality that made her tremble, and forced tears from her weary eyes.  The tears seemed a relief, and as they flowed quietly down her cheeks, and the coming shadows dispersed the visions of the living, dying, and dead faded away, a mist fell on her eyes and she slept.