Rowland, meanwhile, watched his mother.  During the twelve months that he had been a curate in a parish in one of the worst parts of London, he had seen much of the sick and the dying.  He had seen poverty, wretchedness, and sin in their most dreadful aspects, and the peace and comfort of his mother’s present condition were a great contrast to the riot and squalor of many a death room into which he had sought to carry the gospel message of mercy.  Truly he felt thankful in his inmost soul that she, over whom he was watching with filial love, was ready at any moment to appear before the great Tribunal, because she ’believed and knew in whom she believed.’  It was for Netta, his beloved and wayward sister, the cause of this first great family trouble, that he grieved the most, because he feared that she had entered upon that downward path that would lead her far astray from the one in which her mother had so long and happily trod.  But he, too, knew where to apply in all his times of doubt and misgiving, and thither he went for comfort as the shadows fell around and night crept on.

Mrs Jonathan Prothero came noiselessly into the room, bringing in a shaded night light, and anxious to bear some intelligence to the watchers downstairs.  Her step, light as it was, awoke Gladys.  She started up, and looking on her mistress, clasped her hands, and fervently thanked God.

‘She is sleeping as calmly as a child,’ she said.  ’I am sure the worst is past.’

Mrs Jonathan went out to tell the good news, and to beg the brothers to go to bed, which they did, after some demur.  Gladys and Rowland watched on for about an hour longer, when Mrs Prothero opened her eyes and fixed them upon Rowland.  She smiled as if she knew him, and when he bent over her and kissed her, murmured some faint words which he could not understand.

Gladys gave her some jelly which she swallowed, and soon afterwards she slept again.

‘The crisis is over, she will recover, I hope, Mr Rowland,’ said Gladys.  ’You can go to bed, sir—­you had better.  The mistress will want you to-morrow, and you can be of no use to-night.’

Rowland felt the force of this, and again kissing his mother’s forehead, and shaking Gladys by the hand, he went downstairs to Owen, who he found asleep on the sofa in the parlour.  Supper was awaiting him, and Owen and he were soon seated over the fire, discussing their mother’s illness and Netta’s conduct.

They had not met for three or four years, and there was much to say.  Few brothers loved one another more tenderly than they did, despite the dissimilarity of habits, tastes, and occupations, and when they were together, all the secrets of their hearts were usually unfolded.  Although Owen’s wild roving nature had caused Rowland much anxiety, still he had perfect confidence in his honest, open character.  Owing to early education Owen was not deficient in general acquirements.  He knew a little Latin and Greek,