Pause, then, and think, all you young women who may be meditating a similar course, even whilst reading this story, or may be at issue with your parents, because their experience shows them a future which your inexperience cannot show you!  Pause and think that Netta is no fictitious character, her story no mere creation of an author’s brain, but the portrait and history of one out of hundreds of wilful daughters brought to shame and grief, and bringing all belonging to them to shame and grief by an unblessed and unholy marriage.

CHAPTER XL.

THE FORGER’S WIFE.

Days and weeks passed, and there was no intelligence of Netta.  Rowland had heard from Owen of the domestic misery at home, and also that he had been to see Mrs Griffith Jenkins, who disclaimed all knowledge of her son’s hiding place, or what had become of his wife and child.  Her own grief was too real to allow even the sceptical Owen to doubt it; and when, in addition, she gave him to understand that she, too, was nearly ruined by Howel’s forgeries, but that she would die rather than tell any one else of it, he could only pity the wretched mother who had, by her bad example and teaching, helped to train her son for the ruin into which he had fallen.

Rowland heard that Mr Deep had been arrested upon a charge of abetting Howel in his crimes, and that a search-warrant for the examination of his papers had brought to light other nefarious dealings, as well as an unsigned letter, supposed to be in Howel’s writing, intimating his intention of going to America.  This had caused inquiries to be made at the docks, and police emissaries to be despatched forthwith to America.  A person answering his description had sailed for that continent from Southampton the day after Howel left his house, but unaccompanied by wife or child.

Strange to say that the Epsom races had come off, and that Howel’s horse, Magnificent, had actually won the Derby stakes!  Too late! save for his creditors and those he had defrauded.  Still, doubtless, one more bitter drop in the cup of his despair, wherever he might chance to be drinking it.

All that he had left behind him was sold, hunters inclusive, and this Magnificent alone, particularly after the Derby, yielded a princely fortune.  Too late, either for further crimes, or poor Netta’s hoped-for reformation.

It was hard work for Rowland to go through his heavy parochial duties with this great misfortune hanging over his head.  But if the sympathy and kindness of friends could help him in his work, and support him under the pressure of anxiety, he was helped and supported.  Still it was evident to all that he fled from society, and in spite of the delicate tact of the Joneses and Freda, he had scarcely been near them since that first day.  Whether it was pride or susceptibility, he could scarcely tell himself, but he could not bring himself to thrust his sorrow and those of his family upon others.  He caused every possible search to be made, through the police and otherwise for Netta, but in vain.