Gladys now recapitulated, more minutely, the circumstances of her early history, a sketch of which she gave Miss Gwynne and Mrs Prothero when she was recovering from her fever.

There were a few points that she did not mention at that time, which, we will insert for the benefit of the reader, in Gladys’ own words.

’My father left my mother in Ireland, and went with his regiment to India.  My mother lived with my grandfather, who was old and infirm, but still managed a small farm, in which my mother assisted.  He died, and then my mother kept a school, took in needlework, and did what she could to help out my father’s remittances, which were small, but regular.  He was severely wounded in the head, and got his discharge upon his corporal’s pay.  Being a clever man, he soon procured work, as a kind of under-agent, and we lived very happily together for some years.  He was never a saving man, so what he earned he spent, and my poor mother spent it with him.  I had two brothers and three sisters, and when my father died, rather suddenly, we had nothing but our own exertions to depend upon.  My mother and I managed to live and keep the children—­how, I scarcely know—­till the famine from the failure of the potato crop, and consequent fever and starvation came upon us.  God preserve me, and every one else, from witnessing such misery again!  One child died after another, and then the darling mother!  I had nothing to give her; literally nothing.  Every one round us was in the same state.  On her death-bed she was rambling and incoherent, but talked of Wales, and her father and brother.

’"Go to them, Gladys,” she said, “when I am gone.  Maybe they’ll take to ye.”  “Where, mother dear!” I asked.  But she did not hear me.  Thank God! she clasped her hands and prayed for pardon of her sins through Jesus Christ; and so she died.  I don’t know how I lived after her—­how I buried her—­how I came into Wales.  I scarcely remember anything, till I awoke from that illness in calm, clean, beautiful Glanyravon; with my mistress’s blessed face looking down upon me, and Miss Gwynne waiting on me, and Mr Rowland praying for me.’

For some years past Gladys had succeeded in obtaining a calm and even spirit, by striving to banish these dreadful scenes from her mind, by active labours for others, and abnegation of self.  Now, they opened once more the flood-gates of memory, and as the old recollections rushed through, like repressed waters, her strength of mind gave way, and she could do nothing but weep.

‘Only to-night—­forgive me!’ she sobbed.  ’I shall be better to-morrow.  But it all comes back, all; even in the moment of my great happiness.’

Her kind friends soothed and comforted her—­her uncle wept with her, and by degrees she once more grew calm.

Before they separated for the night, Mr Jones offered up a thanksgiving for the great mercy God had vouchsafed to them; and commending his newly-found niece to the further protection of that gracious Providence, who had led the orphan to her home; in His presence, and that of his wife and her friends, he solemnly blessed her, and adopted her as his own child.