‘And Rowland isn’t spoilt by it, brother,’ said Mr Jonathan.  ’He is a son and nephew we have reason to be proud of.’

Thus, in the midst of heavy sorrow, a joy came to the inmates of Glanyravon Farm.  A sunbeam through the shadows.

Such, too, is life!

CHAPTER L.

THE DISINHERITED.

Miss Gwynne and Rowland walked on quietly together for a little space.  There was something in the heart of each, unknown to the other, that seemed to close up speech.  It was nearly five o’clock, and a January evening; but for the ‘pretty moon’ and the white mist from the river, and the frost-bitten snow on the roads, it would have been dark; but it was really a fine, bright night.  That river-mist rose from the meadows beneath like a large lake, and the moonlight pierced through it and mingled with it.

It was such a night as lovers of a healthy, natural tone of mind might rejoice in; frost and snow being no refrigerators of true, honest warmth, but rather tending to keep it alive, by exhilarating the spirits and clearing the atmosphere.

Rowland broke the silence, and so clear was the air, that his own voice startled him.

’I am going to London to-morrow, Miss Gwynne; may I give Mrs Jones some hope that you will soon be back again?’

‘I fear not,’ said Freda; ’my father wishes me to remain at home, and I have decided upon doing so.’

‘Not entirely?’ asked Rowland, in a voice that all his self-command could not render calm.

’I believe it is so settled.  He makes a great point of it.  Lady Mary is equally urgent, and I have promised.  Do you not think it is right?’

‘I suppose so; but what shall we do without you?’

Rowland spoke as he felt, from his heart.  Miss Gwynne was touched by the words and tone.

‘I shall be very sorry,’ she said, simply.  ’I never was so happy as in that dingy old square.’

Rowland felt that his new living, with all its increased responsibilities, would be a heavy burden to him without Freda’s ready energy to lighten it.  He did not at that moment pause to think how closely even our highest duties are entwined with our affections, and thereby lowered to earth—­but so it is.  The conscientious man does them; but a helping hand, a friendly voice, a loving word, is a wonderful aid towards doing them with a cheerful spirit.

There was silence for a few minutes between Rowland and Freda, and their quick steps slackened.  At last: 

‘I thank you from my heart, Miss Gwynne,’ said Rowland, for all your kindness to my dear sister.  It must cease, alas! but it will never be forgotten.’

’Poor Netta! my old playfellow!  I was only too thankful to be of any service.  I wish we could have saved her.’

‘God knows best.  Her husband is in Newgate gaol.’

Rowland said this with a great effort; Freda started, and there was again a brief silence.