Gladys, the Reaper Part 92

These were thoughts that presented themselves to Rowland Prothero after he had followed his sister's body to the grave. It was with such thoughts, simplified when put into words, that he attempted to comfort his mother, and to raise his father's mind from a morbid ruminating upon the past, to the hope that his beloved child had found death victory.

Whilst Gladys comforted Owen and Minette, Rowland seemed to be all in all to his parents, and devoted himself to them during the period that he was able to leave his duties in London. The news of the death of his rector abroad had reached him the day before the intelligence of that of Netta; and, had it not been for the kind exertions of Mr Jones, he could not have stayed with his family the Sunday that followed the funeral.

Mr Jones, however, managed everything for him in London, and procured help in the emergency. Thus Rowland was able to accompany his family to church, and to be with them a few days of the week succeeding that on which his dear sister was buried.

It was on the afternoon of one of these few and precious days that he was sitting alone with his mother. The rest of the family were about their necessary avocations. Gladys, followed by poor little Minette in her black frock, was managing the household. Owen and his father were out of doors, the former doing his best to cheer his poor father, who had been perhaps more entirely cast down by his loss than any other member of the family, Mrs Prothero not excepted. As he himself said, he had not known what an idol he had made of his girl until she was gone from him.

Rowland and his mother were talking of Netta. It was Mrs Prothero's one theme when alone with him or Gladys. They could comfort her aching heart by a.s.suring her that they believed her child's repentance to have been sincere, and her faith, if at times troubled and confused by the wandering mind and puzzled brain, placed on the One sole and sure foundation.

It was in the midst of this conversation that Mrs Griffith Jenkins entered, unushered, into the parlour where they were sitting.

At the earnest request of his wife and all his children, backed by the feeling that Netta would have wished it, Mr Prothero had consented to ask Mrs Jenkins to the funeral, which she had attended, together with Mrs Prothero, Mrs Jonathan, and Gladys. Mr Prothero had shaken her by the hand on that sad day, but had not spoken to her. Sorrow had so far bowed his spirit as to teach him to forgive her, if not Howel.

Mrs Jenkins scarcely gave herself time to say 'How do you do?' when she poured out the grief which had brought her to Glanyravon.

'Oh, Mrs Prothero, fach! Ach, Rowland! what will I do? They was finding him in America--the pleece was finding him, my Howels! And he do be in jail in London, 'dited for forgery. He, my beauty Howels--he forge! Why 'ould he be forging? Annwyl! Fie was innocent, Rowland--on my deet, he was innocent. Oh, bach gen anwyl!'[Footnote: Oh, darling boy!]

Mrs Jenkins wrung her hands and cried bitterly.

'How do you know this, Aunt 'Lizbeth?' said Rowland. 'Tell me calmly, and then we will see what can be done,'

'Read you that letter. By to-morrow he'll be in all the papers. He--so clever, so genteel, so rich! And all my Griffey's savings--hundreds of thousands of pound--n.o.body do be knowing where they was. Ach a fi! ach a fi!'

Rowland read a letter from a celebrated London counsel retained by Mr Rice Rice for Howel, to the effect that Howel had been taken in America on the very day that his poor wife was planning to wander away in search of him, and was a prisoner the day she died. He had arrived in London, and been lodged in Newgate the previous day, the one on which that letter was written.

Rowland gently told his mother the contents of it.

'Thank G.o.d that my child did not live to see this day!' exclaimed Mrs Prothero.

'Better dead, cousin, than to be living as Howels is!' sobbed Mrs Griffey. 'In a prison, too, my beauty Howels! But I was wanting to know, Mr Rowland, when you was going to London? Seure, I do think of going to-night, or to-morrow morning.'

'Why must you go, aunt?' asked Rowland.

'Why must I be going? Why ask such a question? 'Ould I be staying at home, and my Howels in gaol? I do go to tak care of him, to pay for him, to be seeing justice done him, to be near him. Night or morrow morning I do mean to go.'

'Mother,' said Rowland, 'I am sure you will not mind sacrificing one day to poor Aunt Griffey and Howel. I must be in London the day after to-morrow. I will go to-morrow instead, and take her up with me, and see what is to be done for Howel. He will not have too many friends near him at such a time.'

'G.o.d bless you, Rowland, bach,' said Mrs Griffey, springing up from her chair, and running to Rowland and kissing him vigorously--a compliment, it must be confessed, he could have dispensed with. 'And you will be standing up for him, and be telling of his character--and of his living at Abertewey--and how he was so clever, and did never be doing anything wrong. You will be saving him, Rowland, seure!'

Rowland shook his head.

'I will go with you, Aunt 'Lizbeth, and take you to my lodgings till I have seen Howel, and told him you are in London. We shall then see what can be done.'

'But you will be speaking up for him, Rowland, bach?'

'Cousin 'Lizbeth,' said Mrs Prothero, 'if Howel had been a good son, and a steady young man, you could scarcely ask Rowland to speak up for him, and his own sister in Llanfach churchyard! "As we have sown, so must we reap," in this world.'

'It do be fine for you, cousin, to be preaching, who was having fortunate sons, but--'

'Hush, Aunt 'Lizbeth, if you please,' interrupted Rowland. 'I will take you to London to-morrow, if you are resolved to go. You must meet me at the omnibus.'

(There was now a railway within a few miles of Llanfawr.)

'Then I will be going home to get ready. You was seure to come, Mr Rowlands?'

'Sure, if nothing unforeseen prevents me.'

At this point of the conversation, Mr Prothero entered the parlour, leading Minette, who had two letters in her hand.

'Here are two letters for you, Uncle Rowland,' said the child.

'Grandfather says one must be from a bishop. What's a bishop, uncle?

Oh, Grandma Jenkins!'

Minette gave the letters to Rowland, and then went to kiss her grandmother, who began to cry when she saw her. Mr Prothero suppressed a very equivocal question concerning the reason of her again appearing at Glanyravon, and said,--

'How d'ye do, Mrs Griffey?'

Rowland opened his letters. One was from Mr Jones, the other, as Minette said, was from a bishop--the Bishop of London. He read Mr Jones' first, and turned more than usually red as he did so. He uttered an exclamation of surprise when he finished reading it, and put it into his father's hands.

He then read the second letter. It was short. He got up, sat down, got up again, gave the letter to his father, and said,--

'It is too much! I do not deserve it! I wish it were Jones instead of me. He is much better--more suited--married. I cannot believe it!'

Neither could Mr Prothero, to judge from the expression of his face. He read each letter twice over, and seemed struggling with some great emotion as he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, 'Rowland, my boy!' and burst into tears.

Mr Prothero had not cried before since Netta's death, and those were, indeed, precious tears.

Minette, terrified at seeing her grandfather cry, ran off in search of Gladys, who had been every one's refuge since her marriage.

She and Owen were at the front door, receiving Mr and Mrs Jonathan Prothero, who had just arrived.

'Aunty, grandfather is crying,' said the child. 'You said you wished he would cry; but I don't like it. I think he is crying for poor mamma, who is in heaven, and can't come to him.'

All hurried into the parlour.

They found Mr Prothero holding one of his son's hands, and shaking it nervously, and Mrs Prothero holding the other, and vain attempts to speak.

'Brother Jo! sister-in-law! Just in time. If our Netta was but here!'

said Mr Prothero. 'Mrs Jonathan shall read the letters. It was she who got him the curacy.'

Mrs Jonathan was not a little surprised to be greeted by having two letters thrust into her hands, and being requested to read them.

'This one first, sister-in-law.'

At any other time Mrs Jonathan would have resented the epithet of sister-in-law, but she now swallowed it, and began to read as follows:--

'MY DEAR ROWLAND,--I should have written to you earlier, but I could not do so until a question that has been pending ever since you left was decided. Deputations and round-robins have been issuing from this parish by unanimous consent, and tending to St James'. For once High Church and Low Church have united in paying you the greatest compliment you can have paid just at present, viz., in requesting the bishop to give you the living of which you have been more than ten years curate. I believe it is pretty nearly settled that you are to be our new rector, and that I shall have to knock under, and solicit you to continue me in the curacy. I congratulate you from my heart; so does my wife; so, I am sure, do rich and poor around us. There never was a more popular presentation. May G.o.d prosper your labours as a rector as He has as curate.

'Give our love to my niece, Gladys, and kind regards to all the rest of your family, with a kiss to Minette, and believe me, most faithfully yours,