the fields to the
house, and the house back again to the fields, followed by his brother
like his shadow, who strove to comfort him in vain. Mrs Jonathan made
jellies, and did her best. Owen was gentle and tender as a girl, and
helped to nurse his mother with a love and care that Gladys could
scarcely understand in the lighthearted, wild sailor.

Before the end of the week, they wrote to summon Rowland, for Mrs
Prothero's life was despaired of, and great was the anxiety and terror
of all, lest he should come too late.

'Pray for her, Mr Owen, pray for her. There is nothing else of any avail
at such a time as this,' would Gladys say in answer to the young man's
entreating glance.

'If I were as good as you I could, Gladys. Oh, God! spare my beloved
mother!' he would reply.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE CURATE.

Although it was a bright autumn morning, the stillness of death hovered
over Glanyravon Farm. There was scarcely a sound to be heard within or
without. The men in the yard moved about like spectres, and work was
suspended in the harvest fields; whispers circulated from bedroom to
kitchen, and from kitchen to outhouse, that the good and kind mistress
whom every body loved, was on her deathbed; and how should they labour?
All the talk of the farm-servants was upon subjects ominous of death.
One said that he had heard Lion, the big watch-dog, howl long and loud
before daylight; another that he had seen a corpse candle as he went
homewards the previous evening; a third that she had seen her mistress
all in white at her bedside, looking beautiful; a fourth that she had
heard a raven croak; in short, if sighs and wonders could kill poor Mrs
Prothero, there was little chance for her life. Where every one was
usually so busy, so full of energy and spirit, there was more than a
Sabbath calm. They were expecting some one, too, for Tom and Bill were
looking down the road about every five minutes, whilst Shanno appeared
now and again at the back door, and whispered 'Is he coming?' to which a
shake of the head was a constant reply.

The doctor had just gone into the house, and knots of men and women
stood about with sorrowful faces; kind neighbours who came one after
another to hear the last report as soon as he should again reappear. Mrs
Prothero was greatly beloved, and no one could afford to lose her.

'She was so bad last night that she was not expected to see the
morning,' whispered one.

'Couldn't take a dr