hat he really
was a man of education and a gentleman, in spite of all her kindness to
his mother, she knew it full well. Why did he never consider what any
one else in his own neighbourhood thought of him or his family? It was
only Miss Gwynne--always Miss Gwynne.

Early the following morning that young lady came to inquire for Mrs
Prothero, accompanied by Miss Hall. It was Rowland who gave them the
joyful intelligence that his mother had had a good night, and was much
more quiet. The real pleasure that shone from Miss Gwynne's intelligent
and intelligible eyes, showed Rowland how fond she was of his mother.

'And now,' she said, 'Miss Hall and I are come, resolutely bent on
remaining with your mother, whilst your aunt and Gladys go to bed. We
are quite determined, and you know I always have my way.'

Rowland bowed, smiled, and called his aunt, who, after some hesitation
consented, and went upstairs to request Gladys to do the same, but
Gladys was inexorable until Mr Prothero came in, and in his most decided
manner insisted on her taking some rest. Mrs Prothero also murmured a
'Go, Gladys fach!' and she kissed the dear cheek and went at once.

Mr Prothero took her place. He was alone with his wife, and the rough,
loud man became gentle as one of his own lambs, as he bent over her and
thanked God that she was better. A big tear fell from his eyes on her
face, and he made an inward vow, that if her life were spared, he would
never again say a cross word to her as long as he lived.

She felt the tear, heard the kind words, and seemed to understand the
vow, for she looked at him tenderly, and said in her low, weak voice,
'God bless you, David!'

From that moment he went out to his work with a lightened heart; the
labourers read the good news that their mistress was better in his face,
and heard it in his voice. Even Netta's disobedience was forgotten, if
not forgiven, in the joy of feeling that the partner of more than half
his life was likely to recover. And by degrees she did recover. That is
to say, before Rowland was obliged again to leave her, she was able to
go down into the parlour and sit at her work, 'quite like a lady,' as
she expressed it. And even out of the evil of such an illness good had
sprung. It had aroused all the sympathy and kind feeling of relatives,
friends, and neighbours; but especially had it been beneficial in
bringing out the womanly kindness that lay hid under the stiffness of
pride in Mrs