ear mistress and her children.'

'You will receive Miss Gwynne, Gladys. It will be less awkward. I have a
hundred things to do. Tell Netta that I will come again.'

Rowland went first of all to his lodgings, and wrote a long letter to
his father. He told him boldly and plainly what Mr Wenlock had said; he
had already written to his mother the good news of his having found
Netta. He asked his father in a straightforward manner to receive Netta,
and to forgive her. He made no comments, preached no sermon. He thought
that a statement of facts would have more effect on his father than all
his eloquence, or all the texts of the Bible, every one of which his
father knew as well as he did. He also began to feel it was not for him
to lecture and reprimand a parent, even though he knew that parent to be
in the wrong. As he folded his manly and affectionate letter, he prayed
for a blessing upon it, and went to preach and pray with many members of
his flock, who, alas! knew not, like his father, those blessed texts,
which teach us to 'forgive as we hope to be forgiven.'

Later in the afternoon he went to Netta again; he found Miss Gwynne with
her, cloak and bonnet thrown off, and Minette in full and eager talk on
her lap. Netta was looking quite cheerful under the influence of Miss
Gwynne's animated manners, and Minette's shouts of laughter. Toys and
picture-books were on the table before the child, and all sorts of
garments spread about the room. Miss Gwynne had sent Gladys home for a
large dressing-gown for Netta, and had expressed her intention of
remaining some time.

Minette jumped off her lap when Rowland entered, and ran towards him,
with a book in one hand, and a doll in the other.

'Look, uncle, what this kind lady has brought me; and she has made mamma
quite well. She has been laughing like she used to laugh. Oh, uncle, I
love her very much, don't you?'

Rowland did not say 'yes,' but went up to Miss Gwynne, and with all his
heart,--

'Oh, Miss Gwynne, how can we ever thank you enough for all this
kindness?'

'By not thanking me at all,' replied Miss Gwynne, stooping to pick up a
book, doubtless to conceal a very decided increase of colour.

These were the first genuine and natural words that Rowland had spoken
to Miss Gwynne since those fatal sentences under the great oak in her
father's park.

'It is all like a dream,' said Netta, passing her hand over her eyes and
forehead, as she did constantly, as if to