clear away some cloud that
obscured her memory. 'If mother were only here, it would be quite
home-like.'

Truly Gladys had made the room almost a pleasant place. The books and
work she had brought with her, were already on the tables, and the
flowers filled all the old-fashioned vases, taken from the mantelpiece.
The fire was bright, and the hearth swept, and poor Netta and Minette
were neat and clean.

'Uncle, what have you done with the geranium?' suddenly asked Minette.

'I left it at home, dear.'

'How cross of you, uncle, to let the pretty flower die.'

'I put it in water, Minette, because it came from Glanyravon, where your
mother and I were born, and where your grandfather and grandmother
live.'

'I don't like grandmamma, uncle, she was so fat, and talked so
strangely.'

'You should not say that; but you have another grandmother whom you have
never seen.'

'Shall we go to her, mammy dear? and will you come, Uncle Rowland? and
shall the kind lady come, and Gladys? and then we can gather those
pretty flowers. I saw them growing once at the Crystal Palace, and they
would not let me pick them.'

Netta forgot her grief, Rowland his sermon, Miss Gwynne her dignity, in
talking to Minette of Glanyravon and its inhabitants; and, by degrees,
they fell into a conversation upon old friends and old times, that ended
in the days when they played together as children in the garden at the
vicarage, whilst the squire and his lady were paying their periodical
visits to the vicar and his lady.

Unconsciously it oozed out how every incident of those childish games
was remembered and treasured up by Rowland, as well as the meetings of a
more advanced age, when, as a Rugby boy, he tried to make himself
agreeable to the young heiress, who bestowed no thought on him.

But Rowland suddenly remembered that he was treading on dangerous
ground, and must not forget who he was, and who Miss Gwynne was. Those
words always came to haunt him, whenever he felt more than usually
happy; and how could he feel happy for one moment, with Netta possibly
dying, and Howel an exile for forgery. Poor fellow, it was only a
passing gleam through the mists of a hard life; let him enjoy it.

Gladys returned, and Rowland got a cab for Miss Gwynne, who went home to
dinner. Rowland had some tea, and went to his evening service in the
church.

After tea, Gladys read a story to Minette, which interested Netta, and
so the day passed, with but a sli