kes
the child in his large arms, and presses her to his breast, weeping like
an infant.

Netta uncloses her eyes on familiar objects for a moment, and shuts them
again. Has she seen the cheerful, old-fashioned parlour, the bright
fire, near which the sofa is wheeled, her father's portrait over the
mantelpiece, her mother at her feet?

'She is getting better,' whispers Gladys, who still holds her place at
Netta's head, with strong salts in her hand, and a bottle and glass by
her side.

Again the eyes unclose, wander restlessly from one anxious face to
another, settling on none; close again, once more unclose and look with
some consciousness on the breathless group that surrounds the sofa.

'Father! father!' now murmurs Netta; 'where is father?'

The feeble cry has reached that father's ears and inmost heart. He puts
down Minette and staggers, blinded by his grief, to the sofa. All
withdrew but his wife. He is on his knees before his poor penitent
daughter. Her arms are round his neck, and she strives to rise but
cannot. Oh! the depth, agony, remorse of that long, silent, paternal,
and filial embrace.

'Do you forgive me, father?' asks Netta.

'All--all. God forgive us both!' groans Mr Prothero.

Mrs Prothero lays her head on her hands on the sofa, by which she
kneels, and gives way to a passionate burst of grief.

'My poor, poor mistress,' says Gladys, unable any longer to refrain from
approaching her. 'All is well; she will be better now.'

'Mother!' cries Netta. 'Don't cry so for me. Come and kiss me, mother.'

Father and mother surround with their arms that wandering, restored
lamb, and take it into the fold again.

A little voice from behind is heard.

'Mamma! mamma! think of your poor Minette!'

And in another minute Minette is on the sofa, in the midst of her
mother, grandfather, and grandmother.

Blessed are the warm, gushing tears that fall on the child's head--tears
of love and reconciliation.

Soon the worthy vicar and his wife, who have thus far been only
spectators of the scene, draw near to bless and welcome their niece.

'She will faint again,' whispers Gladys to Owen.

'She is happy now,' replies Owen, looking into Gladys' tearful eyes from
his own, equally dimmed with tears. It is the first time he has seen
that face since he has known that Gladys loves him.

But Gladys is right--happiness is too overpowering for Netta. She faints
in the midst of all those dear ones, so kind and lo