Gladys, the Reaper. Anne Beale
she will, he, he.'
Rowland ran upstairs after his father, calling out gently, 'Stop, father, Miss Gwynne—' but the father was in the bedroom before he heard the words, and had made the house re-echo the noise of his opening the door.
He was instantaneously checked in his career by seeing Miss Gwynne advance towards him, with her finger in the air.
'Hush, Mr. Prothero,' she whispered, 'she is asleep. Look here; gently, very gently.'
She led the enraged farmer by one of his large brass buttons to the bedside, where the white-faced Gladys lay. She looked so much like a corpse, that he started back affrighted. Then Miss Gwynne led him out into the passage, and seeing from his angry face the state of the case, instantly said—
'It was I who had her brought here, Mr. Prothero; and by-and-by I will get her sent back to her parish, but until she is better we must take care of her.'
At these words from the all-powerful Miss Gwynne, Mr. Prothero was fain to put such check upon his rising choler as the shortness of the notice would allow. He could not, however, fully restrain the whole of the invective that had been upon his lips a short time before.
'No offence, Miss Gwynne? but 'pon my soul, I'm sick to death of my missus's pensioners and paupers, and I'm determined to have no more of 'em. You may do as you please, miss, at your own house, and I'll do as I please in mine.'
Here Rowland popped his head out of a neighbouring bedroom
'Father, Miss Gwynne is taking upon herself a risk and encumbrance that should be wholly my mother's. She has nothing to do with the girl, beyond showing her great kindness.'
'Really, Mr. Rowland Prothero,' began Miss Gwynne, drawing herself up to her fullest height, 'I wish you would allow me to manage my own affairs.'
'Yes, yes, Rowland. What, name o' goodness, have you to do with Miss Gwynne? I'm ashamed of the boy. I really beg your pardon, miss, but I believe he's so set up by having a chance of going to London, that he don't know whether he stands on his head or his heels. Go you away, Rowland, directly. I won't have you interfaring with me.'
Miss Gwynne could not help laughing as she saw Rowland's sense of duty struggle with his pride at this authoritative mandate; but she was very much surprised to see him bow politely to her and walk away. She wondered whether anything on earth could have induced her to obey a similar order.
She followed Mr. Prothero downstairs and made herself so agreeable to him and Mrs. Jonathan, that they quite forgot Mrs. Prothero's absence, until the sudden return of that good woman set all matters right, and enabled Miss Gwynne to leave the farm.
CHAPTER VI.
THE MISER'S WIFE.
'I must have money,' said Howel Jenkins as he sat alone with his mother in their little parlour, the evening after Mrs. Prothero had left them.
'My dear, there will be plenty when we can find it, be you sure of that. I do know well enough that your poor father was having a chest full, only he was keeping his door locked and barred so that I couldn't see him at it.'
'But surely, mother, you must have some idea where my father kept his gold. If I don't pay a man in London by tomorrow's post, I shall be in jail before a week is over my head.'
'Mercy! Howel, bach! Now don't you be spending the mint o' money that'll be coming to you, there's a good boy, before you do know what it is. Remember Netta! You'll be as grand as any of 'em now, if you do only begin right, and are being study and persevaring, and sticking to your business. I 'ouldn't wonder if you was to be a councillor some day. Only to think of me, mother of Councillor Jenkins! You may be looking higher than Netta, and be marrying a real lady, and be riding in your coach and four, and be dining with my Lord Single ton, and be in the London papers; and I 'ouldn't wonder if you was to be visiting the Queen and Prince Albert again, and behaving your picture taken to put into your own books and the "'Lustrated." I always was saying I 'ould be making a gentleman of you, and I have.'
'But, mother, before I can do anything like this I must pay my debts and make a new beginning. I will marry Netta, now, in spite of the whole tribe of Davids and Jonathans, and they shall see us as much above them as—as—money can make us. Now, mother, we must have a search for the money.'
'Not whilst your father is in the house, Howel; I should be afraid. Be you sure his spirit'll be looking after the money till the funeral's over.'
'Nonsense; where are the keys? We'll have a turn at the old bureau anyhow. Money I must have, at once, and Rowland is as obstinate as a pig about what the governor told him.'
'Indeet, and indeet, Howel, you had better don't. Suppose it 'ould bring him to life again?'
'I'll risk that. Give me the keys.'
Mrs. Jenkins handed a bunch of keys to her son with trembling fingers.
'Tak you a drop of spirits first. It do show how rich they are thinking us now. There's Jones, the Red Cow, and Lewis, draper, are letting us have as much credit as we like; and they 'ouldn't let us have as much as a dobbin or a yard of tape before poor Griffey died.'
Howel drank a wine-glass of raw brandy and went upstairs with the keys in his hand. He crept stealthily into that room where the miser breathed his last, as if fearful of arousing the body within the drawn curtains. He proceeded to the bureau and tried the various keys of the large bunch that he now grasped for the first time in his life. At last one key entered the lock and turned in it. Hush! there is a sound in the room. He turns very pale as he glances round. He sees no movement anywhere. The curtains are so still that he almost wishes the wind would stir them. He opens the bureau and again looks wistfully round. He is almost sure that the curtains move. 'Coward that I am,' he cries, 'what do I fear?'
He turns again, and, looking into the bureau, sees that all the open divisions are filled with papers, and imagines what must be the contents of the closed and secret compartments. As he touches one of these a tremor seizes him, and he fancies that a hand is on his shoulder. He starts and turns, but the curtains are motionless as ever. He goes into the passage and calls, 'Mother, come here. Quick! I want you directly.'
Mrs. Jenkins comes upstairs, looking as pale as her son.
'Just help me out with this bureau, mother; I cannot examine it in this room, you have put such ridiculous notions into my head.'
'I'm afraid, Howel.'
'Nonsense, come directly, or I must get some one else.'
The pair went into the room and tried to move the bureau that had stood for nearly fifty years in that corner untouched, save by the husband and father, now lifeless near them. It was very heavy, and scarcely could their united strength move it from its resting-place. They finally succeeded, however, in dragging it towards the door, in doing which they had to pass the foot of the bed. Unconsciously they pushed the bed with the corner of the bureau and shook it. They nearly sank to the ground with terror, expecting, for the moment, to see the miser arise, and again take possession of his treasures. The mother rushed into the passage, the son again called himself a coward, and, with a great effort, pushed the bureau through the door and shut it after him.
'Now, mother, help to get it into my room. One would think we were breaking into another man's house, instead of taking possession of our own property.'
With the whole of their joint strength they succeeded in getting the heavy piece of furniture into Howel's room, where, having first locked the door, they proceeded to examine its contents. Disappointment awaited them; they could find nothing but papers. Deeds, mortgages, bills, letters, accounts, were arranged in every open and shut division. The