'Oh, Netta! Netta!' was all she could say, when they asked her what was the matter.
'Never mind her, mother, but get better,' said Mr Prothero, his usually rosy face almost as pale as his wife's.
'If you please, sir, we will lay her on the bed,' said Gladys.
'Not here—not here,' gasped Mrs Prothero.
They took her to her own room, and Gladys said,—'Perhaps, sir, if you would leave her to me a little I could get her into bed, I am used to illness.'
Mr Prothero looked at the girl, and saw her eyes full of tears, but her face was calm and pale, and seemed to indicate a self-possession that no one else present had.
'I will come back again soon, mother,' he said as he left the room, followed by Owen.
When they were gone, Mrs Prothero gave way to an uncontrollable grief, and threw herself upon the neck of the girl Gladys.
'What will he say? what will he do when he knows it all?' she sobbed.
'If you only hope and pray, ma'am, perhaps all will be right that troubles you now,' faltered Gladys.