'I will never leave these rooms, Rowland,' she said solemnly, 'until he fetches me, or sends for me, or bids me go. He loves me, Rowland, dearly; he said so. Do you know, I once fancied he did not, and tried not to care for him. But when he was in debt and trouble, it all came back again. And, you know, he is my husband, even if I did run away from home, and I must do as he bids me.'
Mrs Saunders came to say that Mr Wenlock wanted Rowland.
'Perhaps it is he, Rowland,' said Netta.
'No, dear Netta; it is a great friend of mine, a doctor. Will you see him to please me? We all want so much to get you better.'
'Yes, if you will not tell him about Howel. I must get well, for it may be a long, long journey. Do you know that I dreamt last night that he sent for me, and that I was to travel thousands of miles before I met him. I must get well, so I will see your friend, Rowland, only don't tell him my name. Minette, go with Mrs Saunders, whilst mamma sees Uncle Rowland's friend.'
Mrs Saunders took Minette away, and Mr Wenlock, a gentle-looking, elderly medical man, a great friend of Rowland's, made his appearance.
Netta rose with a little attempt at her Parisian curtsey, and an effort to assume her Abertewey manners; but she soon forgot her grandeur when the doctor spoke to her in a soothing, fatherly way, and won her to confide her long-concealed illness to him. Rowland left them together, and went down to Mrs Saunders' parlour to amuse his little niece.
In something less-than half-an-hour he was joined by Mr Wenlock, who took Minette on his knee, and looked at her thin cheeks and hollow eyes, felt her weak pulse, and asked her many questions.
When she went upstairs to her mother, Mr Wenlock said,—
'The poor lady is very ill, dangerously, I fear. She must have had some heavy sorrows for years to have reduced her to her present state of nervousness, nearly amounting to insanity, but not quite. This may yet be warded off with great care, total freedom from all excitement, and change of air and scene. She has heart complaint of an alarming nature. This can never be cured; but if her strength can be restored, she may live for years —her natural life, in short—or she may be taken at any moment. Any sudden shock would probably be fatal.'