'Her father was dead, sir, and nobody knew where her brother was.'
'Where did her father live?'
'Alas! sir, I cannot tell that either. We never talked to my poor mother about him, because it made her so unhappy, and as he was dead, I had no interest in asking for the address. All I know was, that she was Welsh; and when she was dying, she told me to go into Wales and find my uncle. I don't think she quite knew what she was saying, but I came.'
The tears gathered in Gladys' eyes, and hearing a strange heavy sigh from Mr Jones, she looked up at him through their mist, and saw that he was struggling to speak through some great emotion.
'Oh, sir! what is the matter?' said Gladys, rising and going towards him as he stood, trembling, on the other side of her work-table.
He could not speak, but opening his arms as she approached him, folded her in them, and kissed her, as she had not been kissed before, since her poor mother died.
Gladys could only yield to the embrace, she knew not wherefore. She loved Mr Jones as if he were her own father, he had been almost like a father to her ever since she had been in his house; she felt as if she were once more in a father's arms.
We will leave them thus for one moment, to return to the drawing-room.
Mrs Jones, in her turn, kissed Minette, and praised her for repeating her hymn so well.
'But where is Mr Jones?' asked the child. 'Will he take me to see the little boys and girls?'