The blow was crushing. I laid my head down on the window-sill, and sobbed bitterly. I was sobbing in this manner loudly and unrestrainedly, when a hand was laid on my shoulder, a firm cool hand that I knew too well to startle me even then.
“What is it? my maid; what’s the trouble?” said the tender voice of Gwen.
I had been deeply hurt with Gwen for the tone in which she had spoken of Owen half an hour before, but now I was too much broken down, and too much humbled, to feel angry with any one, and I turned to my old nurse with an eager longing to let her share some of the burden which had fallen upon me.
“Gwen, do you know about Owen?”
“Of course I do, my lamb. Dear, dear, praised be the Lord for His goodness!”
Gwen was a Methodist, and I was well accustomed to her expressions, but I could hardly see their force now, and raised my tear-dimmed eyes questioningly.
“And why not? Gwladys,” she said, in reply to my look. “Have we not cause to praise the Lord? have we not hope that the prayer that has gone up earnestly has been answered abundantly? Don’t you be foolish enough to suppose, in your poor weak little heart, that no one cared for Owen Morgan but you. Yes, my maid, others gave a thought to the lad in the far-away country, and many a strong prayer went up to the God of gods for him. Why, sweet Mistress Amy has told me how the Squire prayed, and I know she prayed, bless her dear heart! and I have had my prayers too, Gwladys, my dear, and now perhaps they’re being answered.”
It was quite evident, from these words, that while I was in the darkness of despair with regard to Owen, Gwen was in the brightness of some hope. It was also evident that she had known for years what I only knew to-day, but I was too sore at heart to question her on this point now, though I turned eagerly to the consolation.
“How do you know that your prayers are answered?” I asked.
“Nay, Gwladys, I don’t say as they’re answered, but I have a good strong hope in the matter. Don’t it stand to common-sense, my maid, that I should have hope now; the lad is coming back to his own people, the lad is ready to work, honest and hard too, in the coalfields. Don’t it look, Gwladys, something like the coming home again of the prodigal?”