Good night, mother dear.'
Again Owen kissed his mother, more lovingly than usual, and so they
parted for the night.
CHAPTER XXV.
THE FUGITIVE.
Gladys did not go to bed all that night. If her mistress could have
watched her occupations, seen her tears, and listened to her prayers,
she would, at least, have known that she was grateful. The first thing
she did was to finish a cap that she had been making for her, the next
to complete a large piece of ornamental netting, that had been long in
secret progress, and had been intended as a present for that dear
mistress's birthday on the morrow. The third, last and most difficult,
was to write a letter. Gladys usually wrote easily and well. She had
been accustomed to assist her father at an early age, and had been
carefully taught by her mother, but on the present occasion she
considered every sentence with a too painful thoughtfulness, and
literally blotted her writing with her tears.
Morning was beginning to dawn before she had finished these tasks, and
then she washed her face and hands, took off the pretty cotton gown she
had on, and put on the one Netta gave her when first she came to
Glanyravon. An old straw hat that she had been in the habit of wearing
in the fields, and a tidy, but plain shawl, completed her attire.
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