Don't make me so hard-hearted again, Howel,
bach, or I shall die, indeed I shall; I feel it now at my heart.'
Netta put her hand on her heart as she leant against Howel. He raised
her, and saw that she was of a deathly paleness.
'Don't be--frightened--I have--it--often--only--a spasm,' she gasped, as
frightened he went to the sideboard, and poured out some brandy into one
of the tea cups, and putting a little water to it, gave it her to drink.
She soon revived, and recovering a little of her old colour again, put
her arms round Howel, and thanked him for being so kind. Howel was
aware, for the first time for many years, that conscience is not a myth;
his smote him.
'Will you stay at home to-day, Howel?' asked Netta. 'I will write myself
to your mother, if you will.'
'Yes, Netta, dear, I will. Now, shall we carry the picture-book to
Minette?'
'No; you must have your breakfast now, and I will make it. Oh! I am so
happy.'
'And you do not care for Dancy, Netta?'
'No; I hate him.'
Howel kept his word, and stayed at home that one day with Netta and her
child, and she wrote that day down on the tablets of her memory as the
brightest spot in six years of trouble and distrust.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
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