And she is
good and clever; and, oh! so kind and gentle to me. I never think now of
what I used to think so much--how she was a beggar at our gate; and
everybody in London looks up to her and loves her. Mr and Mrs Jones,
Miss Gwynne, and Rowland, all treat her like a lady. I should die, I
think I should, so much happier, or go away when I am fetched, so much
happier, if I could know she was with you as a daughter. I have been
very disobedient and wilful; but she has been obedient and grateful,
though she was not your child. When I left mother to die of fever, she
nursed her and saved her life. May God forgive me, for Christ's sake,
and bless her! She has made Owen steady. She has nursed the sick. She
has taught in the poor, wretched London ragged-schools, as well as in
the others. She has made clothes for the poor. What has she not done?
Oh, that I were like her! And now she is waiting on me, and helping
mother, and nursing my child, like a common servant. Oh, father! take to
her instead of me. Indeed indeed, you will never repent--never!'
As Netta spoke, her wasted cheek flushed, her eyes sparkled, and her
manner grew more and more animated. Her father listened attentively,
without interrupting her, and when she paused, said,--
'Netta, fach, are you seure you didn't dream or fancy this? Owen
declared to me, Gladys 'ouldn't have him, and didn't love him.
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