The churchyard was full of spectators, as the proud and happy Owen led
his bride through it to the vicarage, and the general opinion was, that
there had never been married so handsome a couple in the church of
Llanfach.
The bells and the sunbeams rang out and shone out together, and all the
wedding-party forgot their private sorrows in the joy of the moment.
Even Netta, who had been taken to the vicarage for the occasion,
received them with one of her old bright smiles. She threw her arms
round Gladys, and called her 'sister.'
'_My_ sister,' she said more than once emphatically.
And if tears would, from time to time, spring into her eyes, as she
contrasted herself with Gladys, she brushed them away, and did her best
not to cast a shadow from her grief, on the brightness of a brother and
sister's joy. That little drawing-room at the vicarage contained as
pretty and pleasant a group as could well be seen, of which Owen and
Gladys formed the centre figures.
'Now, my good girl, let me give you a real kiss,' said honest Mr
Prothero, 'and tell you that I am proud of my daughter. Mother, what do
you say?'
'I say, thank God for all His mercies,' said quiet Mrs Prothero, shaking
Gladys' hand, which she seemed loath to part with.
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