The topic was given up for that evening, but the following morning Netta renewed it with Owen, who declared himself ready to marry Gladys that very moment. The upshot of it all was, that the wedding was settled for New Year's Day, at Netta's particular request. No one cared, or indeed thought what the world would say at a marriage taking place during a period of such heavy affliction. Netta willed it, and to give her pleasure, and an object for her poor wandering mind, every member of the family would have made any sacrifice; and this was not a sacrifice at all, but an event of importance to all. Mr and Mrs Jones promised to come if only for one clear day, and sent a box of presents to their niece, which Netta had the pleasure of unpacking. Amongst them was a simple and pretty wedding dress and bonnet, that poor Netta wept over, thinking of her own. On the whole, however, Netta was better and more cheerful, and even assisted in the preparations that were going forward. She helped to make that pretty dove-coloured silk dress that was manufactured at home, and tried to join in the happiness which her apparently improved health seemed to make allowable. But Netta's heart was with Howel, and the certainty that she felt of his return and constant love, alone sustained her. Alas! that poor, fluttering, uncertain heart! CHAPTER XLVI. THE HEIR. Miss Gwynne returned to Glanyravon on Christmas Eve. She had not visited it before, since she left it when her father married. She had seen her father, his wife, and her little brother almost yearly in London, whither Lady Mary Nugent insisted on dragging her husband annually; but she had not hitherto had love, or courage, or Christian charity enough to visit them at home. When last in town, and repeatedly by letter, her father had urged her doing so, and she had at last complied with his request, more from a latent sense of duty than from inclination. It was a bright, frosty night, when the carriage that had been sent to meet her drove up to the door. If poor Netta had fainted on returning to the farm, Freda was obliged to brush away gathering tears as she returned to the Park. Every branch of tree, as it glittered in the moonlight in its dress of hoar frost, was familiar to her, every pane of glass in the windows of the old place seemed a friend. On the lowest step, bare-headed and expectant, were the old butler and footman she had left when she went away; she shook hands with each, and they almost rung her hand off. In the door-way stood her father, not bare-headed, but expectant, who received her with paternal warmth. Freda knew that he must for once have forgotten himself and his nervous debility to have thus exposed himself to the frosty air. In the hall was Lady Mary ready with smiles and embraces, with which Freda would gladly have dispensed; but she did her best to seem, if she could not feel, glad to see her.