'Wherever you go I will be a mother to her; but she would not like to part from her own dear mother, any better than you will from yours. We will not think of the journey just yet, dear; we will be happy together, all of us, for a little longer. You cannot leave so soon, after you have made Owen and me so blest.' 'None of you want me now; father and mother have a new daughter, a better one than I have ever been; Owen a wife! What a word that is, Gladys! We don't understand it till we are parted from our husband; and I give Minette a mother in my place. I must go very soon.' Poor Netta laid her head on Gladys' shoulder, and began to cry. 'Well, dear,' said Gladys soothingly, 'we will see about it, you and I. But you must not go till I think you strong enough, and till we are prepared with clothes and money.' 'Oh! I can beg! I don't want clothes or money to get to Howel.' Gladys knew that it was of no use to try to combat Netta's purpose. All she could do was to seem to yield. 'We will see,' she said, 'when the days are a little longer. But you have not told me about the letters yet.' 'No, I was forgetting them. If anything happens to me, or it I should miss Howel on my way, I want him to have this packet of letters. In them, I have told him that I wish Minette to remain here with you and mother; I have said a great deal to him, but mostly to beg him to forgive me, as I forgive him, all our unkindness to one another. Was that right, Gladys?' 'Quite right, love. We must forgive, as we hope to be forgiven.' 'Father and mother have forgiven me. Do you think my heavenly Father has?' 'Yes, I do; because you have repented, and "come to your Father," and asked forgiveness for His Son's sake.' 'I have, Gladys; so I can go on my journey cheerfully.' Gladys could scarcely refrain from tears, when she thought of the journey she was really travelling. 'I know you have forgiven me, Gladys, for all I said of you when you came here first. Strange that I should have been willing to leave you in the barn, or anywhere, to die; you who have done so much for me! Oh, Gladys!' 'Don't think of those times, Netta, dear; they are past, thank God.' Here the door opened, and Owen appeared, his face beaming with a happiness that it did all around him good to see. 'What! tears! both of you! Only a week married!' he said, half playfully, half reproachfully, as he kissed, alternately, his wife and sister, and finally, sat down by the side of the former. 'It was my fault, Owen,' said Netta. 'Is that true, Gladys--quite true?' asked Owen, taking Gladys' hands in his, and looking into her eyes. 'Quite true, Owen,' said Gladys, smiling lovingly on the open countenance of Owen, whilst a quiet tear rolled down her cheek. Owen kissed off the tear. 'You are happy, my love?' again he asked, as if fearing that a shadow should pass over that fair, sweet face, to obscure the light of their spring of wedded life.