She showed it at once, and delighted Colonel Vaughan by the perfectly natural manner with which she welcomed him, and the frank heartiness of her expressed wish that he should remain in the country now he had returned to it.

'We have never had any one we cared for at Abertewey,' she said.

'Sometimes it was an English family who came to ruin themselves in mining speculations; sometimes a sporting man who came for the hunting, shooting, and fishing; and now, if you don't stay, I daresay it will be a Manchester mill owner or some such person.'

'Much nearer home, I fancy; but I believe it is a kind of secret, only I am so much like a woman that I cannot keep a secret. To my utter astonishment I find it is to be a son of old Jenkins, the miser! I remember the father, but the son was some years my junior. You need not mention this, however, as it may fall to the ground. He wanted to buy the place, but I am too patriotic still to wish to sell.'

'Howel Jenkins! little Netta! at Abertewey!' exclaimed the trio in concert.

'True it is that mountains fall and mushrooms rise,' said the colonel laughing. 'But he has money, and as far as negotiations have gone, seems willing to pay, so I am content.'

'And I am not,' said Freda. 'It will be odious, and I shall be so sorry for poor Mrs Prothero. You must settle there yourself, Colonel Vaughan.'

'A poor lonely bachelor with no money!'

'Hem--hem, you might find a wife, I should think,' suggested Mr Gwynne.

'There is a beautiful girl in this neighbourhood with thirty thousand pounds at her disposal.'

'Oh, papa!' said Freda frowning perceptibly, 'such an empty-headed, insipid idiot would be dear at a hundred thousand.'

Colonel Vaughan looked at Freda to see whether she was jealous, but could not quite understand the frown.

Soon after luncheon he took his leave, with promises to make Glanyravon his head-quarters if he remained any time in the country.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE NURSE.

Mrs Prothero continued very ill, and the doctor said there was no chance of her amendment until her mind was more at ease. Four days had pa.s.sed, and no intelligence of Netta. Each day found her worse than the preceding, and brain fever was apprehended. Gladys nursed her day and night. Mr Prothero stormed and lamented by turns. Owen did what he could to a.s.sist and comfort all, and Miss Gwynne and Miss Hall sent every kind of nourishing food from the Park.

On the fifth morning, Owen rode into the town in the vague hope that he should hear something of his sister, either through Mrs Jenkins's servant or the post. Mrs Jenkins had not returned, but there was a neat, smooth letter for his father, directed by Howel, with which he rode off homewards at full gallop. He longed to open it, but he dared not. He was fearful that his father would put it into the fire unread, so he formed twenty plans for securing it, which he knew he could not carry out; however, when he returned home and sought his father in the harvest field, he said,--

'Father, I have a letter directed by Howel. Will you let me open it for mother's sake?'

'If it is yours, do what you will with it? if it is mine, burn it unread.'

'But, father, surely you would do something to save mother's life. Any news of Netta--'

'Don't name that girl to me, sir, or I'll horsewhip you!'

'May I open the letter, father?'

'Do as you will, but don't let me see it. The deceitful up-start! the pompous fool! the--the--'

Owen waited for no more epithets but ran into the house, and stumbling upon Gladys in the pa.s.sage, told her to come and see what the letter contained. When he opened the outer envelope and took out the beautiful little glossy note with its silver border and white seal, stamped with a small crest of an eagle, he burst out laughing.

'Cards, by jingo!' he exclaimed.

'Oh, Mr Owen, just let me cut round the neat little seal. I am sure your mother would like to see it,' said Gladys, joining involuntarily in the laugh, and taking a pair of scissors out of her pocket.

The seal was cut, and two cards were taken out, silver-lettered and silver-bordered, showing that Netta was now Mrs Howel Jenkins.

Gladys ran off with them without asking any questions, followed by Owen.

They found Mrs Prothero crying, as she usually was when left alone.

'I hope we have good news, ma'am,' said Gladys.

'All right, mother. Cheer up! Netta is married at any rate,' cried Owen.

'Thank G.o.d!' said Mrs Prothero, taking the cards and pressing them to her lips. 'But not a line--not a word from Netta!'

'She would not dare to write, ma'am,' suggested Gladys.

'I suppose not? but why did she go away? Why did she leave me never to see me again?'

The following day brought the _Welshman_, Mr Prothero's weekly treat, which it generally took him the week thoroughly to read and enjoy.

Owen chanced to open it first, and, as is usually the case, stumbled at once upon the marriage of his sister. When his father came in he was in uncontrollable fits of laughter.

'Don't be angry, father, but I can't help it. Ha, ha, ha! D. Prothero, Esq. of Glanyravon! Oh, I shall die of it! Now, really, father, you ought to be proud.'

'What are you making such a row about?' said Mr Prothero looking over Owen's shoulder.

His eye caught the words, 'Howel Jenkins, Esq., and Miss Prothero, Glanyravon, and Sir John Simpson. This was quite enough. He seized the paper with an oath, crumpled it up, and thrust it into the fire, and gave Owen such a violent blow on the back with his fist, that the young man's first impulse was to start up and clench his in return; however, his flush of pa.s.sion cooled in a moment, and he said,--

'Come, father! remember it isn't I that ran away. Time enough to give me a licking when I do. I'm much obliged to you for letting me know what a strong father I've got.'

'Once for all, Owen, take you care how you laugh upon that subject or name it to me. I can give and take a joke as well as most people, but not about that, sir, and from you. Name o' goodness, what d'ye think I'm made of!'

The farmer walked out of the hall, and left Owen heartily sorry for having hurt his father's feelings, but chuckling over the fashionable marriage.

The following morning he managed to procure another paper, and read his mother and Gladys the announcement, knowing full well that maternal pride must rejoice in the exaltation, whilst it wept over the disobedience of an only daughter.

To the astonishment of every one, the following morning brought Mrs Griffith Jenkins to Glanyravon, attended by her maid-servant. Gladys answered the door to the thundering double-knock that resounded through the house, and was quite taken aback when she saw who the visitor was.

'Is Mrs Prothero at home, young 'ooman?' asked Mrs Jenkins in a grand tone of voice.

'My mistress is very ill, ma'am,' said Gladys.

'Ill! Since when?'

'Ever since Miss Netta left, ma'am.'