'I'll see 'em hanged first. What! go and make another hullabaloo all through the country, as if one wasn't enough in one house. No, not I.

Let 'em go to sea, or where they will; but don't tell anybody anything about 'em. Let people think what they will; I only wish I was at the world's end. But it's all your fault. Do you remember that morning when you bothered me into letting the girl stay? Fine things have come of it, seure enough.'

'But we don't know that they're together.'

'But we do, I say, Mrs Prothero; or why should they go off together?

Fine things, indeed, for the gossips! Two 'lopements from one house. The young hussy.'

Mrs Prothero could not help crying. To lose them both at once--a son and one who had been better than a daughter to her--it was too sad--and to feel so uncertain as to what would become of them!

Mr Prothero was resolved to take no notice of her tears, but hastily swallowed his breakfast and went out. The servants did not need to be asked about the fugitives. They were all sure that they had run away together. Gladys, good and quiet as she seemed, was deep enough; and they had managed so well that n.o.body had seen them! Not like Miss Netta, who was so open! Many had seen her when she ran away!

Mrs Prothero sent one of the men off in a search for Lion, feeling sure that if he were found, Gladys would be discovered.

At about eleven o'clock, to Mrs Prothero's great delight, Miss Gwynne and Miss Hall called to see if the report about Owen and Gladys were true, and to hear what Mrs Prothero thought of it. Miss Gwynne was highly indignant.

'You cannot believe it, Mrs Prothero. That girl Gladys would no more run away with any man living than I would. If Mr Prothero won't send after her I will. Where is he?'

'Shall I send and tell him you want to speak to him?'

'By all means--directly.'

Mr Prothero was soon in the house again, at Miss Gwynne's bidding. He looked more than usually red and excited.

'Mr Prothero, I would stake my life upon it, that girl has not gone off with your son. I don't like the Irish, or their beggars more than you do; but I am very fond of Gladys, and she shall not lose her character, or die of starvation whilst I have a horse to send after her, or a shilling to help her.'

'That's very well for you, Miss Gwynne, but Owen is no relation of yours; and I don't cheuse him to marry an Irish beggar. This house is bewitched, and my children are bewitched, all except Rowland.'

Miss Gwynne wondered what Mr Prothero would think of _him_ if he knew all.

'Well, Mr Prothero, will you send after Gladys, or shall I? You needn't have her back here. There is a situation of schoolmistress or lady's maid for her at once. I will take her in either capacity.'

'Indeed, Mr Prothero,' said Miss Hall, 'I think you may trust Gladys; that letter is sincere if ever anything was.'

'Who is to search, for there is no time to lose?' asked Miss Gwynne.

She was the only person in Wales who would have moved Mr Prothero, but he never could refuse her anything.

'What you say, Miss, is seure to have sense in it. I never knew you take to any one yet who wasn't worth something, so I'll just ride myself and look after 'em both. I shouldn't like people to fancy we were in a fuss and fright. But remember, Miss Gwynne, it is to oblige you; and if I find that she has run away with my son--'

'You may do what you like, Mr Prothero, for then I will have nothing to say to her. But go at once, and thank you very much.'

'I'll go Swansea way, for I am sure they'll take to the sea. Ach a fi!

what's gone to the young people.'

In less than a quarter of a hour Mr Prothero had mounted his best mare, and muttering a great many Welsh oaths, was soon riding in search of the fugitives. When he got out of his own immediate neighbourhood, he began to ask whether 'a tall, dark, young man, and a tall, pale, young 'ooman'

had been seen.

'Is it a couple of gipsies, Mr Prothero?' asked a farmer, who lived about seven miles from Glanyravon. 'I did see a dark man, and a sallow 'ooman go up the lane by now.'

'Was the man like my son Owen?'

'Well, I didn't be seeing his face, but I shouldn't wonder.'

Up the lane Mr Prothero went for a good half mile, and at last reached a gipsy encampment, where there were plenty of dark men, and sallow women, but not Owen and Gladys.

A shrewd old gipsy, seeing him evidently on the search for some one, a.s.sured him before he had asked any questions, that she had seen those whom he was looking for.

'Where?' asked the farmer.

'Cross my hand with a silver coin, and I'll tell ye,' she said.

He gave her a shilling.

'Young couple, my lord?' asked the woman.

Mr Prothero nodded a.s.sent.

'Dark and fair, yer honour?'

Another nod.

'I never tell secrets under a half-a-crown, but I have seen them, sir.

Young man something like you, and handsome.'

'Make haste and tell, you cheat and vagabond,' said Mr Prothero, throwing her eighteenpence.

'Up the first turning to the right, off the road, over the hill,' said the woman.

'When?'

'An hour ago.'

Mr Prothero rode quickly down the lane, along the turnpike, up the first turning to the right, and then up a long and tedious hill.

It will be unnecessary to describe how Mr Prothero wandered over this hill for hours, without finding those he sought. As the said hill was a short cut to the road to Swansea, whither he was persuaded they were gone, it is not much to be wondered at that he was taken in, and that he went on as fast as his good horse would go for many a long mile; but he found neither Owen nor Gladys, and all his inquiries after them were fruitless.

Towards evening he returned home, tired and very cross, and found his good wife looking anxious and unhappy, and ready to say at any moment, 'Dear, dear, how I do miss Gladys.'

A messenger from the Park was awaiting him, with a note from Miss Gwynne, inquiring whether he had found the poor girl or not. He was obliged to write a few respectful lines in reply, to inform her of the failure of his search.

'I wish we had never set eyes on the girl,' he muttered, as he was writing the note with much pains and some difficulty. 'To take off Owen, too, just as he was getting euseful, and he such a good writer and accountant.'

Still more heartily did he repeat that wish several times during the night. Mrs Prothero could not sleep, and what with her anxiety about Gladys, sorrow for the departure of Owen, and longing to see her own daughter, her mind was excited beyond its wont. As is often the case under such circ.u.mstances, she fancied she heard all kinds of noises in the house; once she was sure some one was coming upstairs, and another time that there was a tapping at the front door. She crept softly out of bed, and half fancying she should find Gladys without, went downstairs, and opened it. Nothing was visible but the flickering moonbeams amongst the trees, or audible save the tinkling of the brook through the farm-yard.

'Name o' goodness, what's the matter now?' e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the farmer, as the creaking of the bedroom door awoke him.

'Don't be angry, Davy, bach, but I can't sleep for thinking of that poor girl; maybe she's without a roof to cover her.'