'You live in the village?'

'There is no village, sir. I live at Glanyravon Farm.'

'Is there any inn nearer than the "Coach and Horses" where I might get a night's lodging, and a man to ride the mare back?'

'No, sir; but I shall be glad to offer a bed to any friend of Mr Gwynne's, though I am sure you'll find one at the Park.'

'Thank you kindly. I am not known to Mr Gwynne; but I am going to see Miss Hall, who, I believe, resides with him.'

'To be seure she does; and a better lady never lived. If you're a friend of Miss Hall's, you're as welcome to our house as if you were born and bred at Glanyravon.'

'You are very kind. It does one good to meet with true Welsh hospitality once more.'

'You're not Welsh, sir, I should say?'

'I was Welsh originally; but it would be difficult to make out my parish, as I have been wandering about for many years.'

'A clergyman, sir?'

'Yes, sir.'

The gentleman smiled, and thought the question savoured of American curiosity.

'I have a son a clergyman. Perhaps you may have fallen in with him. They tell me he's a very promising young man.'

'What is his name?'

'Prothero, sir--Rowland Prothero.'

'I do not know him personally, but I know him by reputation; he is curate of an old friend of mine, Mr Stephenson.'

'To be seure--Rowly's rector! Allow me to shake hands with you, sir.

You'll sleep at Glanyravon.'

'Certainly, if I shall not inconvenience you and your family. Your daughter looks very ill and tired; perhaps it may--'

'Not a bit, sir. She's not my daughter; she always looks as pale as moonlight, 'scept when she blushes up; she'll see to a bed for a strange gentleman, and so'll my missus. To think of your knowing Mr Stephenson!'

'Yes, I saw him during my short stay in town, and he told me he had a capital curate, a countryman of mine. A regular hard-working, useful parish priest, he called him; a good preacher besides!'

'Well, mother will be pleased, won't she, Gladys?'

This was said in the old good-humoured way, and Gladys brightened up as she answered,--

'Yes, sir, very.'

'Are you ill?' said the stranger, looking at Gladys with sudden interest.

'No, sir, thank you; I am only rather tired,' was the reply.

'Tired! I should think so! Why, she's walked more than thirty miles, and ridden thirty in the last two days,' said the farmer gruffly.

The stranger glanced again compa.s.sionately at Gladys, but merely said,--

'She looks so pale that I fancied she was suddenly faint. How long has Miss Hall been at Glanyravon?'

'Somewhere about two or three years now, I should say; but when she was teaching Miss Gwynne she was there a great many years.'

'Is she in good health? How does she look? Is she happy?'

'If she was ill, sir, I don't think any one 'ould know it, she's so quiet and patient; but I think she's pretty well, and she can't help being happy, for she's just the same as if she was at home with her father and sister. Now she is a nice lady! If all 'oomen were like her there 'ouldn't be half the plague with 'em there is. She's quite content without having a lot of lovers after her, and running away, and making everybody in a fever. Deet to goodness, my opinion is that the world 'ould go on a sight better without 'em. What do you think, sir? You must have plenty of experience as a clergyman, for all the ladies are pretty sharp after the cloth.'

The stranger laughed, and said he thought the world would be very disagreeable without the fair s.e.x, and that he had no doubt Mr Prothero would find it so if they became suddenly extinct.

The farmer was so pleased with his new acquaintance that when they reached the Park gate, he said very heartily,--

'Now, mind you, sir, there's a warm welcome, and a well-aired bed, and fine, white, home-spun linen at the farm. The squire may give you a better dinner, may be, but not a hotter, I'll answer for it; Gladys'll see to that; she's capital for that. And mother 'ould be so glad to hear what the rector said about our Rowly.'

'You may depend upon my coming,' said the stranger. 'What time does Mr Gwynne dine? I suppose I shall escape his dinner hour? It is now about five o'clock.'

'Oh! they don't dine till Christian folks are going to bed--seven or eight o'clock, or some such heathen hour. You'll be able to see them all before dinner; but I don't believe Mr Gwynne'll let you come away.'

'I shall not see him probably. Good day for the present.'

The stranger rode slowly up the drive from the lodge to the house, and Mr Prothero quickened his pace homeward. The mare, nothing loath, trotted off hard and fast, and Gladys looked paler than ever.

When they reached the farm gate they were greeted by a loud shout from the 'boys,' Tom and Bill, who were right glad to see pretty Gladys back again. They both ran as fast as they could to the house, to tell their mistress the good news, and Lion after them. Mrs Prothero was at the door to receive the travellers, and as Gladys slipped off the mare, took her round the neck, and gave her a hearty kiss.

'My dear David, I am so thankful! so much obliged!' she said, as her more portly husband dismounted. 'Come in quick; Miss Gwynne and Miss Hall are here. They were just going, but they will be relieved of all their anxiety when they see Gladys. Come in, Gladys, fach! don't be afraid; they must see you.'

Poor Gladys was crying with all her heart--good, comfortable, refreshing tears of joy at her mistress's kind welcome.

Miss Gwynne appeared at the parlour door.

'Well, Gladys! you have had your long walk for nothing. What a foolish girl you were to go away. Mr Prothero, how do you do? I am so glad you have brought us back Gladys. We couldn't do without her in these parts.'

'Do you still stand to your text, Miss Gwynne?' said Mr Prothero. 'We may as well settle the matter at once. It will be a great thing for the girl.'

'Oh, certainly; only she looks too tired to settle anything. Gladys, I will give you a day or two to consider whether you will come and live with me, as my maid, or be Miss Hall's pattern school-mistress.'

Gladys looked from Miss Gwynne to Miss Hall, and then from her master to her mistress, through the tears that were gathering faster and faster.

She answered in a voice half choked by them,--

'Thank you, ma'am, thank you over and over and over again. If I must go away--if I must--whichever--you--like--I--' Here she finally gave way, and, sitting down on a chair, sobbed aloud. Mrs Prothero went to her, and put her arm round her neck. Miss Gwynne looked on compa.s.sionately, and Miss Hall turned to Mr Prothero.

'She does not like to leave you, Mr Prothero,' she said gently.

'I don't want to turn the girl out of the house. But if Miss Gwynne wants her, I think it is better for all parties for her to go.'