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It may be the loss of thousands. 'Mrs Prothero is with Netta, Howel, bach. 'Who dared to bring her into my house? 'Netta, I 'spose. They was turning me out of Glanyravon. 'And I'll turn her out of Abertewey, the canting old humbug. Here Dr Richards came in.
Oh, God! spare my beloved mother! he would reply. Although it was a bright autumn morning, the stillness of death hovered over Glanyravon Farm. There was scarcely a sound to be heard within or without.
As if by mutual consent, they take the turn that leads to Pentre, Lady Mary Nugent's place. It is about a mile from Glanyravon, and beautifully situated on a hill that commands a fine prospect of dale, wood, and river. The handsome mother and daughter are at home, and hail the arrivals with great glee.
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.
I suppose you don't want to go to Ireland? 'No, sir. 'Have you any relations there? 'No, sir. 'You don't want to leave Glanyravon parish? 'No, sir. I would rather live and die there than anywhere else in the world. 'Then go you and get ready; and, mind you, have some ale before you start. I must keep my promise to Miss Gwynne; mind you yours to me.
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.
Better the waxen heiress, Miss Nugent, with thirty thousand pounds in possession in some thirty-six hours, than the iron heiress, Miss Gwynne, with Glanyravon in futuro. 'Moreover, the one may be moulded into any shape one pleases the other must have her own opinion, and her own way, unless a man beat her into subjection.
'Yes; I borrowed her to come to Glanyravon, and have promised to ride her back to-night, but I am sure I shall not be able. How far are we from Glanyravon? 'About four mile and a half. '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?
Netta ran past her mother into the house, without replying to her question concerning her headache, and Rowland at once related to his mother what he had seen of Howel and Netta's private interview, which that good lady was very much distressed to hear. Glanyravon farm was anything but a quiet home during the ensuing week.
Prothero, as the mare trotted on at an equal but somewhat rough pace, and made her long for rest. However, all things come to an end, and within about five miles of Glanyravon, Mr Prothero muttered, 'Confound the 'ooman! Shall we ever get home; 'tis enough to kill the mare. Come along, old girl! Good dog!
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