ind up with a few more glees.'

Rowland bowed his thanks and departed.

During the ensuing month there were frequent chess and glee clubs at
Glanyravon. What the effect such associations had upon Rowland he never
confided to any one, but when Miss Hall expressed her opinion that 'Mr
Prothero was a sensible, unaffected young man, but shy,' Freda
condescended to say, 'Well, he is not quite such a Goth or half as
affected as I fancied he was, but he has a very good opinion of himself,
nevertheless.'

In due course Rowland went to London to be ordained, and so ended the
chess and glee clubs.

CHAPTER XI.

THE SAILOR.

Argument and persuasion were alike thrown away upon Netta Prothero. She
would make no promises, no concessions; she stood her ground with the
obstinacy of a Cadwallader. Her father stormed for about a week, when he
got tired of the subject and of Netta's resolute manner and cross face,
and gave it up. He heard that Howel had started for London, having put
his affairs in the hands of an attorney, and that it was not at all
unlikely that he would marry some lady of rank. He laughed heartily at
the notion. It was also rumoured that he meant to return and take a
place in the neighbourhood, stand for the county, and be one of the
greatest men in South Wales. In short, the enchanter, the merlin, the
open sesame, the omnipotent sorcerer _gold_ was to work the miracles to
which Howel had been so long looking forward. And the gossips were not
far wrong. Gold is truly a famous master-key to all hearts and to all
companies.

But whilst the gossips--and who is not a gossip in a country
neighbourhood?--whilst the gossips were settling Howel's future so
comfortably and respectably for him, he was dispensing his gold amongst
gamblers and the like--paying debts of honour as they are called.

However, Mr Prothero thought it not unlikely that what the gossips said
might prove true, and was therefore tolerably comfortable about his
spoilt pet, Netta. When his anger and her pouting had subsided, matters
went on much as usual for a time at the farm. Even the blaze that was
kindled at the incursion of the Irish girl, had well-nigh gone out, and
Mr Prothero had nearly forgotten her existence.

She, meanwhile, was slowly recovering under Mrs Prothero's kind care.
One day, that good woman was sitting with her in the little room that
had been allotted to her, and said,--

'Is there anything you could think of t