he--the--'

Owen waited for no more epithets but ran into the house, and stumbling
upon Gladys in the passage, 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 God!' 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 passion 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 th