es. She had not much authority
amongst the young people apparently.

'There, mother! I knew Miss Gwynne would agree with me.'

'And do you think the law of Christian charity would agree with you,
Netta?' here broke in a grave and stern voice from the sofa.

Both the young ladies coloured at this interruption? Miss Gwynne with
mortified dignity, Netta with anger. Mrs Prothero cast an appealing
glance at her son, who came forward.

'She may have my bed, mother,' said the young man, colouring in his
turn, as he met Miss Gwynne's defiant glance, that seemed to say, 'Who
are you?'

'How very absurd, Mr Rowland,' said that young lady, laughing
scornfully. 'I suppose, according to your law of Christian charity, we
must fill our houses with all the Irish beggars that come through
Carmarthenshire! A goodly company!'

'Have you seen this poor girl. Miss Gwynne?'

'No, certainly not, but I know by heart all she has to say.'

'If you would but just see her,' said Mrs Prothero entreatingly not
daring to contradict the heiress of Glanyravon Park, who had a will of
her own, if Mrs Prothero had not.

'With the greatest pleasure; but I know all the "my leddy's," "yer
honour's," and "the sweet face o' ye," that I shall hear.'

'Don't go, Miss Gwynne, you may take the fever. I wouldn't go for the
world,' cried Netta.

'I am not afraid of fevers or anything else, I hope,' said Miss Gwynne
contemptuously. 'You will be afraid of catching a toothache from
infection next,' and herewith she left the room, followed by Mrs
Prothero.

During their short absence, Mr Rowland Prothero read his sister a very
proper lecture for a clergyman, on Christian charity and filial
obedience, to which she listened with pouting lips and knitted brow, but
with no answering speech, good or bad. She was not silent because she
had nothing to say, but because she was afraid of her brother, who was
the only person of whom she was afraid. Her feelings, however, found
vent in the leaves of a rose that she was pulling to pieces and
scattering ruthlessly.

The lecturer on Christian charity was a tall, gentlemanly-looking young
man, whose apparently habitual gravity of deportment warmed into
earnestness and animation as he talked to his sister. He looked and
spoke as if his soul were in the words he uttered, and as if it had
been choice and not compulsion that led him to become a minister in
Christ's family.

The entrance of Mrs Prothero and Miss Gwynne w