ther would not believe him when he
said so. Mrs Prothero gave him a maternal lecture on his conduct, and
the impossibility of his marrying Gladys, particularly whilst his father
was so irritated against his sister. She rallied him, in a quiet way, on
his various previous loves, and said that she had no doubt he would
forget his present one in the same manner.

She was struck with the unusually grave tone of his reply, as he simply
said, that if Gladys were like his other loves, he might forget her in
the same way; but as she was quite different from any one he had ever
liked before, so he should remember her as he had never before
remembered any one. She was also struck with his manner of wishing her
good night, and of recommending Gladys to her care, entreating her not
to be less kind to her than she had always been, because he had the
misfortune to love her.

Mrs Prothero promised all he desired, scarcely believing, as she did so,
in the depth of his affection.

'And, mother, fach,' he said, 'you must not be vexed if I run away again
to cure myself. There is nothing like sea air for my disease; and if I
do, I promise to write regularly, and to come home at the end of my
voyage. Only be kind to Gladys, and don't let her go away.'

Owen had a presentiment, that if he did not leave Glanyravon, Gladys
would.

'And you must try to bring father round by degrees. I don't want to
annoy him; and I know you are as fond of Gladys as if she were your own
daughter, and father likes her, too. Will you try, mother?'

'Anything to keep you at home, and steady, my son,' said Mrs Prothero
with tears in her eyes, 'but you must not go away again, we cannot do
without you.'

'Only this once, for change of air; I assure you it is best'

'Well, we will talk of this again, Owen; good night, and God bless you.'

'Just tell father not to be angry with me or Gladys, and that I can't
run away with her, because she won't have me. Good night, mother dear.'

Again Owen kissed his mother, more lovingly than usual, and so they
parted for the night.

CHAPTER XXV.

THE FUGITIVE.

Gladys did not go to bed all that night. If her mistress could have
watched her occupations, seen her tears, and listened to her prayers,
she would, at least, have known that she was grateful. The first thing
she did was to finish a cap that she had been making for her, the next
to complete a large piece of ornamental netting, that had been long in