k to Glanyravon, where she means to make you schoolmistress
and lady's maid, and all the rest. 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. You
'ont encourage my son Owen without my consent'

'No, sir--never. And I do not wish or mean ever to marry any one, if you
will only believe me.'

'I don't believe any young 'ooman who says that. You may as well go into
a nunnery. But I believe the rest till I find you out to the contrary.
Now, go you and get ready.'

'Thank you, sir--thank you.'

Soon after this conversation the farmer had mounted his good mare, who
was as much refreshed as her master by a night's rest, and with Gladys,
_en croupe_, and Lion running by his side, he jogged back to his home.

'We shall have a fine long journey, and a tiresome one enough,' he
muttered. 'Thirty mile and carrying double is too much for my
mare.--take the 'oomen! they'll be the death 'o me, one way and another.
There's mother, and Netta, and Miss Gwynne, and now this Gladys! This is
the last time I'll put myself out for any of 'em, or my name isn't David
Prothero.'

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE MISSIONARY.

It was about half-past ten o'clock when Mr Prothero and Gladys started
on their homeward journey. When they had gone about half way, they
stopped for an hour to bait the mare, which brought them to nearly two
o'clock, and reduced Mr Prothero to a state of great ill humour. Poor
Gladys had to bear many reproachful speeches, which reached her between
a very animated conversation which he kept up with the mare and Lion
alternately. He did not talk much to her, but contented himself with
making her eat and drink a great deal more than was pleasant for her,
because, as he phrased it, 'People shouldn't think she was starved at
Glanyravon.'

In truth, there was a great contrast between the farmer's rosy, broad,
good-humoured countenance, which not even his present angry feelings
could make morose, and Gladys' pale, wearied face, rendered more palid
than usual by her late fatigue and anxiety. It was with some difficulty
that she could keep her seat behind Mr. Prothero, as the mare trotted on
at an equal