but somewhat rough pace, and made her long for rest.

However, all things come to an end, and within about five miles of
Glanyravon, Mr Prothero muttered,--'Confound the 'ooman! Shall we ever
get home; 'tis enough to kill the mare. Come along, old girl! Good dog!
Lion, old boy!'--which sentences were interrupted by the address of a
stranger on horseback, who asked if he were right for Glanyravon Park.

'Quite right, sir,' said Mr Prothero, pleased at any break in a ride
that had been peculiarly devoid of adventure. 'I am going half a mile
beyond the Park myself, and shall be proud to show you the way if you
aren't in a hurry.'

'By no means. I am too tired to ride very fast myself, for I have been a
great traveller of late. I came down from London to Glamorganshire two
days ago, and have come across country in coaches and dogcarts to the
"Coach and Horses." I daresay you know the inn?'

'Oh yes, sir. That's the "Coach and Horses" mare you're upon now?'

'Yes; I borrowed her to come to Glanyravon, and have promised to ride
her back to-night, but I am sure I shall not be able. How far are we
from Glanyravon?'

'About four mile and a half.'

'You live in the village?'

'There is no village, sir. I live at Glanyravon Farm.'

'Is there any inn nearer than the "Coach and Horses" where I might get a
night's lodging, and a man to ride the mare back?'

'No, sir; but I shall be glad to offer a bed to any friend of Mr
Gwynne's, though I am sure you'll find one at the Park.'

'Thank you kindly. I am not known to Mr Gwynne; but I am going to see
Miss Hall, who, I believe, resides with him.'

'To be seure she does; and a better lady never lived. If you're a friend
of Miss Hall's, you're as welcome to our house as if you were born and
bred at Glanyravon.'

'You are very kind. It does one good to meet with true Welsh hospitality
once more.'

'You're not Welsh, sir, I should say?'

'I was Welsh originally; but it would be difficult to make out my
parish, as I have been wandering about for many years.'

'A clergyman, sir?'

'Yes, sir.'

The gentleman smiled, and thought the question savoured of American
curiosity.

'I have a son a clergyman. Perhaps you may have fallen in with him. They
tell me he's a very promising young man.'

'What is his name?'

'Prothero, sir--Rowland Prothero.'

'I do not know him personally, but I know him by reputation; he is
curate of an old friend of mine, Mr Stephenson.'

'To be