kill me. I was alone in the
wide world, yet it would not please God to take me to another, much as I
prayed to Him.

'Before mother died she told me to go into Wales, and try to find if she
had any relations left. It was all she said, or had strength for; and
before she got ill she seldom talked of her friends. All that I know of
them I heard from my father when I was quite a child. He told me that
mother had written to her father when she settled in Ireland, and that
her letter had been returned with a note, saying that he was dead, and
his only son gone away, no one knew where. This was her brother, and my
uncle, but I do not know where to find him, only I am come to seek them,
that I may do her bidding.'

'And what was your mother's name?' asked Mrs Prothero.

'Margaret Jones, ma'am,'

'My poor girl, there are hundreds of that name in South Wales. But we
will make inquiries for you, and when you are better--'

'I am better now, thank you, ma'am. To-morrow I think I may go on my
way. I would not trouble you any more; a poor beggar like me is not
fit--oh dear! oh dear!'

'Now I insist on your being quiet and going to sleep, and forgetting all
those horrors,' said Miss Gwynne, assuming her most decided voice to
hide her emotion. 'You are not to go away to-morrow; but I daresay in a
few days you will be able to do so, and we can help you a little. But
your best plan now is to get as strong as you can whilst you have the
opportunity,' and herewith Miss Gwynne put a large spoonful of jelly
into the girl's mouth.

Mrs Prothero was wiping her eyes, and stifling a rising sob behind the
curtain, which caused Miss Gwynne to become very severe, and to utter
something about giving way to foolish weakness which aroused Mrs
Prothero, and made the patient bury her head beneath the bed-clothes.

Miss Gwynne beckoned to Mrs Prothero, and they left the room together.
Upon asking for Netta, Miss Gwynne was let into the secret of the family
troubles and consultations, and greatly fearing to be made a party in
the lecturings overhanging the luckless head of the offender, she took a
hasty leave of Mr and Mrs Jonathan, and begging Mrs Prothero not to be
too hard upon Netta, or to let her son Rowland preach too many sermons,
went her very independent way.

CHAPTER X.

THE SQUIRE'S DAUGHTER.

'You will oblige me by remaining at home this evening, my dear,' said Mr
Gwynne to his daughter.

'That I assuredly shall, p