le wicket into the lane; across a field
sparkling with dewdrops; over a stile; down another lane; over another
stile, and into another field! Here she pauses and glances round. A dark
figure at the opposite side of the field seems to assure her that all is
well. She runs quickly across the meadow, and within it, under shelter
of the hedge, near a half-open gate, stands Mrs Griffith Jenkins.

'Where is Howel?' asks Netta hastily.

'He did write yesterday to say he 'ould bring the carriage from Swansea
to meet us at Tynewydd, and he was sure to be there by six o'clock,'

'Let us make haste then, Aunt 'Lisbeth. Why didn't he come here himself?
I have a great mind to turn back.'

'Come you, Netta, fach! we'll soon be there. See you the letter?'

'Not now--not now,' cries Netta impatiently, walking along the high road
as fast as she possibly can. Mrs Jenkins keeps up with her, but is soon
out of breath.

'There's Jack Trefortyn; he'll be sure to tell. Aunt 'Lisbeth, I will
turn back. Father will be after me. It is too bad,' sobs Netta.

'We are near by now, Netta, fach. Come you!'

The little woman quickened her pace into a short run to keep up with
Netta.

'Here's the turnpike; we'll be at Tynewydd 'rectly.'

'I see Tynewydd,' says Netta, straining her eyes to catch sight of some
object far down the road; 'there is no carriage--I am sure there is
none. Cousin Howel ought to be ashamed of himself.'

Netta runs on very fast, leaving Mrs Jenkins far behind, until she
reaches the turning to a lane that leads to a little farm called
'Tynewydd.' She bursts out crying, and stamps her foot as she
exclaims,--

'Does he think he's going to do what he likes with me because he's rich?
I'll tell him he shall wait for me, I will!'

Hereupon she turns back and runs faster than before towards Mrs Jenkins.

'Come you, Netta, fach! He'll be here by now. Read you the letter.'

Netta pauses a moment to read a letter held out to her by Mrs Jenkins.
It runs thus:--

'I can't be with you to-day. Meet Netta at the appointed place, and walk
to Tynewydd. I will be there with a carriage by six o'clock.--Yours,
H.J.'

'See you, Netta, it isn't six yet.' Mrs Jenkins pulls out a large gold
watch, which, while Netta was running on, she has managed to put back
half-an-hour. 'Five-and-twenty minutes to six, see you.'

Netta turns again and hurries on.

'There is Jones Tynewydd. If he should see me,' says Netta. 'Do make
haste, Aunt