fell upon the floor.

Poor, nervous Mrs Prothero, rubbed her hands over one another several
times before she had the courage to pick it up, and then she scarcely
dared to open it. As she made the attempt, however, a cry of 'Mother!
mother! why isn't my breakfast ready?' was heard from the foot of the
stairs, proceeding from Mr Prothero's lusty voice, who was too proud and
too angry to call for Gladys.

Mrs Prothero ran downstairs with the letter in her hand.

'My dear David, I am afraid Gladys is gone,' she said tremblingly.

'Well, let her go,' said the farmer. 'A good riddance. But what do you
mean?'

Mrs Prothero told of the empty room, unused bed, cap, curtains, and
letter.

'This house is bewitched!' said Mr Prothero. 'What's in the letter?'

'Indeed, I don't know, Davy bach!' said the wife, giving him the
document.

Mr Prothero took out his glasses, wiped them deliberately, and put them
on, whilst his wife stood before him rubbing her poor little hands as
usual.

'What a good hand the girl writes,' said Mr Prothero, as he carefully
unfolded the letter, and then began to read aloud as follows:--

'DEAR AND HONOURED MISTRESS,--Before leaving for ever your blessed
home, I beg you will allow me to write you a few lines, and I hope
you will not think me too bold in so doing. I am going away,
because I would not cause trouble to you, or my good, kind master.
May it please God to bless you both for ever and ever! As long as I
live I shall pray for you and love you! If I am too bold, forgive
me, but my heart is full. I can only thank you for all you have
done for me, by my prayers! Farewell! my dear, kind, honoured
mistress and master. You will be rewarded in this world for your
care of the poor orphan, who prays to meet you in the
next.--GLADYS.'

It was evident that the writer had been obliged to conclude hastily,
because her paper was so wet with tears that she could write no more.

When Mr Prothero finished reading, he hemmed two or three times and
cleared his throat, and took off his spectacles and wiped them; then
perceiving that his wife was crying like a child, he said,--

'Don't be so fullish!' Suddenly recollecting himself, he exclaimed,
'Where's Owen? Go you, mother, and see if we haven't had another
'lopement,'

'No fear of that,' said Mrs Prothero, leaving the room to do her
husband's bidding.

She stayed so long that Mr Prothero,