holy silence.

'Rowland,' suddenly broke in Howel, 'how is Netta?'

'Quite well, I thank you,' answered Rowland gravely.

'I have not seen her for a long time? will you remember me to her?'

'I cannot promise to do so.'

'Do you think me a fiend, sir, that my name cannot be mentioned to my
cousin? I will manage to convey my own remembrances.'

'Howel, you know how it is? I do not mean to be unkind. If only you
would give up your old life, enter your profession, and begin another--'

'That is as I choose. I shall be glad of the paper you wrote for my
father, and then you and I, Rowland, are best apart.'

'Good-bye then, Howel? perhaps some day you may know that I wish you
well. I will bring the paper at the funeral.'

'For heaven's sake stay, or send some one else! I cannot bear to be
alone here? his ghost will haunt me.'

'Then let me read to you.'

Howel assented gloomily and threw himself on the bed in the corner of
the room. Rowland took a small Testament from his pocket and resolutely
read several chapters.

During the reading Howel fell asleep.

CHAPTER V.

THE FARMER'S SON.

At about ten o'clock on Monday morning Miss Gwynne rode up to the door
of Glanyravon Farm, and, dismounting, entered the house. She was
attended by a groom, and told him that she should not be long.

'How is that poor girl, Netta?' were her first words on entering the
house.

'Very ill indeed, I believe,' said Netta, rather sulkily.

'Where is your mother?'

'She has been with the Irish beggar all the morning, and all night too.
I don't know what father and uncle and aunt will think.'

'Will you ask your mother whether I can see her for a few minutes?'

'Certainly.'

'Netta, you must come and dine with us on Wednesday, with your uncle and
aunt.'

'Thank you,' said Netta, brightening up as she left the room.

'I'm sure I scarcely know whether she will behave rightly,' muttered
Miss Gwynne, tapping her hand with her riding-whip.

Mrs Prothero soon appeared.

'You good, clear Mrs Prothero!' exclaimed Miss Gwynne, running up to her
and taking both her hands. 'You look quite worn out. How is that poor
girl?'

'Alive, Miss Gwynne, and that is almost all,' was the reply very gravely
uttered.

'Can we do anything? Did Dr Richards come?'

'Yes, Miss Gwynne, and was very kind. He has been again this morning.'

'I came to invite Mr Rowland and Netta to dinner on Wednesday, with Mr
and Mrs Jonathan Proth