Rowland laughed, in spite of himself, at this notion.

‘I will go and wish my mother good night,’ he said, ’and then set to work.’

The brothers went together to their mother, who was in bed, and together received her ‘God bless you, my children!’ Then they separated for the night, and Rowland returned to his room a wiser, if still a sadder, man, than when Owen visited it.  Owen’s plain common sense had often got the better of Rowland’s romance; and although he could not approve his roving and seemingly useless life, he always acknowledged that he gathered some wisdom by his experience.

Again Rowland sat down, but this time he drew up the blind, and let the moonlight in upon his chamber like a silver flood.  He took himself to task for his pride, ambition, and conceit, in a way that did him good, doubtless, but was not palatable; still he made many excuses for himself, and none for Miss Gwynne.  He was not to recover the effects of that disappointment in a few hours!  Days and even years were necessary for that.  But he asked for strength where it is never asked in vain, and then resolutely wrote a sermon on the words, ’Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.’

He wrote as he felt, and under the influence of those strong, half-curbed feelings, wrote so easily, that he was astonished to find how quickly he composed, and how soon a sufficient number of sheets were written, to occupy his customary half-hour when preached.  He did not read them over, but promised to do so on the morrow, which was Saturday.  He was already far into the small hours, and knew that he ought to be in bed.

When he was there he could not sleep.  That love of his was too deeply-rooted to be torn up by a few proud words that haunted him all the night, and to which he was constantly adding ’Yes, you are the heiress of Glanyravon, and I am only a farmer’s son and a poor curate.’

CHAPTER XXII.

THE GOVERNESS.

‘Only a curate!’ exclaimed Miss Gwynne, as she and Miss Hall were discussing Rowland’s presumption the following morning.

‘Still, a gentleman,’ replied Miss Hall quietly.

‘The son of one of my father’s tenants; a farmer’s son!’

‘Still, a gentleman!’

’The ninety-ninth attempt on Glanyravon, and, happily, an unsuccessful one.’

’Perhaps the first sincere attempt to gain the heiress’s heart, without any thought of her park and its broad acres.’

’I declare, Serena, vous m’impatientez.  I verily believe you are in his interest and confidence, and trying to plead his cause.’

This was said with great excitement; the answer, however, was calm.

’Scarcely possible, if probable, because I was never alone with him in my life, and have rarely seen him except in your presence.’

’Then, why do you take up his defence?  You would not have me marry him, would you?’