‘Very well said, nephew,’ broke in the vicar, ’Marathon, Thermopylae, Platea—­’

‘I am afraid we are keeping you from your dinner, Mrs Prothero,’ interrupted Mr Gwynne, who had a nervous dread of the vicar’s antiquities, whether in war or peace.  ‘Freda, I think we must go.’

Freda rose from her seat, and shook hands very warmly with Mr and Mrs Prothero.  She had made up her mind to do the same with Rowland; but just as she approached the door near which he had been standing, he said he would go out and see whether the carriages were ready, and did so accordingly.  They followed him as soon as the leave-takings were over, and found him waiting at the gate.  He immediately assisted Lady Mary and Miss Nugent into their carriage, leaving Colonel Vaughan to perform the same office for Miss Gwynne and Miss Hall.  Mr Gwynne stayed to shake hands with him, and tell him that he should always be glad to see him; and Colonel Vaughan promised to pay him a visit as soon as he went to town.  The former got into the carriage, the latter upon the box to drive.  Rowland stood by the door a moment irresolute.

‘Good-bye, Mr Rowland,’ said Miss Hall, ’I shall hope often to see your mother.’

‘Thank you, Miss Hall,’ said Rowland, pressing the hand she held out to him with an iron pressure.

Freda was just going to put out her hand across Miss Hall, when Colonel Vaughan touched the horses, and the carriage drove off.  Rowland raised his hat, and as he glanced at Freda saw that she was looking at him not altogether unkindly.  After those words of hers, he never could have shaken hands with her, unless she made the advance; and so they parted, he believing her too proud to acknowledge him after what he had said to her; she admiring what she considered his pride and resentment a great deal more than she had ever done his humility.

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE LOVER.

Spring came round again, and Owen and Gladys were still at the farm.  The following conversation will show how they went on together.

‘Let me carry that bucket for you, Gladys,’ said Owen, one evening when she was proceeding across the farm-yard, to carry a warm mesh to a sick cow.

‘It is not heavy, sir,’ said Gladys, gently.

’It is too heavy for you, ma’am, said Owen, emphasising the ‘ma’am.’

He took the bucket from her, and carried it to the shed, where Gladys dosed and fed her sick cow so very tenderly, that Owen was impelled to say,—­

‘I wish I were that cow.’

‘Oh, sir! she is but a poor, sick, witless animal.’

’But she has you to nurse and be kind to her; so I wish I were that cow.’

‘Sure, sir, I would be glad to nurse you if you were sick,’

‘Would you, Gladys?  Then I will be sick to-morrow.’

‘I hope not, Mr Owen.  Come, poor Mally.  Drink it up.’