‘There is always a pleasure with every pain,’ said Mrs Prothero, wiping her eyes.  ‘Thank you, Miss Hall.’

’And the Bishop of London was in the chair.  So, mother, if he isn’t a bishop himself, you see he’s been very near one,’ said Mr Prothero, looking very much gratified.  ’Well, I’ll go now, Miss Gwynne, and look after that confounded—­I beg your pardon, Miss—­after that Irish jade,’ and he went accordingly, leaving the ladies to talk it over with his wife.

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE FRIEND.

Mr Prothero started as soon as his horse was ready, and, it must be confessed, in a very bad temper.  As soon as he got out of the precincts of Glanyravon, he began to make inquiries of every one he met, and at every cottage he passed, concerning Gladys.  It was evident, from the replies that he received, that if she had gone that road, it was so early in the morning that no one had seen her.

At last he fell in with a farmer’s wife whom he knew, who was jogging along on horseback, with a little boy behind her.  After the usual greetings, he said,—­

’You never come to Glanyravon now, Mrs Davies.  I daresay you haven’t seen any of our folk for a year?’

’Well, not exactly.  But I almost fancied I saw that pretty young ’ooman that lives with you yesterday morning.  She was too shabby, or I should have been seure of the face.  Only when she saw me she turned away and went on.’

‘Which way?’

‘Oh, down the Carmarthen road, seure.’

’You’ll excuse my hurrying on, Mrs Davies; I want to call at Lewis, Dryslwyn.’

‘To be seure.  Good morning, Mr Prothero.’

The worthy farmer rode off at a gallop, till he was more than out of sight of Mrs Davies.  He stopped at a tidy cottage to speak to an old woman who was washing at the door.

’Did you chance to see a strange young ’ooman go by here yesterday, early?’ he asked.

’What young ‘ooman?’ was the rejoinder.

‘Rather shabbily dressed, with blue eyes, and a very pale face?’

‘Had she a big black dog along, sir?’ asked a boy who came from within the house.

‘I think she had.’

’Then granny gave her a cup of tea when she asked for some water, and I gave the dog a piece of my bread and cheese,’ said the boy.

‘There’s sixpence for you, my lad,’ said Mr Prothero.  ’Was there a young man with the girl?’

‘Nobody was along, sir.’

‘Which way did she go?’

‘By there, to Dryslwyn, sir.’

Mr Prothero rode on to the picturesque village bearing this name.  The old ruined castle looked down upon him from its curiously formed, tumulus-looking elevation, as he stopped before a neat farm-house.

‘Good morning, Mrs Lewis.’

’Walk in, Mr Prothero.  We were talking of you by now.  There was a young ’ooman by here yesterday, and John Lewis said he was seure she had your dog with her.  She went away so fast, that I hadn’t time to ask about the dog.’