It was about half-past ten o’clock when Mr Prothero and Gladys started on their homeward journey.  When they had gone about half way, they stopped for an hour to bait the mare, which brought them to nearly two o’clock, and reduced Mr Prothero to a state of great ill humour.  Poor Gladys had to bear many reproachful speeches, which reached her between a very animated conversation which he kept up with the mare and Lion alternately.  He did not talk much to her, but contented himself with making her eat and drink a great deal more than was pleasant for her, because, as he phrased it, ’People shouldn’t think she was starved at Glanyravon.’

In truth, there was a great contrast between the farmer’s rosy, broad, good-humoured countenance, which not even his present angry feelings could make morose, and Gladys’ pale, wearied face, rendered more palid than usual by her late fatigue and anxiety.  It was with some difficulty that she could keep her seat behind Mr. Prothero, as the mare trotted on at an equal but somewhat rough pace, and made her long for rest.

However, all things come to an end, and within about five miles of Glanyravon, Mr Prothero muttered,—­’Confound the ’ooman!  Shall we ever get home; ’tis enough to kill the mare.  Come along, old girl!  Good dog!  Lion, old boy!’—­which sentences were interrupted by the address of a stranger on horseback, who asked if he were right for Glanyravon Park.

‘Quite right, sir,’ said Mr Prothero, pleased at any break in a ride that had been peculiarly devoid of adventure.  ’I am going half a mile beyond the Park myself, and shall be proud to show you the way if you aren’t in a hurry.’

’By no means.  I am too tired to ride very fast myself, for I have been a great traveller of late.  I came down from London to Glamorganshire two days ago, and have come across country in coaches and dogcarts to the “Coach and Horses.”  I daresay you know the inn?’

‘Oh yes, sir.  That’s the “Coach and Horses” mare you’re upon now?’

’Yes; I borrowed her to come to Glanyravon, and have promised to ride her back to-night, but I am sure I shall not be able.  How far are we from Glanyravon?’

‘About four mile and a half.’

‘You live in the village?’

‘There is no village, sir.  I live at Glanyravon Farm.’

’Is there any inn nearer than the “Coach and Horses” where I might get a night’s lodging, and a man to ride the mare back?’

’No, sir; but I shall be glad to offer a bed to any friend of Mr Gwynne’s, though I am sure you’ll find one at the Park.’

’Thank you kindly.  I am not known to Mr Gwynne; but I am going to see Miss Hall, who, I believe, resides with him.’

’To be seure she does; and a better lady never lived.  If you’re a friend of Miss Hall’s, you’re as welcome to our house as if you were born and bred at Glanyravon.’

’You are very kind.  It does one good to meet with true Welsh hospitality once more.’