They had a compartment to themselves, into which Rowland went, to be with Netta until the whistle sounded.

‘Oh, brother!’ sobbed Netta, ’if I never see you again, promise to be kind to Howel; promise to give him whatever I leave for him.  Perhaps I shall die,—­I don’t know.  Tell him all you have said to me; try to make him good, and give him the hope you have given me.  Will you, brother?  Say, will you?’

’I will do everything you wish, my darling sister, if I have the opportunity.’

‘And will you write to me about what you have been saying to me?’

’I will, dear, regularly.  But you have only to believe and pray.  God bless you, Netta, dear!  God for ever bless you!’

The guard was at the door, Owen in the carriage.  Rowland gave Netta one long, last kiss, and went out upon the platform.

‘Kiss me, uncle,’ said Minette, putting her little face out of the window.

When she drew it in again she wiped off a tear that Rowland had left upon her cheek.

‘Good-bye, Gladys,—­good-bye, Owen,’ he said, stretching out his hand, which was clasping that of his brother as the train began to move, and separated him from the sister, brother, niece, and friend whom he loved so well.

Poor Netta cried long and quietly in the corner of the carriage in which she had been placed.  Of course she had the side without an arm that she might put up her feet when she liked, so Owen and Gladys were placed, of necessity, side by side, and Minette jumped upon Gladys’ lap, and began talking of Glanyravon.  Owen and Gladys were quite shy with one another.  The former studied Bradshaw, the latter occupied herself with Minette.

When Netta ceased crying, Owen tried to engage her attention, and amused her for a time by accounts of home and country news.  But by degrees she relapsed into her usual abstraction.

Owen hated railway travelling, and was a great fidget.  Out at every station, of course, and alternately reading the newspaper and making remarks upon the confounded November weather when in the carriage.  He scarcely addressed Gladys particularly, but talked to Netta or Minette; and Gladys thought him very cold and constrained, but did not know that he was thinking of what Colonel Vaughan had done years ago, and comparing it with Mr Jones’ embrace.

‘Do you know, Netta, that I am thinking of getting married?’ he said suddenly, and thoroughly rousing Gladys.

’Don’t be so foolish, Owen!  You have been getting married or falling in love ever since you were twelve,’ said Netta.  ‘Who is it now?’

‘Miss Richards,—­Dr Richards’ daughter.  It is the talk of the county.  You know she has plenty of money.’

Owen cast a side glance towards Gladys and saw her turn quite pale, which was very satisfactory to him.

‘Is Miss Richards pretty, uncle?’ asked Minette.  ’Is she as pretty as Gladys?’

‘That depends upon taste.’