‘And the father and mother, Mr Owen.’

’Well, yes, to a certain extent.  But you always answer every question but one like a pure, straightforward young woman, as you are.  Why won’t you tell me the reason you have for hating me so?’

‘I don’t hate you, Mr Owen.’

’It must be either love or hate.  You don’t love me.  Do you love any one else?’

‘No.’

‘Have you a heart to give?’

‘Ye—­no.’

‘Which do you mean?’

‘I cannot tell you, indeed I cannot!’

’Oh!  Gladys, if you knew the pain!  Why will you not make me happy, or at least give me a sensible reason?’

‘I—­I—­promised—­oh, Mr Owen.’

’Dear Gladys, what?  I will never betray you, and will always be a friend, a brother.  Who have you promised?  Not to marry, not to love—­’

‘Your father, Mr Owen.  I—­I—­promised never—­to—­without his consent.’

Fortunately it was dusk, and the curtain between the double carriage was drawn, and Netta and Minette were, apparently at least, fast asleep, so no one saw Owen jump up from his seat with a kind of bound, seize Gladys’ hand, try to look into her face, and finally sit down again, retaining possession of the said hand across the elbow of the carriage.

’Do you mean, Gladys, that you promised never to marry me without my father’s consent?’

‘Yes.’

‘Never to love me without his consent?’

‘No.’

‘That you don’t hate me?’

‘No.’

’That if I got his consent you would make me the happiest man in the world?’

‘I would try, Mr Owen.’

’Nothing but his consent?

’Nothing, Mr Owen.  If you do not change, I cannot.

’Gladys, do not trifle with me.  But you could not trifle.  Have you cared for me—­may I say loved me—­all these years?’

‘All these years.’

Gladys bowed her head as if in shame over those clasped hands, and a large tear fell upon Owen’s.  He wanted no other confirmation of her words, and felt, as he had expressed it, the happiest man in the world.

CHAPTER XLIV.

THE PRODIGAL DAUGHTER.

It was nine o’clock when the fly that took the travellers from Swansea to Glanyravon reached the door of the farm.  The night was ’dark and dreary;’ very different was the weather, the aspect of external nature; very different were Netta’s feelings and all the circumstances, when she was at home ten years ago.  She had been thinking again on all these things during that gloomy drive, when her companions thought she was asleep.

Bright lights are in the windows and passage as the travellers look out of the carriage.  Mrs Prothero’s anxious face is visible in front, Mr and Mrs Jonathan’s tall forms above her from behind, the servants are without, Lion is barking joyously, but there is no Mr Prothero.