’Owen, Netta has got into her head that you and Gladys are making fools of one another still, in spite of all I said.  Is that treue?’

’Not exactly, father.  You know I have been in love with Gladys nearly ever since I knew her, and made up my mind never to have anybody else.  I don’t call that making a fool of her; perhaps it was of myself.  She has refused me, without rhyme or reason, more than once; and it was only when we came home with Netta that I found out the cause of her refusal.  It is just because she won’t marry me without your consent.  I have been waiting for her permission to speak to you about this ever since I came home; but she wouldn’t let me, because Netta was ill.  I must confess to you, honestly, that I would have married her any day these seven years, and worked for her, by sea of land, if she would have had me.  But she wouldn’t, so there’s an end of that I find, now, that your consent is wanting alone, and I ask it boldly.  If you let us marry, you make us happy; if you refuse, you make us miserable, and send me to sea again—­for I don’t see that you can expect me to work at home, if you don’t try to contribute to my happiness.  I am not angry, father, though I can’t see what right you had to extract a promise from a girl to whom you had done a service.  That was not generous, or like Prothero, Glanyravon.’

‘Treue for you there, boy.’

Mr Prothero began to rub his ear; a trick he had when in doubt.  Netta, seeing this, put her arms round his neck, and whispered,—­

‘Oh, father! make us happy.  He is a good son, father, bach.’

’Then go you and tell the girl, you may have her, as far as I am concerned,’ said Mr Prothero.

‘Indeed, father!’ said Owen doubtfully.

’Do you want me to swear, sir?  Upon my deed, then, you may marry the girl.  I have but one objection, and that’s the way she came here.  The girl’s a good girl, and I like her well enough.  Now, p’r’aps you ’ont go to sea.’

’Decidedly not; I’m a steady land-lubber for my life:  thank you, father.  Shake hands upon it!  You won’t repent.  Kiss me, Netta!  You have done it, I know, and you shall dance at the wedding.  Now, I’ll go and tell Gladys.’

Owen and his father shook hands until their arms ached.  Then the brother and sister kissed one another, and, with a sort of greyhound leap, or caper, Owen started off in search of Gladys.

‘Father, you will never repent it.  Thank you—­a thousand times,’ said Netta, covering her face with her hands, and bursting into tears.

The worthy farmer cried with her, and thus the father and daughter’s love returned and increased.

CHAPTER XLV.

THE BETROTHED.

Owen found Gladys in the dairy with his mother and Minette.  She had a candle in one hand, lighting Mrs Prothero, whilst she was looking at the fresh milk just put into the pans; Minette held the other.