’Cousin ‘Lizbeth,’ said Mrs Prothero, ’if Howel had been a good son, and a steady young man, you could scarcely ask Rowland to speak up for him, and his own sister in Llanfach churchyard!  “As we have sown, so must we reap,” in this world.’

’It do be fine for you, cousin, to be preaching, who was having fortunate sons, but—­’

’Hush, Aunt ‘Lizbeth, if you please,’ interrupted Rowland.  ’I will take you to London to-morrow, if you are resolved to go.  You must meet me at the omnibus.’

(There was now a railway within a few miles of Llanfawr.)

’Then I will be going home to get ready.  You was seure to come, Mr Rowlands?’

‘Sure, if nothing unforeseen prevents me.’

At this point of the conversation, Mr Prothero entered the parlour, leading Minette, who had two letters in her hand.

‘Here are two letters for you, Uncle Rowland,’ said the child.  ’Grandfather says one must be from a bishop.  What’s a bishop, uncle?  Oh, Grandma Jenkins!’

Minette gave the letters to Rowland, and then went to kiss her grandmother, who began to cry when she saw her.  Mr Prothero suppressed a very equivocal question concerning the reason of her again appearing at Glanyravon, and said,—­

‘How d’ye do, Mrs Griffey?’

Rowland opened his letters.  One was from Mr Jones, the other, as Minette said, was from a bishop—­the Bishop of London.  He read Mr Jones’ first, and turned more than usually red as he did so.  He uttered an exclamation of surprise when he finished reading it, and put it into his father’s hands.

He then read the second letter.  It was short.  He got up, sat down, got up again, gave the letter to his father, and said,—­

’It is too much!  I do not deserve it!  I wish it were Jones instead of me.  He is much better—­more suited—­married.  I cannot believe it!’

Neither could Mr Prothero, to judge from the expression of his face.  He read each letter twice over, and seemed struggling with some great emotion as he ejaculated, ‘Rowland, my boy!’ and burst into tears.

Mr Prothero had not cried before since Netta’s death, and those were, indeed, precious tears.

Minette, terrified at seeing her grandfather cry, ran off in search of Gladys, who had been every one’s refuge since her marriage.

She and Owen were at the front door, receiving Mr and Mrs Jonathan Prothero, who had just arrived.

‘Aunty, grandfather is crying,’ said the child.  ’You said you wished he would cry; but I don’t like it.  I think he is crying for poor mamma, who is in heaven, and can’t come to him.’

All hurried into the parlour.

They found Mr Prothero holding one of his son’s hands, and shaking it nervously, and Mrs Prothero holding the other, and vain attempts to speak.

‘Brother Jo! sister-in-law!  Just in time.  If our Netta was but here!’ said Mr Prothero.  ’Mrs Jonathan shall read the letters.  It was she who got him the curacy.’