‘What is the matter with you, my poor girl?’ says the ‘gintle voice,’

These kind words have a power that the equally kind ones of the rough friends around had not.  The brown straw bonnet is raised from the breast, and we perceive that the girl is neither dead nor sleeping.  We perceive something more—­a pair of the most painfully melancholy, and beautiful violet eyes that we ever looked into, which are languidly uplifted to the farm-lady.  With the words, ‘I am very tired, ma’am,’ the eyes reclose, and we see long black fringes of soft hair rest upon the pale, thin cheek.  The ready tear of compassion springs to the matron’s eyes, as she stoops still lower to feel the pulse in the wan hand.

‘What is the matter with her?’ she inquires, turning to the bystanders.

’Tis tiert all out she is, my leddy.  We come by say from Watherford to Milford, and thin, yer honour, we come on foot all trough Pembrokeshire, and County Carmarthin, and now she’s jist kilt.’

‘But what is she going to do?  Why do you come away from Ireland at all?’

‘Och, my leddy, shure we’re starvin’ there.  And we jist come to luk for the work in the harvest, an’ we’re goin’ to Herefordshire to git it.  An’ plaase yer honour’s glory, she come wid us to this counthry to luk for her mother’s relations that’s Welsh, my leddy, small blame to thim, seein’ her mother married an Irishman, and come to live in our counthry.’

‘I will give you a night’s lodging, and that is all I can do for you,’ says the gentle mistress of the farm.

’The Lord bless ye, my leddy, the holy angels keep ye, the blessed Vargin and all the saints—­’

‘Oh, hush! hush!’ exclaims the good woman, highly shocked.  ’Help the poor girl, and come with me.’

The woman went towards the girl, and trying to assist her to rise, said,—­

‘Now, Gladys, asthore!  An’ shure, my leddy, she’s a thrue Welsh name.  I’ll help ye, my darlin’, there!  Och! an it’s betther she is already, as soon as she heerd of a night’s lodgin’.’

The young man who was kneeling by the girl just now, goes to her other side, and succeeds in supporting her by putting his arm round her waist, whilst the woman holds her by one arm; and thus they follow the good mistress of the farm, followed in their turn by the rest of the party.

They move slowly down the road, underneath the fine oak and ash trees that shelter the back of the farm, until they reach a large farm-yard, wherein some thirty fine cows, of Welsh, English, and Alderney breed, are yielding their rich milk at the hands of some three or four rough-looking men and women who are kneeling down to get it.

‘Come here, Tom,’ cries the mistress, authoritatively.

Tom gives a knowing wink to the nearest girl, mutters, ‘Irish again,’ and goes to his mistress.

’See if there is good clean straw spread in the barn, Tom, and make haste.’