‘Howel, don’t be so wicked,’ cried Netta, bursting into tears.

’Then, Netta, you must give me your promise to be mine, whether your father consents or not, whenever I write you word, through my mother, that I will have a carriage ready at the corner near the turnpike.  But I can settle all particulars at the proper time, provided only you promise.  Remember, you have told me hundreds of times that you will be my wife, and neither father nor mother should prevent it.’

‘I do not know—­I cannot tell whether it would be right.’

’Not right to save me from destruction, to make me what I ought to be, to cleave to your husband as if he were yourself, in spite of parents or relations!  I am sure, Netta, that you are taught to do all this; besides, you cannot help it, if you love me.  You know that I would have married you when I had nothing, as readily as I will now that I have tens of thousands, and surely this deserves a return?’

Netta began to sob.

’You know how it is, Howel.  I am afraid of father, and could not bear to annoy mother, but—­’

’But you love me better still, Netta; so do not cry, and we will be as happy as the day is long.  Will you promise me?’

Netta sobbed on and hesitated.

’I am going to London to-morrow, cousin Netta, to pay debts, and make myself clear of the world.  If you will promise, in a few months I will return for you; we will travel, we will do anything in the world you like; I shall have plenty of money, I shall probably write a book when we are abroad, which will make me famous as well as rich; we will come home and astonish the world.  If you do not promise, I shall never come here again, and shall probably live a gay, wretched life on the continent, or elsewhere, and be really the good-for-nothing fellow I am thought to be;—­will you promise, dear cousin Netta?’

Howel knew well how to assume a manner that should add force to the feelings he expressed, and rarely did he employ his powers of persuasion in vain, particularly with the fair sex, never with his cousin, to whom he was really attached, and who was wholly devoted to him.

‘Netta,’ he added, in a low, sad voice, ’I fear, after all, you do not love me, and I have very few who care for me in this world.’

‘Do not say this, cousin,’ sobbed Netta, ’you know I always promised—­I always said—­I—­I—­will do anything in the world you wish me, cousin Howel.’

‘Even if your father refuses?’

‘Yes, I will not care for any one but you.’

’Thank you, dear Netta; now I know that we shall be happy, and you shall have everything you can desire.’

’Stop, cousin; I shall not marry you because you are rich, or great, or likely to be as grand as other people—­though I should like to put them down, just as well as you—­but because we have loved each other ever since we were little children, and I could not care for any one else—­not even if Sir Hugh Pryse were to ask me.’