‘We are near by now, Netta, fach.  Come you!’

The little woman quickened her pace into a short run to keep up with Netta.

’Here’s the turnpike; we’ll be at Tynewydd ‘rectly.’

‘I see Tynewydd,’ says Netta, straining her eyes to catch sight of some object far down the road; ’there is no carriage—­I am sure there is none.  Cousin Howel ought to be ashamed of himself.’

Netta runs on very fast, leaving Mrs Jenkins far behind, until she reaches the turning to a lane that leads to a little farm called ‘Tynewydd.’  She bursts out crying, and stamps her foot as she exclaims,—­

’Does he think he’s going to do what he likes with me because he’s rich?  I’ll tell him he shall wait for me, I will!’

Hereupon she turns back and runs faster than before towards Mrs Jenkins.

‘Come you, Netta, fach!  He’ll be here by now.  Read you the letter.’

Netta pauses a moment to read a letter held out to her by Mrs Jenkins.  It runs thus:—­

’I can’t be with you to-day.  Meet Netta at the appointed place, and walk to Tynewydd.  I will be there with a carriage by six o’clock.—­Yours, H.J.’

‘See you, Netta, it isn’t six yet.’  Mrs Jenkins pulls out a large gold watch, which, while Netta was running on, she has managed to put back half-an-hour.  ‘Five-and-twenty minutes to six, see you.’

Netta turns again and hurries on.

‘There is Jones Tynewydd.  If he should see me,’ says Netta.  ’Do make haste, Aunt ‘Lisbeth.’

They walk on for about a quarter of a mile, when carriage wheels are distinctly heard, and in a few moments a fly and pair is distinctly seen coming at great speed.  The driver would have passed them, but Mrs Jenkins calls out,—­

‘A gentleman for Tynewydd inside?’ Upon which he pulls up.  Howel is out of the fly, and Netta lifted in before she knows what she is about.  Mrs Jenkins is put in almost as quickly, and the fly turned and off again in less time than it takes to write it.

‘Howel, how could you?  I was going back, and I wish I had,’ sobs Netta.

Howel kisses her and tells her to be a good little cousin, and she shall see London in no time.  She clings close to him, and hides her face on his shoulder and sobs on.  He draws her to him, and lets her grief have way.  Few words are spoken for a time, but at last Netta dries her tears and says,—­

’I was so frightened, cousin, and I didn’t think it would be so hard to leave mother without saying good-bye.  Mother was always kind.’

‘Hide you, Howel! hide you, Netta! there’s Mr Jonathan Prothero,’ says Mrs Jenkins, shrinking back into the corner of the fly.

Howel peeps out and sees Netta’s worthy uncle, bag on back, setting forth on some archaeological search.

Howel and Netta lean back in the fly whilst he passes, little thinking whom the vehicle contains.

‘Uncle and aunt will be glad at least,’ says Netta.  ’Aunt says you are very clever and handsome, Howel, and wonders why father won’t let us—­’