At last Mrs Jenkins and her hamper were ready, and the trio started for the Paddington Station.

When they arrived there Howel took a second-class ticket for his mother as far as Swansea, telling her to take a first-class from that place home.  She was to sleep with some friends at Swansea.

‘We mustn’t waste money, mother.’

‘Treue for you, Howel.’

‘Tell everybody at home of the grand wedding.’

‘Don’t be afraid of that.’

When Howel had seen his mother off, he and Netta drove to their station, and, per first-class carriage, with page in second, steamed off to Folkestone, which was to be the first stage of their life-journey.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE SERVANT.

We must now leave Netta and her husband for a time, and return to the morning when Netta left her home to go forth in search of a new one.

The breakfast-table was spread at the farm, and all were assembled except Netta.

‘Owen, go and call Netta,’ said Mr Prothero, seating himself before some smoking rashers of bacon; ‘she’s always late, I’ll say that for her.’

Owen did his father’s bidding, but returned exclaiming,—­

’She is up and out of her room.  There must be something wonderful to make her go out before breakfast.’

‘Such a lovely morning,’ said Mrs Prothero, ’I daresay she is in the garden.’

‘Well, let her find her way in,’ said the farmer; ’she knows the hour, and we’ll fall to.  Say grace, mother, if you please.’

Mrs Prothero said grace, and the trio sat down to breakfast.

‘I expect brother Jo and Mrs Jonathan to-day,’ said Mr Prothero; ’they are going to a clerical meeting, and are coming here on their way back.’

‘Dear me!’ said Mrs Prothero.  ‘What can we have for dinner?’

‘Eggs and bacon.  What better?’ said the farmer.  ’But you needn’t be afraid, they ’ont come till tea.  Owen, I wish you’d just look out and see after that idle slut Netta.’

Off started Owen with a piece of bread and butter in his hand.

‘Mother, why don’t you make that girl more regular?’ asked Mr Prothero.

‘Oh, David! you know she doesn’t mind me.’

‘Then you should make her.’

Mrs Prothero could have said, ’You should have helped me to make her all her life,’ but she refrained.

‘Can’t find her,’ cried Owen, returning.

‘Perhaps she is ill upstairs,’ suggested Mrs Prothero, rising, and running up to her room.

The room was empty, as we know, and Mrs Prothero was about to leave it again, when she went to the open window to see if she could espy Netta from it.  She passed the dressing-table as she did so, and perceiving a letter, glanced at the direction.  She was surprised to find it addressed to herself, and on a nearer examination saw that it was in Netta’s handwriting.  It was with a trembling hand and foreboding heart that she took it up and broke the seal After she had done this, she was some time before she could summon courage to open it.  When she did so, her brain swam as she read the following words, written with trembling fingers:—­