Mr Prothero’s passion choked his words.  Could Netta have suddenly returned and seen her father shaking with suppressed grief, his face crimson with rage, and his hands and teeth clenched, and her mother pale and weeping on her bed, she would, I think, have paused longer before she caused them this great grief.

Mr Prothero returned to his wife before his passion was calmed.  He found her sitting up in bed wringing her hands, and crying as if her heart would break.

‘Now, mother, there’s no good in this,’ began the farmer.  ’That girl don’t deserve tears and lamentations, and I ’ont have ’em.  We ’ont have the house turned upside down because a bad, obstinate, ungrateful daughter has run away with a miser’s son, and a good-for-nothing spendthrift.  Let ’em go, I say!  I ’ouldn’t stir a step to bring ’em back—­’

’Oh, David! dear, dear husband! if only you will find out that they are married; if only you would send some one to see that Howel marries her!  This is all—­all—­all!  I will never name her again!  I will try to forget her—­I will do all you wish! but for my sake, for yours, for all, for God’s sake, see to this, or I shall die.’

Mr Prothero was cowed at once by this passionate burst of grief.  He had never seen his submissive, patient little wife excited in this way before, for never before had she felt so deep a pain.  Her only daughter!

‘God help me!  God help me!’ she sobbed, when she had controlled her great emotion.  ’I know I have indulged her—­spoilt her perhaps.  I know she is proud and wilful, and obstinate; but oh! to disobey us all—­to go off, she doesn’t know where—­with Howel, too, who has no religion, nothing to keep him pure and honest—­this is too much! too hard!  No, David, bach! it is no good to be angry now—­if you won’t go after her I must.’

’Stop you, mother, stop you! we’ll see the slut married anyhow; that is to say, Howel shall marry her—­who ever doubted that? but I’ll never set eyes on her again as long as I live, I ‘ont.’

Whilst Mr Prothero was speaking, Gladys, who had been waiting upon Mrs Prothero until that moment, slipped out of the room, and ran in search of Owen.  She found him amongst servants making inquiries.

‘Mr Owen, may I speak with you if you please.’

Owen followed her into the hall.

’Oh! sir, if you would go after Miss Netta, now that the master is willing, at once; may be you will save your mother’s life.  If she goes on this way, she will surely be very ill.’

’What use would it be for me to go after her?  The cow-boy saw her pass at about five this morning, and she is at Swansea by this time.  My father ought to have let ’em marry, and get on together like other young couples.’

’But, Mr Owen, the mistress is afraid—­she wants to be sure—­she would be happier, sir, if some one could see them married!’

’Oh! that’s the way the wind blows!  You may tell mother that I’ll try to track them—­but it won’t be of any use.  At any rate it will calm her to think we are making the attempt.  You write to my brother Rowland, Gladys, and tell him of this affair; but the truth is, we must make the best of it.  They are off to London to be married, and ’tis no good to try to look for ’em there.’