Gladys, the Reaper Part 46

'Owen'll see to that. 'Tis a hard case a man mayn't sleep in his bed because of a good-for-nothing wench like her.'

The next morning, after breakfast, when Mrs Prothero was urging him once more to look for Gladys, and he was vehemently refusing, Miss Gwynne and Miss Hall again made their appearance.

Mr Prothero had to swallow a very broad expression of disgust, as well as to listen politely to that young lady, who persisted in saying she would continue the search for Gladys if he would not.

'I am sorry to annoy you, Mr Prothero,' she said, 'but it is due to Gladys to clear her character; there are plenty of jealous people about us, quite ready to take it away. I do not wish you to have any more trouble in this matter, but I cannot let it rest until I find the poor girl. She shall come to me direct, and need not be an eyesore to you. I will send off in every direction until I find her.'

'I beg your pardon, Miss Gwynne. If she is to be found, I must do it. I 'ont have a talk made about our turning her out of doors, and such like.

As she isn't gone Glamorgans.h.i.+re way, I suppose she must be gone towards Ireland, and I had best follow that scent. I'll give her one more turn, and then have done with her. Mother, if I don't come home to-night, don't be frightened, as she may have gone a good step.'

Mr Prothero was leaving the room, when Miss Hall stopped him, saying,--

'I thought, Mr Prothero, that you might not have seen this notice of a meeting in your son's parish, and as he is mentioned, I brought over the paper for you.'

Mr Prothero thanked Miss Hall, and took out his spectacles. Whilst he was wiping them, however, Miss Hall read from the _Times_ the report of a meeting for forming a ragged school in Rowland's parish, in which was the following paragraph:--'The Reverend Rowland Prothero, curate of the parish, made a very clear and able speech upon the subject, and brought forward a well-digested plan for the school, which will probably be adopted. The thanks of the meeting were offered to him.'

'There is always a pleasure with every pain,' said Mrs Prothero, wiping her eyes. 'Thank you, Miss Hall.'

'And the Bishop of London was in the chair. So, mother, if he isn't a bishop himself, you see he's been very near one,' said Mr Prothero, looking very much gratified. 'Well, I'll go now, Miss Gwynne, and look after that confounded--I beg your pardon, Miss--after that Irish jade,'

and he went accordingly, leaving the ladies to talk it over with his wife.

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE FRIEND.

Mr Prothero started as soon as his horse was ready, and, it must be confessed, in a very bad temper. As soon as he got out of the precincts of Glanyravon, he began to make inquiries of every one he met, and at every cottage he pa.s.sed, concerning Gladys. It was evident, from the replies that he received, that if she had gone that road, it was so early in the morning that no one had seen her.

At last he fell in with a farmer's wife whom he knew, who was jogging along on horseback, with a little boy behind her. After the usual greetings, he said,--

'You never come to Glanyravon now, Mrs Davies. I daresay you haven't seen any of our folk for a year?'

'Well, not exactly. But I almost fancied I saw that pretty young 'ooman that lives with you yesterday morning. She was too shabby, or I should have been seure of the face. Only when she saw me she turned away and went on.'

'Which way?'

'Oh, down the Carmarthen road, seure.'

'You'll excuse my hurrying on, Mrs Davies; I want to call at Lewis, Dryslwyn.'

'To be seure. Good morning, Mr Prothero.'

The worthy farmer rode off at a gallop, till he was more than out of sight of Mrs Davies. He stopped at a tidy cottage to speak to an old woman who was was.h.i.+ng at the door.

'Did you chance to see a strange young 'ooman go by here yesterday, early?' he asked.

'What young 'ooman?' was the rejoinder.

'Rather shabbily dressed, with blue eyes, and a very pale face?'

'Had she a big black dog along, sir?' asked a boy who came from within the house.

'I think she had.'

'Then granny gave her a cup of tea when she asked for some water, and I gave the dog a piece of my bread and cheese,' said the boy.

'There's sixpence for you, my lad,' said Mr Prothero. 'Was there a young man with the girl?'

'n.o.body was along, sir.'

'Which way did she go?'

'By there, to Dryslwyn, sir.'

Mr Prothero rode on to the picturesque village bearing this name. The old ruined castle looked down upon him from its curiously formed, tumulus-looking elevation, as he stopped before a neat farm-house.

'Good morning, Mrs Lewis.'

'Walk in, Mr Prothero. We were talking of you by now. There was a young 'ooman by here yesterday, and John Lewis said he was seure she had your dog with her. She went away so fast, that I hadn't time to ask about the dog.'

'Which way did she go?'

'Down the Carmarthen road.'

'Good morning, Mrs Lewis, thank you. I must look after my dog.'

Mr Prothero found it easiest to ask for the girl with a large black dog, and traced them to within a mile of Carmarthen.

He stopped at a small roadside inn to have a gla.s.s of _cwrw da_.[Footnote: Good ale] Here he asked the landlady of Gladys.

'See her and the dog! Is seure. They come here in the evening, and she asked for a slice of bread and a drink of water, and took out sixpence to pay for it. She gave all the bread to the dog, and my master, who is fond of dogs, told me to give 'em both a good supper. Poor dear! she couldn't help crying; and my master, who is tender-hearted when he sees a girl do be crying, tell me to give her and the dog a good supper and a bed in the barn, which I did, is seure.'

Mr Prothero paid handsomely for his ale, and having learnt that Gladys and Lion went straight to Carmarthen, went thither also. He made some few inquiries at the small inns that he pa.s.sed, but gained no information. He accordingly rode through the town, and took the direct route to Hob's Point, whence, he knew, she would probably sail for Ireland.

The afternoon was far advanced, still he rode on. He began to feel as anxious as he was angry and annoyed, and declared to himself that he wouldn't turn back until he had found her. He soon began to track her again. All the little boys on the way had noticed the big dog, and could point out the route he and Gladys had pursued.

He stopped at one cottage where the mistress told him that she had made the girl sit down in the porch, because she looked so tired; and at another where she had asked how far it was to Pembrokes.h.i.+re.

He had ridden about thirty miles, and twilight was creeping on. He began to think of the necessity of finding a night's lodging, and once more consigned Gladys and the Irish generally to any distant region where he should never see them again.

'If she hadn't nursed mother so tenderly,' he muttered to himself, 'I'd turn back now; but as she does seem to be running away from Owen, and not with him, it 'ould be creuel.'

The moon, the young May moon, arose in the heavens, and the farmer quickened his pace, for he knew the road, and that he was a good way from an inn, or, indeed, from any habitation where he could ask a night's lodging. Lights peeped out, one by one, from the cottages as he pa.s.sed, and when he glanced into them, and saw the cheerful little fires, he thought more compa.s.sionately of Gladys, and wondered whether she had found food and lodging for the night.