'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.'
'Mr Owen, Mr Jones, Tenewydd, did tell Mr Thomas, Trefortyn, who did tell John, blacksmith, who did tell Betto, that he saw Miss Netta and Mrs Jenkins, tallow-chandler, this morning about six o'clock, and they did get into a carriage by there.'
'Go and tell mother that Aunt Jenkins was with Netta, Gladys, and I'll go and see whether Mr Jones really saw her or not.'
Gladys returned to her mistress, who had become more quiet, and was trying to persuade Mr Prothero to go after the fugitives.
'Mr Owen is gone, ma'am,' said Gladys, 'and Mr Jones, of Tynewydd, saw Miss Netta this morning with Mrs Griffith Jenkins, and they got into a carriage together.'
'Thank God that 'Lizbeth was with her,' said Mrs Prothero.
'The deceitful, pompous old vagabond,' thundered Mr Prothero. 'She to connive and contrive! fit mother for such a son. They 'ont come to no good end. No, mother, I can't, nor I 'ont go after 'em; Netta has made her own bed, and she must lie on it.'
'Mr Owen is gone, ma'am,' whispered Gladys. 'Try to take comfort; there is One who can make all our rough ways straight, and will bring poor Miss Netta home again, if we pray for it.'
'What's the girl preaching about?' said Mr Prothero, glancing sternly at Gladys, who was silenced at once. 'Now, mother, we mustn't let that undutiful girl upset us. I must go to the wheat-field--you must--' he looked at his wife, and changed what he was going to say to, 'lie in bed.'