‘Where’s that Irish vagabond?’

‘In Mr Owen’s room, sir.’

Upstairs went the farmer, leaving Shanno grinning and saying, ’He, he, he’ll do be turning her out very soon, she will, he, he.’

Rowland ran upstairs after his father, calling out gently, ’Stop, father, Miss Gwynne—­’ but the father was in the bedroom before he heard the words, and had made the house re-echo the noise of his opening the door.

He was instantaneously checked in his career by seeing Miss Gwynne advance towards him, with her finger in the air.

‘Hush, Mr Prothero,’ she whispered, ’she is asleep.  Look here; gently, very gently.’

She led the enraged farmer by one of his large brass buttons to the bedside, where the white-faced Gladys lay.  She looked so much like a corpse, that he started back affrighted.  Then Miss Gwynne led him out into the passage, and seeing from his angry face the state of the case, instantly said,—­

’It was I who had her brought here, Mr Prothero; and by-and-by I will get her sent back to her parish, but until she is better we must take care of her.’

At these words from the all-powerful Miss Gwynne, Mr Prothero was fain to put such check upon his rising choler as the shortness of the notice would allow.  He could not, however, fully restrain the whole of the invective that had been upon his lips a short time before.

’No offence, Miss Gwynne? but ’pon my soul, I’m sick to death of my missus’s pensioners and paupers, and I’m determined to have no more of ’em.  You may do as you please, miss, at your own house, and I’ll do as I please in mine.’

Here Rowland popped his head out of a neighbouring bedroom

’Father, Miss Gwynne is taking upon herself a risk and encumbrance that should be wholly my mother’s.  She has nothing to do with the girl, beyond showing her great kindness.’

‘Really, Mr Rowland Prothero,’ began Miss Gwynne, drawing herself up to her fullest height, ’I wish you would allow me to manage my own affairs.’

‘Yes, yes, Rowland.  What, name o’ goodness, have you to do with Miss Gwynne?  I’m ashamed of the boy.  I really beg your pardon, miss, but I believe he’s so set up by having a chance of going to London, that he don’t know whether he stands on his head or his heels.  Go you away, Rowland, directly.  I won’t have you interfaring with me.’

Miss Gwynne could not help laughing as she saw Rowland’s sense of duty struggle with his pride at this authoritative mandate; but she was very much surprised to see him bow politely to her and walk away.  She wondered whether anything on earth could have induced her to obey a similar order.

She followed Mr Prothero downstairs and made herself so agreeable to him and Mrs Jonathan, that they quite forgot Mrs Prothero’s absence, until the sudden return of that good woman set all matters right, and enabled Miss Gwynne to leave the farm.