'To take off Owen, too, just as he was getting euseful, and he such a good writer and accountant.' Still more heartily did he repeat that wish several times during the night.

Mrs Prothero could not sleep, and what with her anxiety about Gladys, sorrow for the departure of Owen, and longing to see her own daughter, her mind was excited beyond its wont.

As is often the case under such circumstances, she fancied she heard all kinds of noises in the house; once she was sure some one was coming upstairs, and another time that there was a tapping at the front door.

She crept softly out of bed, and half fancying she should find Gladys without, went downstairs, and opened it.

Nothing was visible but the flickering moonbeams amongst the trees, or audible save the tinkling of the brook through the farm-yard.
'Name o' goodness, what's the matter now ?' ejaculated the farmer, as the creaking of the bedroom door awoke him.
'Don't be angry, Davy, bach, but I can't sleep for thinking of that poor girl; maybe she's without a roof to cover her.' 'Owen'll see to that.