'What's in the letter ?' 'Indeed, I don't know, Davy bach!' said the wife, giving him the document.
Mr Prothero took out his glasses, wiped them deliberately, and put them on, whilst his wife stood before him rubbing her poor little hands as usual.
'What a good hand the girl writes,' said Mr Prothero, as he carefully unfolded the letter, and then began to read aloud as follows:-- 'DEAR AND HONOURED MISTRESS,--Before leaving for ever your blessed home, I beg you will allow me to write you a few lines, and I hope you will not think me too bold in so doing.

I am going away, because I would not cause trouble to you, or my good, kind master.
May it please God to bless you both for ever and ever! As long as I live I shall pray for you and love you! If I am too bold, forgive me, but my heart is full.

I can only thank you for all you have done for me, by my prayers! Farewell! my dear, kind, honoured mistress and master.

You will be rewarded in this world for your care of the poor orphan, who prays to meet you in the next .-- GLADYS.' It was evident that the writer had been obliged to conclude hastily, because her paper was so wet with tears that she could write no more.
When Mr Prothero finished reading, he hemmed two or three times and cleared his throat, and took off his spectacles and wiped them; then perceiving that his wife was crying like a child, he said,-- 'Don't be so fullish!' Suddenly recollecting himself, he exclaimed, 'Where's Owen?
Go you, mother, and see if we haven't had another 'lopement,' 'No fear of that,' said Mrs Prothero, leaving the room to do her husband's bidding.
She stayed so long that Mr Prothero, out of patience, bustled after her.
He found her standing before an open, half-empty chest of drawers.

The room was very untidy, and here, also, the bed had not been slept in the past night.
Mrs Prothero was rubbing her hands and crying pitifully; more from fear of her husband's wrath than from sorrow for Owen, because she had anticipated a sudden flight.
Mr Prothero began to stamp with rage.