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 Pembrokeshire.
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.