CHAPTER XXVII.
THE MISSIONARY.
It was about half-past ten o'clock when Mr Prothero and Gladys started on their homeward journey.

When they had gone about half way, they stopped for an hour to bait the mare, which brought them to nearly two o'clock, and reduced Mr Prothero to a state of great ill humour.

Poor Gladys had to bear many reproachful speeches, which reached her between a very animated conversation which he kept up with the mare and Lion alternately.

He did not talk much to her, but contented himself with making her eat and drink a great deal more than was pleasant for her, because, as he phrased it, 'People shouldn't think she was starved at Glanyravon.' In truth, there was a great contrast between the farmer's rosy, broad, good-humoured countenance, which not even his present angry feelings could make morose, and Gladys' pale, wearied face, rendered more palid than usual by her late fatigue and anxiety.

It was with some difficulty that she could keep her seat behind Mr.Prothero, as the mare trotted on at an equal but somewhat rough pace, and made her long for rest.
However, all things come to an end, and within about five miles of Glanyravon, Mr Prothero muttered,--'Confound the 'ooman! Shall we ever get home; 'tis enough to kill the mare.