‘In charge of everything? Doesn’t that seem strange?’ said the mother, with a proud smile, ‘My careless Nell! Lord Ilfracombe must think a deal of her to trust her like that.’ ‘Oh, he _does_ think a deal of her, mother. Anyone could see that. He must give her heaps and heaps of money. You should have seen how she was dressed. Oh, lovely! And her hair was done just like a lady’s, and when we had tea with her, the footman waited on us as if we had been the owners of the house, and he brought the tea up on a beautiful silver tray and we sat in the best room, and it was like failyland, wasn’t it, Will?’ ‘I hope Nell did not do anything she ought not,’ remarked the prudent mother. ‘I hope she won’t get into a scrape for this.’ ‘Just what I said,’ laughed Hetty; ‘but Nell said Lord Ilfracombe is so good-natured that if he came back, sudden-like, he’d only smile and say,--“That’s right, go on and enjoy yourselves.” And a gentleman who came and spoke to us when we were at the play, and sent us the most beautiful ices, talked as if Lord Ilfracombe thought all the world of our Nell; didn’t he, Will?’ ‘Ay, that’s so,’ acquiesced Will. The farmer and his wife, all unconscious of wrong, rather bridled at this information, but Hugh Owen looked grave and his dark eyes seemed to question eagerly for more. This last was rather a remarkable young man, both outwardly and inwardly. From a child he had been a student, and now might almost have been termed a scholar, though a self-taught one. His face was so earnest and introspective in its expression, that it made one forget that his features were not strictly handsome. His sallow complexion, dark grey eyes, large nose, and thin-lipped mouth, were far less attractive than his younger brother’s fair skin and Saxon characteristics, but no one looked twice at William Owen, while few could forget Hugh. His tall, gaunt frame, nervous hands, and straight hair, all told the same tale, of a man who had used his intellect more than his muscle, and cared for his brains before his body. From a child Hugh Owen had felt the power within him, and had delighted to mount a rostrum of his own erection, and hold forth to his playmates on any subject which occupied his mind at the moment. As he grew into a lad, he scorned farm work and only wanted to be left alone with his books and studies, until his father, not knowing what to make of him, and fearing he was ‘daft,’ consulted the minister about him. This minister was a Wesleyan, an earnest, devout man, though rather unlearned, who saw in young Owen’s proclivities only a ‘call’ to the ministry, and persuaded his proud parents to send him to school at Newport, whence, after several years of study, he returned to Usk and was elected to take part in the services of the dissenting chapel. But, added to his ministerial duties, Hugh Owen had taken to preaching at the corners of the bye-roads and on the common, or wherever he could collect an audience or obtain a hearing.