'I don't care about the dress or the dinner, or the grand people, cousin,' said Mrs Prothero, 'I pray God to forgive Howel for making our only girl run away from us like a thief in the night; and I would rather hear she cried for us whom she treated so badly, than that she was dressed in velvet and jewels. All those fine people and fine things won't make her happy, and her father will never forgive her, never. Oh dear! oh dear!' 'What will I tell her, Mrs Prothero, when I do write to my son Howels?' 'Tell her--tell her that my heart is breaking; but I forgive her. Beg her not to forget her parents, and, above all, not to forget her God. Poor child! poor silly, thoughtless child, she will never be happy again.' 'Indeet to goodness, this is fullish! I shall go, Mrs Prothero. Good morning.' Just as Mrs Jenkins was making a kind of curtsey by the bedside Gladys said that she saw Mr Prothero riding up to the house. 'Perhaps you had better make haste, Aunt 'Lizbeth,' said Owen, 'it would not very well do for you and my father to meet.' 'I 'ont be running away from any man's house, Mr Owen. I do hope I'm as good as your father any day.' 'Oh, pray make haste,' said Mrs Prothero, very much frightened. 'Good-bye, cousin. Forgive me if I have been rude? I beg your pardon.' 'This way, ma'am, if you please,' said Gladys, opening the door; but Mrs Jenkins was smoothing down her silk dress, and arranging her bonnet in the looking glass. 'Quite ready for another husband, aunt; but you had better make haste, you don't know what you may come in for if you meet my father.' 'I am not caring neither,' said the little woman, sweeping across the room and out at the door. At the top of the stair she met Mr Prothero, face to face. The effect of her appearance upon that worthy man is not to be described. She made a kind of curtsey and began to speak, but no sooner did she see his face than she held her tongue. Neither did words appear to come at the farmer's bidding, but very decided deeds did. He took the alarmed Mrs Jenkins by the two shoulders, literally lifted her from the ground, carried her downstairs a great deal faster than she came up, helped her along the passage much in the same way, and with something very nearly approaching a kick and an oath, turned her out of doors, and shut the door behind her with so violent a bang that it echoed through the house. Owen ran down stairs to receive the first brunt of his passion, and to prevent his going up to his mother. He allowed the words that came at last to have way, and then took all the fault on himself; said that he had admitted Mrs Jenkins to try to soothe his mother, and that she had done so, he thought. 'Take you care, sir, how you let that 'ooman darken my doors again, or any one belonging to her. It'll be worse for you than for them,' said Mr Prothero, with a brow like a thunder cloud.