'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. It was a long time before he could speak, and his wife had a certain fear that he would choke. At last words found vent. 'The impudent, lying, hypocritical, young baggage! The ungrateful, disobedient, good-for-nothing brute! Ach a fi! upon 'em both. That's what you get by harbouring Irish beggars!--that's the return they make! A pale-faced, deceitful hussy!' 'Davy, bach! they are not gone together,' said Mrs Prothero, half-believing at the same time that they were. 'Shall I lay breakfast, ma'am?' interrupted Shanno, putting her head in at the door and grinning suspiciously. 'Go your way, and mind your own business,' said Mr Prothero. Shanno disappeared. 'I'll go out and see whether either of the horses is gone. Go you and make breakfast--the good-for-nothing--' 'Just let me tell you first what Owen said to me last night,' said Mrs Prothero. 'I don't think he ever deceived us, Davy; and if he did wrong, he was never the one to hide it.' 'Treue for you! Well, what did the young scamp say? I don't blame him half as much as that meek, pale-faced, still-water thing, who's as deep as the north star, I'll be bound.'