'Because I think it is scarcely yet a time to consider money matters. After the last duties are performed you shall have the paper. Part of his property is written down, but a box of gold and some other sums he did not name. After that last sad scene one can scarcely think of anything earthly. Oh, Howel! I wish you would consider the shortness and uncertainty of life, and what is its end.' 'So awful do I consider its end that I mean to enjoy it while it lasts. But don't go off with the impression that I was not shocked and frightened with what we have just seen. It is one thing to read and write about a death-bed and another to witness it. But I cannot weep or pray as some people can.' 'You might do both if you would only seek aright.' 'There, enough! I am past being preached to as a naughty boy, and can now look forward to some enjoyment without robbing my own father, or getting my mother to rob him, to procure it. But I shall never forget that last struggle? no, never.' Here, with a face of horror, Howel began his restless walk again. Rowland sat in melancholy silence. 'Rowland,' suddenly broke in Howel, 'how is Netta?' 'Quite well, I thank you,' answered Rowland gravely. 'I have not seen her for a long time? will you remember me to her?' 'I cannot promise to do so.' 'Do you think me a fiend, sir, that my name cannot be mentioned to my cousin? I will manage to convey my own remembrances.' 'Howel, you know how it is? I do not mean to be unkind. If only you would give up your old life, enter your profession, and begin another--' 'That is as I choose. I shall be glad of the paper you wrote for my father, and then you and I, Rowland, are best apart.' 'Good-bye then, Howel? perhaps some day you may know that I wish you well. I will bring the paper at the funeral.' 'For heaven's sake stay, or send some one else! I cannot bear to be alone here? his ghost will haunt me.' 'Then let me read to you.' Howel assented gloomily and threw himself on the bed in the corner of the room. Rowland took a small Testament from his pocket and resolutely read several chapters. During the reading Howel fell asleep. CHAPTER V. THE FARMER'S SON. At about ten o'clock on Monday morning Miss Gwynne rode up to the door of Glanyravon Farm, and, dismounting, entered the house. She was attended by a groom, and told him that she should not be long. 'How is that poor girl, Netta?' were her first words on entering the house. 'Very ill indeed, I believe,' said Netta, rather sulkily. 'Where is your mother?' 'She has been with the Irish beggar all the morning, and all night too. I don't know what father and uncle and aunt will think.' 'Will you ask your mother whether I can see her for a few minutes?' 'Certainly.' 'Netta, you must come and dine with us on Wednesday, with your uncle and aunt.' 'Thank you,' said Netta, brightening up as she left the room.