'Not I, indeed. Well! he's as good out of the world as in, though I'm sorry for the old fellow. But what'll we do without mother? She's always nursing somebody or other, either alive or dead.' Rowland turned to his aunt, and said that his mother begged him to apologise for her necessary absence for a few hours. 'I shall do very well, I daresay,' said the aunt, whose countenance wore a somewhat austere expression. She was a lady of middle age, who prided herself upon having a first cousin a baronet. Her father, a clergyman, rector of a good English living, was the younger son of Sir Philip Payne Perry, and she an only child, was his heiress. Mr Jonathan Prothero had been, in years gone by, his curate, and had succeeded in gaining the affections, as well as fortune, of the daughter, and in bringing both into his native country. He had the living of Llanfach, in which parish Glanyravon was situated, and lived in very good style in a pretty house that he had built something in the style of an English vicarage. Mrs Jonathan Prothero, or Mrs Prothero, the Vicarage, as she was usually called, was tall and thin, very fashionably dressed, with a very long face, a very long nose, very keen greenish grey eyes, a very elaborately curled front, a very long neck, very thin lips, and very dainty manners. She was proud of her feet and hands, which were always well shod, stockinged, gloved, and ringed, and as these were the only pretty points about her, we cannot wonder at her taking care of them. People used to say she would have been an old maid, had not a certain auspicious day taken the Rev. Jonathan Prothero to her father's parish, who, having an eye after the fashion of servants of a lower grade, to 'bettering himself,' wisely made her a matron. Having no children of their own, they lavished their affections on their nephews and niece, and their money on their education. 'My dear Rowland,' said Mrs Jonathan, 'I think I have agreeable news for you. I wrote to my cousin, Sir Philip Payne Perry, whose wife's brother is, as you know, high in the church, and received this answer.' She put a letter into Rowland's hands, and watched his countenance as he read it. 'My dear aunt, how very good of you!' exclaimed Rowland; 'the very thing I wished for. Oh, if I can only get it, I shall be quite happy. A curacy in London, father! Just read this. Sir Philip thinks I might not like it in the heart of the city, but that is really what I wish. Plenty to do all the week long. Oh, aunt, how can I thank you enough?' 'By making every effort to advance yourself in life, and to rise in the world, my dear nephew,' said Mrs Jonathan. 'What do you think, uncle?' asked Rowland, turning to Mr Jonathan Prothero, who was seated in the window, with a large book before him, that he had brought from the carriage. 'He! what! what did you ask?' 'Only what you think of this London curacy that my aunt has been so kind as to write about.'