Mrs Jenkins scarcely gave herself time to say 'How do you do?' when she poured out the grief which had brought her to Glanyravon. 'Oh, Mrs Prothero, fach! Ach, Rowland! what will I do? They was finding him in America--the pleece was finding him, my Howels! And he do be in jail in London, 'dited for forgery. He, my beauty Howels--he forge! Why 'ould he be forging? Annwyl! Fie was innocent, Rowland--on my deet, he was innocent. Oh, bach gen anwyl!'[Footnote: Oh, darling boy!] Mrs Jenkins wrung her hands and cried bitterly. 'How do you know this, Aunt 'Lizbeth?' said Rowland. 'Tell me calmly, and then we will see what can be done,' 'Read you that letter. By to-morrow he'll be in all the papers. He--so clever, so genteel, so rich! And all my Griffey's savings--hundreds of thousands of pound--nobody do be knowing where they was. Ach a fi! ach a fi!' Rowland read a letter from a celebrated London counsel retained by Mr Rice Rice for Howel, to the effect that Howel had been taken in America on the very day that his poor wife was planning to wander away in search of him, and was a prisoner the day she died. He had arrived in London, and been lodged in Newgate the previous day, the one on which that letter was written. Rowland gently told his mother the contents of it. 'Thank God that my child did not live to see this day!' exclaimed Mrs Prothero. 'Better dead, cousin, than to be living as Howels is!' sobbed Mrs Griffey. 'In a prison, too, my beauty Howels! But I was wanting to know, Mr Rowland, when you was going to London? Seure, I do think of going to-night, or to-morrow morning.' 'Why must you go, aunt?' asked Rowland. 'Why must I be going? Why ask such a question? 'Ould I be staying at home, and my Howels in gaol? I do go to tak care of him, to pay for him, to be seeing justice done him, to be near him. Night or morrow morning I do mean to go.' 'Mother,' said Rowland, 'I am sure you will not mind sacrificing one day to poor Aunt Griffey and Howel. I must be in London the day after to-morrow. I will go to-morrow instead, and take her up with me, and see what is to be done for Howel. He will not have too many friends near him at such a time.' 'God bless you, Rowland, bach,' said Mrs Griffey, springing up from her chair, and running to Rowland and kissing him vigorously--a compliment, it must be confessed, he could have dispensed with. 'And you will be standing up for him, and be telling of his character--and of his living at Abertewey--and how he was so clever, and did never be doing anything wrong. You will be saving him, Rowland, seure!' Rowland shook his head. 'I will go with you, Aunt 'Lizbeth, and take you to my lodgings till I have seen Howel, and told him you are in London. We shall then see what can be done.' 'But you will be speaking up for him, Rowland, bach?'