The hands of the minister of the Gospel and the felon were clasped for a few seconds, as if they could never unlink, and then, with a heavy groan, Howel sank down upon some timber that was near him, and covered his face with his hands. Thick tears filled Rowland's eyes as he stooped over his wretched cousin, and again whispered, 'God bless you, cousin Howel, God bless you.' And so they parted. CHAPTER LIII. GLADYS REAPING HER FRUITS. Our story began at Glanyravon, in the cheery month of June, and at Glanyravon, in the same cheery month, we will end it. I must beg my readers to pass over in their imaginations one twelvemonth, of which I do not mean to say anything, and to accompany me to the gate at Glanyravon Farm, where they first made acquaintance with Mrs Prothero and Gladys. A hasty glance will suffice to show that all is much the same at this said gate as it was ten years ago, save and except that the extraneous accompaniments are changed. Instead of a group of Irish beggars and a dying girl, it is surrounded by a party of well-dressed peasants in high, smooth hats and striped flannel gowns. Moreover, it is surrounded by an arch of evergreens and flowers, of most tasteful form and beautiful colour. We will not linger here at present, but pursue our way along the road. We meet more peasants, in holiday costume, talking and laughing together, with Miss Gwynne's school children in their scarlet cloak and best frocks. They all seem to be lingering about, with nothing to do, and enjoying their idleness and June holiday as thoroughly as the greatest philanthropist in the world could desire. As we approach the entrance of the Park, we see another magnificent arch spanning the road. We turn to the large iron gates, and they, too, are circled with laurels and roses. We walk through the gates, and to the right, far in amongst the trees, are long lines of tables covered with white, and bearing the remains of a huge feast, at which, we take it for granted, the people we have met have been regaled. Scattered here and there amongst the oaks, elms, and ashes are more peasants and school children amusing themselves variously. We pursue our way up the drive until we come to the memorable oak, under which words were spoken greatly influencing the fates of two of the individuals in whom I have been endeavouring to interest my readers. From this venerable tree to another, almost as venerable, hangs another wreath, flanked with banners. We reach the house, and another garland entirely surrounds the door. White roses and lillies of the valley make the air heavy with their breath, drawn out by the attractive rays of the beaming afternoon sun.