'Before mother died she told me to go into Wales, and try to find if she had any relations left. It was all she said, or had strength for; and before she got ill she seldom talked of her friends. All that I know of them I heard from my father when I was quite a child. He told me that mother had written to her father when she settled in Ireland, and that her letter had been returned with a note, saying that he was dead, and his only son gone away, no one knew where. This was her brother, and my uncle, but I do not know where to find him, only I am come to seek them, that I may do her bidding.' 'And what was your mother's name?' asked Mrs Prothero. 'Margaret Jones, ma'am,' 'My poor girl, there are hundreds of that name in South Wales. But we will make inquiries for you, and when you are better--' 'I am better now, thank you, ma'am. To-morrow I think I may go on my way. I would not trouble you any more; a poor beggar like me is not fit--oh dear! oh dear!' 'Now I insist on your being quiet and going to sleep, and forgetting all those horrors,' said Miss Gwynne, assuming her most decided voice to hide her emotion. 'You are not to go away to-morrow; but I daresay in a few days you will be able to do so, and we can help you a little. But your best plan now is to get as strong as you can whilst you have the opportunity,' and herewith Miss Gwynne put a large spoonful of jelly into the girl's mouth. Mrs Prothero was wiping her eyes, and stifling a rising sob behind the curtain, which caused Miss Gwynne to become very severe, and to utter something about giving way to foolish weakness which aroused Mrs Prothero, and made the patient bury her head beneath the bed-clothes. Miss Gwynne beckoned to Mrs Prothero, and they left the room together. Upon asking for Netta, Miss Gwynne was let into the secret of the family troubles and consultations, and greatly fearing to be made a party in the lecturings overhanging the luckless head of the offender, she took a hasty leave of Mr and Mrs Jonathan, and begging Mrs Prothero not to be too hard upon Netta, or to let her son Rowland preach too many sermons, went her very independent way. CHAPTER X. THE SQUIRE'S DAUGHTER. 'You will oblige me by remaining at home this evening, my dear,' said Mr Gwynne to his daughter. 'That I assuredly shall, papa,' was the reply, 'for dear Miss Hall is coming to-day, and that princess of bores, Miss Nugent, has invited herself to tea. I certainly do wish Rowland Prothero would fall in love with her. She is quite ready for the _premier venu_, be he prince or peasant.' 'Does not Lady Mary come, my dear?' 'No; I am thankful to say she is gone to spend a few days with the Llanfawr family.' 'I am very glad Miss Hall is coming, Freda. I wish she would live with you; it would be very pleasant, and a protection for you, and all that sort of thing.'