A servant girl quickly answered the summons.
'Where's that Irish vagabond?'
'In Mr Owen's room, sir.'
Upstairs went the farmer, leaving Shanno grinning and saying, 'He, he, he'll do be turning her out very soon, she will, he, he.'
Rowland ran upstairs after his father, calling out gently, 'Stop, father, Miss Gwynne—' but the father was in the bedroom before he heard the words, and had made the house re-echo the noise of his opening the door.
He was instantaneously checked in his career by seeing Miss Gwynne advance towards him, with her finger in the air.
'Hush, Mr Prothero,' she whispered, 'she is asleep. Look here; gently, very gently.'
She led the enraged farmer by one of his large brass buttons to the bedside, where the white-faced Gladys lay. She looked so much like a corpse, that he started back affrighted. Then Miss Gwynne led him out into the passage, and seeing from his angry face the state of the case, instantly said,—
'It was I who had her brought here, Mr Prothero; and by-and-by I will get her sent back to her parish, but until she is better we must take care of her.'
At these words from the all-powerful Miss Gwynne, Mr Prothero was fain to put such check upon his rising choler as the shortness of the notice would allow. He could not, however, fully restrain the whole of the invective that had been upon his lips a short time before.