Glanyravon farm was anything but a quiet home during the ensuing week. Mrs Prothero thought it right to inform her husband of what had passed; and he blustered and raged even more than he had ever done about the Irish beggars. Everybody thought proper to try to convert Netta, but none of them knew the indomitable obstinacy of her character, and all signally failed. Even Uncle and Aunt Jonathan had their turn, and drove over on purpose to canvass the matter; but as the elders disagreed upon the various points at issue, it was no wonder that all remained much as it was before the unfortunate meeting we have mentioned.

'For my part,' said Mrs Jonathan Prothero, when all were assembled, except Netta, in family conclave, 'I cannot see so much against the young man after all. Such a fortune as his is not to be met with every day, and I must say he is very handsome and clever.'

Here we must remark that this lady's sentiments had undergone a change, since it had been rumoured that Howel was worth more than a hundred thousand pounds.

'I tell you what it is, ma'am,' roared the farmer, 'if he were worth his weight in gold, he 'ouldn't be a good match for any prudent 'ooman. To my certain knowledge he drinks and gambles, and he shall never have my consent to marry Netta so long as I live, and you may tell him so.'

'I do not know enough of him, sir, to have any communication of the kind with him,' said Mrs Jonathan, stiffly.

'My dear,' interposed mild Mrs Prothero, 'if he gets steady, and settles down, it might be better to let them marry, than to make them miserable for life.'

'Study! miserable! mother, you're a—I beg your pardon, but when Howel's study, I'll turn to smoking cigars. Why, the very night of his father's funeral he was half drunk, instead of being decent for once.'

'He couldn't care much for his father, my dear; you must make allowances.'

'An odd man, that Griff, brother David,' said Mr Jonathan Prothero, as if just awaking from a dream. 'Do you remember when we were lads together, and used to go up to Garn Goch looking for treasures? I knew, even then, that it was an old British encampment, and began to speculate upon its date, and so on; you used to hunt rabbits, and provoke me by overturning the walls, but Griff got it into his head that there was money buried somewhere, and never ceased digging for it. At last he found an old coin of very ancient date, and seeing that I wished to have it, he bargained with me, until he got all the money I had for it. Of course the coin was worth any money, and satisfactorily proves that Garn Goch was an old British encampment at the time of the invasion of the Romans.'

'Well, brother, you are by the head! That old coin is nothing but a well-used sixpence.'