“Be oi to give yew one o’ Parson’s noightshirts? The cook do say yew’re to sleep here, an’ yew haven’t got one roidin’ along o’ yew, have yew?”
“Oh, yes, do,” replied the young man, smiling, “if Mr. Lewis does not mind.”
“Howell,” said Isoline with a face of horror, “go away at once, and do not come back unless you are sent for. He is a dreadful creature,” she said, as the door closed behind him. “I cannot think how my uncle can employ such an odious boy.”
“But he is very amusing.”
“Oh, I do not think so.”
“Surely I know him,” continued Harry. “Isn’t he the boy who ran to Llangarth on the night of the riot and brought us the news at the Bull Inn? Of course! He must have something in him or he would not have done that. I must talk to him after.”
“You had better not,” said she. “He is sure to say something rude.”
“I suppose no one has ever heard anything more about Walters,” said he; “I hear they have almost given up searching for him. What does your uncle think about it, I wonder?”
“He says he must be half-way to Australia by this time.”
“I am afraid he is right,” said Harry, the wound Rhys had dealt his vanity smarting, as it always did, at the sound of his name.