CHAP. I.—MONNA.

S far back as I can remember, my father
and I lived in a cottage in the parish of

 

2 Llangovan, near the market town of
Rhydewm, in South Wales. Our house was not
inaptly named Turnaside, for it stood alone in
a wet, springy lane, where a passer-by was quite
a sight to stare at. The house and I were in
charge of an old woman named Nance, for my
mother died when I was quite little. I have but
a faint recollection of her, as my father did not
keep her memory alive by ever alluding to her
in my presence, but people say that he was very
fond of her. When first they came, as strangers to

 

Llangovan, I was a baby in arms, and my mother

 

so I have heard—a pretty, delicate-looking young

woman. Report said that she had been bred in a