CHAPTER XIII

Maldraeth

In Scethryg farmyard the milking-hour was always a sociable one, or had been until Nance had become so wrapt up in the chapel functions. The mishteer would saunter in to look over his herd, n’wncwl Sam would stand leaning over the gate with his pipe in his mouth, and often Hezek came home that way from his rambles over the hills, knowing that teatime was near. Sometimes Nance herself would come out, with a bit of needlework in her fingers; even ‘Juno,’ the sheep-dog, and ‘Betsen,’ the old tabby cat, managed to be on the spot when the milk came frothing into the pails, and there was a chance of their pannikins being filled. But tonight neither the mishteer nor mestress were present. The former had gone to a hillside fair, and had not yet returned, and Nance…

‘Oh, well!’ said Het, ‘of course we can’t expect her, because, you see, she’s stopping with Nelli Amos to say good-bye to the preachers when they go back to Tregarreg!’

For answer, Gwenifer raised her finger with a listening air, as over the moor came the sound of a woman’s voice, singing.

‘Yes, ’tis the mestress,’ said Het. ‘There’s plenty of hymns she knows. Anwl! She’s a good woman as sure as I am a sinner,’ and she rambled on as she milked, not ill-pleased that Gwenifer was silent.

‘I wish the meeting had lasted to twelve last night instead of ending at ten. In my deed, I was just beginning to feel something fluttering here,’ and she pointed to the region of her heart, ‘and I thought I was going to be seized like Mari Jones by my side; but no! not a tear would come to my eyes, no more than if I was sitting here milking. Ach-y-fi, there’s hard I am! and I’m no singer, so, in my deed, I’m afraid the Diwygiad will pass me by! Oh, she’s got a book!’ she continued in a disparaging tone, ‘there’s nothing in that! I could do it myself if I had a voice! There’s pretty she is!’ and she looked admiringly at her mistress as she stepped lightly over the stubble, her yellow hair shining like gold in the sunset light, her cheeks and eyes aflame with the fire of religious excitement which was consuming her.

Captain Jack’s conduct of the night before had much disturbed her. Had he been converted? she wondered; then, indeed, her prayers had been answered, and he was hers – now nothing could come between them, neither distance, nor doubt, nor death itself could part them. But where was he, why had he fled from the chapel like one bereft of his senses? as those who were nearest to him had told her. Had he heard of the arrival of the Liliwen, and hurried on board to return soon to the woman whose prayers had saved him? and she entered the house with her heart full of restless questionings.

But when the evening hours passed on and still he came not, her anxiety increased, and she could scarcely control herself sufficiently to answer n’wncwl Sam when he returned from the village, where he had lingered longer than usual to see the last of the evangelist.

‘The Liliwen is still in the bay,’ he said, and Nance nodded, for her parched tongue refused to speak.

‘The mate been in to pay Marged Jones; he’s sleeping there tonight, and going back to the ship with the dawn, for they are sailing tomorrow to foreign parts.’

Nance started to her feet, and looked around as if she sought some means of escape.

She heard Gildas arrive in the farmyard, and as she caught the sound of the mellow voice, and the firm footstep, a strange look came over her face, so marked as even to disfigure it.

She threw back her head a little, and her eyelids drooped into a narrowing gleam of hatred, which, however, she managed to hide from the man who entered from the farmyard, carrying a parcel which he deposited on the table.

‘’Tis something Mrs. Jones Bryndu is sending you, Nance,’ he said in a pleasant voice, and with something like his former manner. ‘They are growing in her garden, and she says if you boil them and cut them in slices…’

‘Ach-y-fi!’ interrupted Nance. ‘Old beetroots! I am not liking them,’ and pushing them aside, she proceeded with her tea-making.

A hard and dour shadow fell again over Gildas’s face, as he drew his chair to the table; and during the meal he spoke little, but showed no further sign of annoyance at his cold reception.

Nance seemed quite content with his silence, for she was too absorbed in her own thoughts to take much account of anything that was passing around her.

She went aimlessly in and out of the dairy, and stood long at the doorway, her eyes fixed on the sea, where a ship with a red pennon dipped gracefully in the rising tide.

More than once Gildas had asked her a question concerning his plans for the coming harvest; but she had not heard him, her gaze still fixed upon the glowing bay, her fingers working nervously in the folds of her gown.

‘D’ye hear, Nance?’ he said, his anger roused at last. ‘Can’t you turn your thoughts or your eyes to your own business? What is it so wonderful on the sea?’

For answer Nance turned round slowly with a look of defiant anger in her eyes; she spoke not a word, but turned to the clumsy staircase which opened up from the kitchen, and Gildas, as if regretting that he had shown his discomposure, calmly lighted his pipe and went out to the farmyard to pat Corwen’s sleek sides, to rub Pinken’s curly forehead, and to stand a moment by Gwenifer’s fast-filling pail.

‘Best cow of the lot,’ he said, looking proudly round his herd, and Gwenifer nodded as she rose and rested the pail on her hip.

Gildas looked into the calm eyes raised to his, and felt inclined to open his heart to her – to ask what was the meaning of the cruel unrest that had come into his life, to complain of Nance’s trying ways; more, even to confess to her that he had made a mistake, and that he rued the day when he had made Nance Ellis his wife! But it was only for a moment that this temptation assailed him; and he turned away with the now familiar pain gnawing at his heart, and the firm resolve to suffer in silence. What! complain like a child that his life was a miserable failure, tell another woman of his wife’s faults and failings, even though that woman was Gwenifer, the silent, the tender, the true! And he was ashamed of having harboured the thought.

As he passed down the lane to the meadows his thoughts were still of Nance and her absorbing devotion to the revival. Was it that which had changed her so completely? No, he knew now, as well as though she had told him in plain words, that her heart was aboard the Liliwen; and the knowledge no longer wounded but only angered him, for his love had died out, the love that had never been founded on respect. He despised her for her falseness, and cursed his own folly in marrying her. What further harm could befall him? She had already held his name up to public contempt at the revival meetings, and a red flush of anger dyed his face as he seemed to hear again the words, ‘Save Gildas Rees,’ as they surged around him in that bitter hour at Brynzion. What if she should bring further shame upon him, disgrace on the name he had always been proud of? ‘In my deed I must guard her and myself,’ he said, turning round and retracing his steps, urged on by suspicions and fears that were quite foreign to his nature.

Meanwhile, Gwenifer had finished her milking and carried her pail into the dairy. The clumsy door stood half open, and through the chinks by the hinges the old kitchen was visible, lighted up by the blazing fire which was always generously replenished with logs as the evening drew on.

Raising her eyes, she was surprised to see Nance take off her shoes, and, carrying them with her, approach the stairs on tip-toe. Had it been Het she would not have wondered, as it was a frequent custom to leave the shoes at the bottom of the stairs if soiled by walking in the garden or yard; but for the mestress to do so, and walk on tip-toe, was unusual, and Gwenifer was further puzzled by the noiselessness of her movements upstairs, where the bare, uncarpeted boards generally made every footstep audible.

The suspicions and fears which had only just gained an entrance into Gildas’s heart had for some time haunted Gwenifer, for latterly she had seen more of Nance than her husband had, and had frequently been puzzled by her ‘moods.’ The curious mixture of religion and levity which Nance’s actions evinced were new and alarming to her simple, straight-forward nature, and she kept a close watch over her mistress, fearing she knew not what, but at all events determined if possible to shield Gildas from further trouble.

The incident of the prayer meeting had wounded her quite as deeply as it had him, and she was earnestly desirous of preventing Nance’s too frequent intercourse with Nelli Amos. It was for this reason that she stood perfectly still in the dairy when Nance had disappeared up the dark stairs. She heard the slow opening of a drawer, the careful raising of a creaking lid followed by a slight sound of soft footsteps, and she watched intently when by-and-by Nance descended carrying with her a small bundle. What could it mean? Her heart beat loudly, her face flushed as she saw the mestress, after putting on her shoes, pass silently out into the farmyard.

Where was she going? Should she follow and watch? She hated to do it, but to save Gildas a pang and Nance from foolish action she would have dared much, so she crossed to the kitchen window, where in the deep recess Nance’s knitting still lay, the bright needles crossing each other as if just dropped from the fingers.

‘Oh, Nance!’ thought the girl, ‘we have been friends so long! Where have you gone? What are you doing? Indeed, indeed I must follow you, I must find you, for much I fear there is something wrong.’ She could not have told what her fears pointed to – she had no time to think tonight, while the evening shadows were falling so rapidly, while Nance’s blue figure was already disappearing through the gap into the moor; so gliding noiselessly after her, she crouched behind the hedge. Where was Nance going? To the village again to have her mind poisoned against her husband? No! rather would Gwenifer have followed her, have thrown her arms around her, and implored her for the sake of their old friendship to turn back to Scethryg. She watched eagerly while in the darkening twilight Nance approached the spot where the paths divided; one turning away over the moor, the other to the village, and the third leading straight down to Maldraeth. She stopped a moment and then took the path to Maldraeth.

To Maldraeth! What did that mean? And catching sight of the Liliwen’s tall mast against the sky, Gwenifer felt her heart stand still, as she saw Nance stoop down and thrust something under a furze bush, and then turning, come swiftly back towards Scethryg. Gwenifer had scarcely time to withdraw further within the thorn hedge; she held her breath as the flying figure ran through the gap, almost brushing her in passing, but she need not have feared discovery, for Nance was too excited to have noticed her.

Over the stubble yard she once more picked her way, and Gwenifer following entered the house to find the mestress sitting at the hearth with her knitting in her hand.

‘Thee art stopping late tonight, Gwenifer,’ she said, with a little angry gleam in her eye, ‘thee canst go home now,’ and Gwenifer went out into the soft twilight with her hands crossed on her bosom, and her head bent with shame and sorrow; over the moor, and along the path to Maldraeth, where under a furze bush she found the bundle which Nance had secreted there. Her hat, her jacket! oh! what could it mean? and she hurried on through the darkness, determined to hide herself in one of the caves on Maldraeth, and to watch till dawn, if need be, if so she might save Gildas from trouble and Nance from folly.

She had scarcely left the house when Gildas entered, and with a casual remark concerning the business of the farm, sat down to the supper of milk broth and brown bread which lay in readiness for him.

‘Not coming to supper?’ he asked, as Nance remained sitting on the hearth with her hand to her cheek.

‘No, my tooth is aching shocking,’ she said, and he saw she had wrapt her face in a band of red flannel.

‘Hast caught cold?’ he asked, a little tender pity for her pain inducing him to return to the more intimate ‘thee’ and ‘thou.’

‘Most like,’ she said, and continued to sit by the hearth, rocking herself to and fro, until Gildas retired to bed.

‘I would think bed would be the best place for thee, Nance,’ he said, looking back with his foot on the first stair.

‘Yes, yes, but go you; I will sleep with Het tonight then I won’t be afraid of disturbing you with my toothache.’

‘Well, good-night,’ said Gildas as he turned away. He heard her close and bolt the door more noisily than usual, he heard Juno’s last barking run round the premises, he heard Nance’s step going up the stair to Het’s room, and then he disposed himself to rest, but in vain.

He was careworn and heartsick; and to those who stand most in need of her, sleep often refuses her soothing presence, and Gildas Rees, who used to lose consciousness as soon as his head lay on its pillow, tossed from side to side, restless and sleepless. The hours passed on; ten o’clock struck, eleven, and still he lay wide awake. It was close upon the stroke of twelve; and he sat up listening, for surely he had heard a creaking stair; then all was silence, and he threw himself back on the pillow. But again he listened intently, for surely there was a soft footfall. Again a long silence, and then a cautious and almost noiseless drawing of a wooden bolt – the door is opened, it is closed again carefully and softly; but Gildas’s keen ear is no longer deceived, and rising to the window he peers through the gloom and sees a silent figure that passes out through the doorway and crosses the stubble yard towards the moor.

In a moment he is dressing hurriedly, a terrible fear, an instinctive certainty, clutching at his heart and coursing through his veins. It is Nance! and he hastens after her across the stubble yard, possessed by the overpowering desire to save her and himself from the shame and disgrace which he sees threatening them.

When he reached the turning of the paths, she had already begun her way down the rugged cliff track to Maldraeth, and as Gildas followed swiftly, a host of bitter thoughts and memories rushed through his mind. How often had he met her here, when love was young and fresh and sinless! ‘Oh, God! what does it mean that Nance should be thus fleeing from me, that I should be seeking her through the darkness?’

Across the moor, down the rocky paths, and on to the pebbly strand he went, shoeless, and treading carefully, anxious to reach the truant without alarming her.

Arrived on the shore, Nance stood awhile uncertain. Was Jerri’s boat there as usual? Yes, in the starlight she caught its outline; moored safely, with its keel already swaying on the edge of the full tide. With one hurried glance around, she prepared to draw it nearer through the surf, when a footstep crunched the gravel, a hand grasped her arm, and in the darkness Gildas stood before her.

The hushed silence was only broken by the plash of the waves, and his hard breathing. Frightened and speechless, Nance loosed her hold on the rope; but at once regaining her courage, she was the first to speak.

‘What is it? Why do you follow me into the night? Can I never shake you off?’

‘Nance,’ said Gildas, his voice trembling. ‘Where are you going, woman? What is the meaning of all your follies? Come back with me, come home to Scethryg, and this black night shall be as though it had never been. Come, Nance, be wise, ’merch-i,’ and for a moment she faltered in her purpose, and whimpered a little as Gildas continued: ‘Come home and let us begin our lives again; perhaps I have been hard to you. Come, Nance, and I will forgive and no one will ever know of this your folly. Have you forgotten everything?… the sunny day when the little bell at Penmwnten church rang out so merrily when we turned home to Scethryg together, so innocent, and so happy.’

In his eagerness he had clutched her arm once more, but she tore herself away.

‘So innocent, and so happy!’ she cried. ‘Not me, not me! I tell you, man, I was miserable! I have been miserable ever since, and I cannot bear it any longer. Let me go!’

‘Miserable!’ said Gildas, and all the tenderness died out of him, and a hot tide of bitter anger filled his heart and barbed his tongue.

‘False vilanes! Have you no shame? D’ye think I have not seen your wickedness, your smiles, your blushes? and all because a roving villain has crossed your path; and you a wife! Och-i! The wife of Gildas Rees! oh, shame upon you!’ and clutching her arms firmly he turned her round, and made her face him in the starlight.

‘D’ye think, woman, I could love you now, or care one cockleshell what in your mad folly you would do? Although I would still harbour you in my house, and hide your faithlessness if possible, for my own name’s sake. Come, choose! this is the last time you shall ever have the chance. Yes, by God! you shall choose between me and that devil Cap’n Jack.’

His angry tones, his firm grip, had roused in Nance a fierce daring which rose in arms against her accuser.

‘Choose, woman,’ he cried, but with a sudden wrench Nance loosed herself from his grasp.

‘Cap’n Jack, then,’ she cried, nay, almost screamed, so loud and excited were her tones. ‘Cap’n Jack I choose, I choose,’ and she broke into a shrill, mirthless laugh, that Gildas shuddered to hear.

It woke up the echoes in the silent cove, and from the craggy heights around, it still returned and seemed to fill his ears and smite upon his brain. He turned away without a word, and reaching the rocky path walked steadily upwards without casting a look behind; Nance, as if spellbound, watching him, until he disappeared over the edge of the moor and she was left standing alone by the surf, only the soft gurgling of the tide in the clefts of the rocks breaking the silence. The hours were passing, the tide was full: she must hurry and leave these taunts and troubles behind her – away, away, on earth, sea, or sky, she cared not where as long as she might escape. And, lost to all sense of faith or honour, she turned eagerly to unmoor the boat; but once again a restraining hand was laid upon her arm, and she turned round fiercely to find Gwenifer facing her. She had hidden behind the rocks until she saw that Gildas’s persuasions were vain, and until he was out of sight beyond the edge of the cliff; then she had slipped out from her hiding-place, longing as she had never longed before for words in which to clothe her entreaties. She could only seize hold of Nance, however, and try to draw her away from the boat; but not succeeding in this, she flung her arms around her neck, she kissed her and grasped her hands, wetting them with her tears, and pressing them on her heart to show how wildly it was beating. But all in vain, for Nance was no longer open to the call of reason or affection; her hot temper was up in arms, and, swayed only by the fierceness of her unbridled passions, she turned upon Gwenifer in a fury of resentment.

‘Away, thou dumb fool!’ she cried. ‘Go back to thy cows and thy sheep! I go to the man whom my prayers have saved,’ and she sprang into the boat and tried to loosen its prow from the strand. Its stem was already afloat, and in another moment would have cleared the surf. In that moment Gwenifer, light and agile, had sprung in after her, and with a lurch the boat floated on the tide, though it still remained close to the rocks; and the two girls stood up confronting each other with only the lapping sea around them, and the silent night sky above them. They could only see each other’s outlines in the starlight, but that was enough to show that one was approaching the other with appealing hands.

In Nance’s tortured heart a spirit of fierce anger had awoke, and with a cry of fury she sprang upon Gwenifer, overbalancing her, so that with a cry of ‘Oh, dear God,’ she fell over the side of the boat, striking her head on the rocks with such violence that she lost all consciousness, and remained still and white while Nance took the oars and rowed herself out into the darkness.

In a few moments Gwenifer had so far recovered as to sit up and stare at the dark, heaving sea, and wonder what had become of Nance, for all around her was silent as though Nance and her boat had never been.

Her experienced eye, however, soon detected a black speck upon the waters, in which she knew too well Nance was hastening to her fate. ‘And what a fate, oh, what a fate!’ thought Gwenifer, as the boat was lost to view in the darkness; and kneeling there upon the rocks she raised her clasped hands to the starry sky, the tears streaming down her cheeks, her eyes fixed upon the spot where she knew the Liliwen was riding at anchor. Suddenly, while she prayed, her memory awoke more clearly, the blood rushed to her heart, and flooded her face as a new and eager thought arose in her mind. Had she heard her own voice as she fell from the boat? Had she cried aloud, ‘Oh, dear God’? And so intensely eager was her longing that it might be true, that she dreaded to put the question to the test, lest she might find it was a dream, and that she was still the dumb and silent Gwenifer! Should she dare to try? With her hands clasped and her eyes still fixed upon the glittering stars, she breathed softly the words that came most naturally to her lips, ‘Oh, dear God.’ Yes! she heard her own voice! Again, more loudly, and again she repeated the same words, and realised that mysteriously, as it had left her so many years ago, her speech had returned, and she was able to articulate freely and easily. When at last the blessed truth shone in upon her, in a full tide of overpowering joy and gratitude, she burst into a fit of wild sobbing; not only sobs of joy in the present, but also of self-pity for the long silence to which she had been condemned in the past. The long-restrained feelings, the serene patience, gave way under the excess of happiness; and she sobbed on, until quite exhausted she stretched herself on the rocks, her head on a pillow of seaweed, to rest, to recover her self-control, and at last to rise, her heart throbbing with happiness in spite of the clouds that overshadowed her. Her first act of calm consciousness was to kneel, and stretch her hands towards the night sky, to breathe a prayer of gratitude, in words that no longer died upon her tongue, but reached her ears in the music of the human voice.

Turning to leave the shore where she had failed so miserably in her attempt to save Nance, she strained her eyes for a last look towards the ship, whose sails were beginning to catch the light of the rising moon, continuing to use her new-found powers of speech, fearing lest she might have lost them again. ‘Gildas, Gildas! Oh! Nance, come back to him,’ she murmured.

A solemn stillness reigned over the sea – a silence that was suddenly broken by a distant scream, followed by another, and another, and Gwenifer shuddered with horror at she knew not what, stretching out helpless hands towards the waste of waters. Helpless hands, and useless sobs! for Nance was gone beyond the power of love to recall.

A faint hope still remained to her that the misguided woman had returned to Scethryg while she herself had lain unconscious, and climbing up the cliff path she determined to go to the farm and find out. Not to tell Gildas of her recovered speech – oh no, not now! Joy for her and sorrow for him? No, she would keep her joy to herself as she had kept her sorrow for so long, and wait at least until the first pang of his grief had passed; and she ran up the cliff still murmuring, ‘Gildas, Gildas! Sorrow for you and joy for me. Oh, how that spoils my happiness! No, I will not tell you tonight.’

She made up her mind, too, not to tell Het, or Ben, until the next evening, hugging her happy secret to her heart.

When after her hurried walk up the cliff she reached Scethryg, she saw by the light that streamed out through the open doorway that Gildas was still up; and through the window, as she passed, she saw him pacing up and down with restless steps. Hearing her footsteps on the stubble, he hastened to the door, and with both hands outstretched called ‘Nance!’ There was relief, forgiveness, and pity in his voice; but he started back when Gwenifer entered.

‘Gwenifer!’ he exclaimed, ‘what dost here so late?’

She pointed to the candle and to the light that streamed out through the doorway.

‘Oh,’ he said, ‘thou saw’st the light and wondered what we were doing so late; well, ’tis Nance, thou seest; she has gone away somewhere, and I don’t know in the world where. I’m thinking perhaps she’s gone home to her father’s house; she threatened it many times lately.’

Gwenifer nodded, and looked sadly into the darkness.

‘Dids’t hear a scream, Gwenifer, three times over? What was it?’

Pointing upwards, she flapped her hands like the wings of a bird.

‘The seagulls, and at night? No, no! I cannot think it; go thou home and sleep, lass.’

She shook her head emphatically, but Gildas was firm.

‘Thee’ll do what I ask thee, I know,’ he said. ‘’Tis my wish that thou should’st go and close thy door, and sleep.’

For he thought the wanderer might return, and to see Gwenifer there would but add to her humiliation. She bent her head, as usual acquiescing in Gildas’s wishes, and passed out into the farmyard, leaving the restless man still pacing up and down the stone floor.