CHAPTER XV
Sea Wrack
On a sunny morning in the following month, when the barley was ripe in the field beyond the creek, Gildas Rees, with a small band of reapers, crossed the shining water in Jerri’s boat, as his father had done before him, so many years ago. Jerri himself was one of the reapers, having dared to defy the ill-will of his neighbours, in his desire to help the mishteer, for he had a heart somewhere under that sea-stained old blue jersey; and that organ had warmed up latterly in an unusual degree towards the man whom everybody else had turned against. Moreover, the strong, almost sacred, claims of the harvest had appealed to him as it had to the rest of the villagers, though with them the distrust and suspicion with which they looked upon Gildas had outweighed every other consideration. They risked the danger of being turned out of their homes rather than help the man who had wilfully opposed and rejected the more sacred claims of the revival; and he had come very near being left without hands to garner the crops, which Nature seemed to have lavished upon him with even more generosity than ever before.
‘Look at the barley, woman!’ Jerri had said one morning on the kiln, where Nelli Amos was basking in the sun. ‘And the wheat-field next to it. Didst ever see such a crop? And if the Lord is willing to give him such a harvest, surely we can help to gather it in?’
‘Why art so angry with the mishteer?’ said Ben, stopping on his way to the blacksmith’s. ‘What has he done to thee? Dost not remember how kind he was to thee last winter when thou wert sick?’
‘Oh, yes; I remember the bits of scraps and the shilling he sent me; and wouldn’t I pay it back now in harvesting, if he had behaved himself? I have a good memory, thank God, and I remember, too, how his father turned my mother out of the house one day, because she spoke her mind to him about the path through the cornfield which he wanted to shut up. Oh, yes! I remember it all.’
‘Why, Gildas was only two years old then,’ said Jerri. ‘What could he help that?’
‘Two years old! I don’t care if he was twenty.’
Ben turned away impatiently, but Jerri continued:
‘Come on, Nelli fach, fetch thy sickle, and leave it between the mishteer and his conscience what he has done with his wife.’
What he has done with his wife! It had come to that in the village, for Gildas’s continued silence had roused all sorts of suspicions, and he had come to be looked upon as a man of dark deeds, whom it was better to shun as much as possible; so that when he stooped his tall shoulders to enter the low-browed doorway in search of his usual complement of labourers, they had one and all refused, not openly and flatly, but with well-feigned excuses and looks of distrust.
Gildas saw it all, but was too proud to urge his request, or even to show that he suspected the truth.
‘Well, b’t shwr!’ he said, ‘if that is the case, you can’t come,’ and he had been prepared to attack the barley-field with only Ben and Het and Gwenifer to help him, until Jerri, shipping his oars, spat in his hands, and declared his intention of joining the reapers.
‘Will you have me, mishteer?’ he said. ‘I’m better at the boats than in the fields, I know, but…’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Gildas; ‘I’ll be glad of thy help.’ And they had begun their way from the rocks to the field, when a loud ‘Hoi, hoi!’ from the other side of the creek made them halt and turn round.
‘Who can they be?’ said Jerri, in astonishment, and Gildas felt a strong sense of relief when he saw two men evidently waiting to be rowed over.
‘’Tis Jones Bryndu and Seth his servant,’ cried Ben joyfully.
‘Jari! so ’tis,’ said Jerri, pushing off from the rocks. ‘Well, there’s somebody don’t think so bad of you, whatever mishteer!’
‘Stop, I’ll come across with you,’ said Gildas stepping into the boat. ‘And what do the others think of me?’ he asked suddenly, and somewhat to Jerri’s confusion. ‘Now, truth, Jerri!’ he added, ‘thou know’st I hate a lie! What evil do they think of me? Make haste, or we’ll be across.’
‘Well then, mishteer, to tell the truth, they think you have been hard and cruel to your wife, because you didn’t like the revival, and she did; and they are all saying that it’s very strange what has become of her, and…’
‘There’s enough!’ said Gildas. ‘What matter what they say?’
‘Well! If you can stop their mouths with a word, mishteer, why not say it? That’s what I am thinking. ’Tis plain Jones Bryndu isn’t thinking so bad of you, though!’
‘Think so bad of me? What dost mean, man?’
‘Well, that you have got rid of the mestress somehow, but in my deed I’m not believing them, whatever!’
‘Good God! Do they think I have done her any harm? That I have murdered her?’
For the first time he realised the suspicions that hung over him, the dark thoughts that lurked in men’s minds; and for a moment the shock unnerved him, and his strong arm trembled on the oar.
Before they reached the rocks on the other side of the creek, however, the sturdy independence of his nature reasserted itself, and the strong antagonism which the boycotting he had been subjected to had aroused in him awoke in full force in his heart.
He had done nothing wrong. Should he lay poor Nance’s sins before these malicious gossips, and expose his own disgrace for their contempt? Never! And he stepped ashore firmly determined to keep his own counsel, and let Tregildas say what it would.
‘Well, in my deed, this is kind!’ he said, laying his hand upon Jones Bryndu’s shoulder. ‘What will I say? Only that Ben and I will be ready, sunlight or moonlight, to help with Bryndu harvest.’
‘Twt, twt,’ said Jones, stepping into the boat, followed by his man. ‘’Twas hearing what heavy crops you had this year made me think of it, and the mestress saying, “Go, of course, Will! for Gildas Rees is always ready with a helping hand.” Well, well!’ he exclaimed as they landed under the barley-field, and looked up at its waving gold. ‘Here’s a crop! Indeed, I never saw a better!’ and doffing their coats, he and his man were ready to set to, as soon as it was settled who should be leader, and strike the first blow at the ripe corn – this point being always considered important in the harvest proceedings.
‘Wilt thou, Seth, be leader?’ said Gildas, in deference to the man’s greater age and experience.
Seth accepted the honour with due seriousness, and, under the gleaming sickles, the field was soon marked with lines of fallen grain.
They were too busily occupied during the first few hours for any conversation – moreover, Gildas and his friend worked somewhat apart; but when the morning waned a little, and Gwenifer appeared through the gap with her well-filled basket of provisions poised on her head, while from her right hand hung a bright tin can of steaming tea, the reapers were nothing loth to drop their sickles and draw towards the shade of the hedge where she was already spreading the food.
‘Hello, Gwenifer!’ said Jones Bryndu, ‘how art, ’merch-i? There’s glad we are, Betsy and me, to hear thou canst talk now like any other woman;’ for the news of Gwenifer’s restored powers had spread like wildfire through the neighbourhood. ‘On my word, lass, thou’rt the prettiest flower amongst the barley! Eh, Gildas?’
Gwenifer smiled, and blushed a rosy red, wondering why so many people praised her beauty now, when her heart was full of pain and sorrow, whereas no one had noticed her in the days of old, when she had roamed the hills and fields of Scethryg content and happy, though silent. She knew not that every sorrow patiently borne adds a fresh grace to the human face; and so she wondered as she spread her simple store in the shade of the hedge.
She had been quick to notice that when Jones of Bryndu, in his rustic fashion, had drawn Gildas’s attention to her by his ‘Eh, Gildas?’ the latter had fixed his eyes upon her absently, and as if his thoughts had been preoccupied; but she had not seen how the hard look on his lips had softened as she turned away.
‘I don’t see much change in her,’ he said, as he and his friend stretched themselves in the shadow of the high hedge and watched the girl as she left the field. ‘Gwenifer is like the sky above us, always the same.’
‘Always the same!’ laughed Jones. ‘No indeed, then; the sky is very changeable with us in these parts, whatever.’
‘Gwenifer has her shadows too, and her showers sometimes, I expect,’ answered Gildas, smiling at his own bad simile; and they set to at the simple meal with appetites that are often absent from richer repasts.
The brown bread and butter, the hunches of cheese, the well-made tea, were all that they ought to be; but as the meal proceeded both men became silent and preoccupied, for in the minds of both the subject of Nance’s disappearance was uppermost.
‘Come!’ said Jones at last, ‘let us go to the shade of the thorn yonder, and let us have a talk about this strange thing that has happened.’ And he began the way to the one tall bush in the hedge, Gildas following slowly.
‘It is no use talking,’ said the latter, flinging himself down beside his friend. ‘I have nothing to say to you, only what I have said a score of times. Nance is gone, and I don’t know where she is.’
‘But, for sure, you have some guess, man!’
Gildas plucked at the dandelions and made no reply to this, and Jones continued, ‘Most like you don’t know how the whole parish is fermenting and talking about it, and a word from you would stop the talk; because, hark you, Gildas Rees, nothing that they can say will make me believe what they are hinting, that you have got rid of your wife in some bad way – drowned her or pushed her over the cliff or strangled her! What know they?’
‘Do they think that of me?’ said Gildas, ‘and do you, William Jones?’ And he sat up suddenly, leaning on his elbows.
‘Caton pawb, no! Betsy and I we know you too well, man. Haven’t we been friends since we were boys in school, you and me? Don’t I tell you, I wouldn’t believe if you told me yourself that you had been cruel to her. Ach-y-fi! Shame that any man should think such a thing! But, look you, Gildas, ’tis enough to make strangers and enemies think bad of a man when he won’t say anything to clear himself but “I don’t know, I don’t know.” If you can’t tell them where your wife is, tell them where you think she is.’
‘Let people think what they like of me,’ said Gildas, his face falling into the set hard lines that had become habitual to it of late. ‘I will never say more than Nance is gone away from Scethryg, and I don’t know where she is. Look you, friend; I will say one thing to you that I won’t to anyone else. I have done nothing wrong in this matter.’
‘That I know right well, without your word for it,’ said Jones. ‘But haven’t you left something undone? Have you tried to find her? Have you caused search to be made for her?’
‘No,’ answered Gildas.
‘Diwss anwl, man! Why not, then? Don’t you want her to come back to you?’
‘No,’ said Gildas again, still plucking at the flowers.
‘Ts, ts! Well, in my deed, ’tis pity! Well, there’s no use asking you, I see; so when Betsy asks me what did you say I can only answer, “Nothing, and I believe you are right in your guess, Betsy, as you always are.” I believe sometimes Betsy is ‘hysbys,’ you know, she is so clear-sighted. “Tell you what I think, Will,” says she…’
‘Don’t tell me what she said!’ answered Gildas, standing up and taking his sickle, as if to end the conversation. ‘I daresay she is right, but I will never say a word against Nance. So there’s an end of it, Jones, and if people like to talk, well indeed, let them; ’tis no concern of mine!’
‘But, ’machgen-i,’ said Jones, as they drew near the other reapers, ‘they’ll make it your concern if they go to Oliver, the lawyer, about it!’
Gildas only stooped to his barley, but after a few strokes of his sickle he straightened himself again, and said slowly:
‘I am thankful to you, my dear friend, for your kindness. I will never forget it, but don’t ask any more questions; ’twill be of no use.’
‘Only this one,’ said Jones. ‘Are you sure she is not at her father’s house, away in Glamorgan?’
‘She may be,’ said Gildas. ‘That is what I am thinking sometimes, but I know nothing.’
‘Know nothing! Know nothing!’ said Jones, losing his patience a little. ‘Are you mad, man? For God’s sake say something to clear this up. You are doing yourself a lot of harm; perhaps you are twisting a rope that will hang you!’
Again that hard, mirthless laugh from Gildas as he answered: ‘Well indeed! Perhaps Gildas Rees, Scethryg, will hang from the gallows in the end! I wouldn’t wonder!’
‘Well,’ said his friend, ‘I always used to think you had twice my sense, Gildas; but now, in my deed, I think I have double yours.’
An unusual silence had fallen on the barley-field, where laughter and jollity generally lightened the work, and only the stroke of the ‘crymans’ broke the stillness, as swathe after swathe of the ripe corn fell before the reapers, for everyone’s heart was filled with doubt, if not suspicion. Jones Bryndu tried in vain to dispel the gloom with a joke or a merry repartee, but in vain, and the blue cornflowers and the golden marigolds fell with the barley in solemn silence.
When at last the shadows lengthened and the long day was drawing to a close, Gildas straightened himself, and, looking towards the blue hills that lay away beyond the moor, said, ‘Who is this coming down through Parc melin?’ and every questioning face turned to the north, and watched while a brown stooping figure drew nearer and nearer. Now it had reached the moor, and was crossing it with bent shoulders and lagging gait.
‘’Tis Hezek!’ cried Ben; and every eye was turned upon Gildas to see how he would take this new development in the mystery that was exercising their minds so much.
‘Hezek? So it is, in my deed!’ said Jones, looking also at Gildas, who stood watching the old brown figure with a white troubled face.
‘’Tis Hezek!’ he said, as the old man turned into the harvest-field. Conscious that the reapers were all watching him, he yet forgot for a moment that he was not alone. ‘Poor old man! How will I tell him?’ he said half to himself, and thrusting back his hat he wiped his heated forehead with his red handkerchief. ‘I’d rather than fifty pounds if I was through with the job of telling him.’
‘Will I go and break the news to him?’ said Jones, seeing how hard a task it was for his friend.
‘No, no; I wouldn’t like him to hear it first from a stranger,’ answered Gildas. ‘He is fond of me, poor fellow; I must tell him myself.’ And throwing away his sickle he advanced towards the old man, who had now reached the middle of the field.
‘Fond of him? Yes, be bound!’ said Jones. ‘The warmest heart that ever beat has Gildas Rees! Don’t I know him since he was this height; however he has got into this muddle! But listen you now before he comes back, friends. Whatever has happened, he’s not to blame!’
‘Why doesn’t he speak plain, then?’ was the only answer as they bent to their sickles, and that came from Jerri.
‘Here they come!’ he added, as the two figures approached.
‘His heart has failed him,’ thought Jones. ‘He could not tell the old man.’ For though the latter came very slowly towards them, leaning heavily upon Gildas’s arm, his face was wreathed in smiles and wore a jaunty look, as though he had just heard something pleasant, if not amusing.
‘Well, well!’ he said. ‘Reaping begun! And how are you all? I’ll bring my cryman tomorrow; but tonight I’m tired, and will go home to bed. And so Nance is away, and the harvest begun! Well, well, she’ll be home tomorrow, no doubt! Oh yes, she’ll be home! She’ll be home tomorrow!’ he said, with a laugh that ill suited his drawn face and the hectic flush of excitement that reddened his cheeks. ‘And Gildas doesn’t know where she is! Naughty little lass to frighten him so! But we’ll go down to Maldraeth tomorrow, ’machgen-i, and we’ll find her looking for shells on the beach. Yes, yes, we’ll find her there.’
‘Come, then,’ said Gildas, ‘we’ll go home to the storws; n’wncwl Sam is lonely without you, and you shall go to bed after tea, for I’m sure you are tired.’ And they turned away together, Hezek still leaning heavily on Gildas’s arm and continuing to mutter to himself, ‘Yes, yes, she’ll come home tomorrow!’
When Gildas had done all he could for him, the old man fell asleep, still muttering to himself, ‘She’ll be home tomorrow!’
‘Poor old fellow! He’s badly hit!’ said Jones Bryndu, when Gildas returned to the field.
‘Yes,’ answered Gildas, ‘but I don’t think he is quite understanding his trouble, though I tried to tell him carefully. It seems as if a cloud was over his mind.’ (‘And, indeed, ’tis the best thing that could happen to him,’ he thought.)
‘Come on, ’tis supper-time,’ he said; and they all followed into the big Scethryg kitchen, where the red sun was making flickering patterns on the stone floor of the ivy leaves that trailed over the window. Gwenifer had laid the supper on the long bare table, and now waited to serve the tired reapers. She had been startled an hour earlier by Gildas’s sudden appearance at the door.
‘Gwenifer,’ he said, ‘the old man has come home, very tired and footsore. He won’t have any supper, and I have helped him to his bed. Wilt take him a cup of tea? Perhaps thou canst persuade him to drink it. I have told him Nance has gone, but he is dazed like, and says, “Never mind, she’ll come home tomorrow.” Poor old man!’
‘Hezek come back! Oh, poor old man! Yes, I’ll go to him, mishteer,’ she answered, while she poured out the tea already made for herself; and she hurried out to the storehouse, to find the old man stretched on his bed, the pink quilt spread over him by Gildas’s careful hands. He was looking at n’wncwl Sam, who sat smoking by the hearth, repeating continually, ‘Never mind, she’ll be back tomorrow!’ and he received Gwenifer as though he had never left the old storehouse. ‘Tea, ’merch-i?’ he said, as she lifted him into a sitting posture.
‘Yes, and this nice bread-and-butter,’ said Gwenifer; and he showed no surprise at her restored speech.
‘Well indeed! I suppose it is tea-time, and I have had no dinner. The little lass will be home tomorrow to tea. Eh, ’merch-i?’
N’wncwl Sam, who had taken his cue from Gildas, answered for Gwenifer. ‘B’t shwr, b’t shwr! She’ll be home tomorrow!’ and Gwenifer, to hide her tears, hurried out to refill the empty cup. When the men came in from the fields she scarcely dared to look at the mishteer, for well she realised how Hezek’s return must have put an end to his hopes that Nance was at her father’s house, and must have brought home the fact that she was lost to him for ever.
The reapers were loud in their expressions of pity for the old man, and Jones Bryndu said as he took his departure:
‘Let him be tonight, Gildas; sleep will make him either clearer in his head tomorrow, or else more dazed and contented;’ and so he was left to himself for the night, though once in the moonlight a slender figure crossed the moor and crept up the storehouse steps, and after a long look at the wrinkled, sleeping face, retreated noiselessly down the crooked steps and turned towards the cottage on the moor which she called home.
In the brilliant light of the full moon the sea showed blue beyond the moor, where every little blade of grass and sprig of heather held its silver drop of dew; only the roar of the surf on Maldraeth broke the silence; and as she walked alone over the broad stretch of moorland it was no wonder that she fell into a deep reverie, one of the fits of musing which, in her silent past, had taken the place of social communion with her fellow-beings. What had become of Nance? was a question that continually haunted her. Was it possible that Captain Jack, who had asked her to be his wife, could have intentionally lured her away from her home? No, she could not believe it. Her pure mind refused to harbour such a thought – and yet Nance had rowed away in the darkness! And what – oh, what meant those terrible screams? And she lay long awake that night looking at the round moon that sailed through the dark blue sky attended by one bright star, and they had passed across her tiny window before sleep had at last fallen upon her. She awoke again before many hours had gone by, and before the lark had risen from her nest she was out with her milking-pail, for there was Hezek to be cared for before she began her day’s work. He slept late, according to Scethryg calculation, for it was near eight o’clock when he awoke, and sat up with a pleased smile and a contented look on his gentle face.
‘Nance is coming tomorrow!’ he said as he rose and began to dress himself; and when he had eaten his breakfast, Gwenifer attending to his wants with extra tenderness, he shouldered his wallet and set off as usual in search of herbs, returning in the evening apparently quite content with his empty bag, and the happy prospect of Nance’s return ‘tomorrow.’
It was the second day of the harvest, and the labourers were beginning to look at their watches and to dry their foreheads, for the afternoon was waning and supper could not be far off.
Jones Bryndu and his man had come again to help Gildas, and had promised to come till the harvest was over, as Bryndu crops were quite a fortnight later than Scethryg’s. ‘Well, well,’ he said, his eyes fixed on the moor. ‘Here’s somebody else coming to help us; ’tisn’t old Hezek again. Who can it be? There’s more than one; they’re running! One, two, three, four. What can they want?’ And he saw, as the line of moving figures advanced, that they were headed by Nelli Amos, who seemed to have regained the agility of youth, as she outstripped the others and came down the harvest-field, her grey hair blown about by the sea wind, her eyes flashing, her finger pointing at Gildas.
‘What are you doing here?’ she said, while the villagers who followed her crowded round with excited faces. ‘What! you gathering your harvest in, and your poor wife lying dead on Maldraeth? Come down, for shame, and tell us what are we to do with the body! Ach-y-fi! you villain! Ach-y-fi!’
‘The body?’ gasped Gildas. ‘What do they mean, Jones? I – I – I am rather moidered, I think,’ and he sat down on the hedge-side, drawing his handkerchief over his white face. ‘What do they mean?’
‘What do they mean?’ screamed Nelli Amos. ‘Come down to Maldraeth and see, man! Isn’t your poor wife lying there? what the sea and the fish have left of her! Her blue gown torn to ribbons and her beautiful yellow hair spread out on the sand! Och-i, och-i! That my eye should see such a sight! Come down, man, and tell us how she got into the water, or we’ll see if the crowner can make you speak.’
‘Yes, I will come,’ said Gildas, rising slowly and stiffly, ‘I will come, b’t shwr!’ and he began to put on his coat with hands that trembled.
‘I will come with you,’ said Jones, throwing down his sickle. ‘What is the meaning of this noise?’ he added, turning to the excited villagers. ‘Is this the way you bring such a terrible piece of news to a neighbour? Shame upon you! Is this the way you show your Diwygiad?’
For a moment they seemed abashed, but Nelli Amos soon recovered herself. ‘We don’t show it by consorting with men who get rid of their wives in the night, and then say they don’t know where they are!’ she said.
‘Come,’ said Gildas, recovering his firmness. ‘Come on and let them talk. Poor Nance, poor Nance!’ and drawing his hat over his eyes, he began his way towards the rocks, going down to the creek and rowing across the tide to the village, where, on the beach, they saw a group of people awaiting them. Jones Bryndu was a man much respected amongst them, so that when they saw he was Gildas’s companion, they received them with a more sympathetic manner than they were prepared to accord to Gildas alone.
‘This is a shocking thing,’ he said as he stepped ashore, ‘and I am sure you will all sympathise with an old friend and neighbour in his trouble!’
There was a slight murmur of condolence from some of the group, as Gildas leaped out of the boat, but the greater number drew back as if afraid of committing themselves.
‘’Tis a dreadful thing, indeed,’ said one, ‘and we want to know how it happened. A young and happy wife (or ought to be happy) to be lost all at once, and then to be found a month after on the sands, drowned and sodden! Dear anwl! Such a thing has never happened at Tregildas before. Well, we have done what we could; we have sent for the crowner, and Ebben the carpenter has offered the coffin which he had ready for Jane Lewis’s daughter; and we’d better take his offer, I’m thinking, for the mestress is lying on Maldraeth, poor thing, and we want to know where to take her.’ And they crowded round Gildas with curious eyes, in which there was no spark of sympathy.
‘Yes, that will be best,’ said Jones. ‘Go you home to Scethryg, ’machgen-i. I will see to all for you.’
Gildas thankfully took his advice, and in less than an hour all that remained of the storm-tossed body was borne to Scethryg and laid in the big barn, for, as there was only one living-room in the farmhouse, and the stairs were narrow and crooked Jones Bryndu had decided, for sanitary reasons also, that this was the best arrangement.
It would be useless to try to describe Gildas Rees’s feelings as he sat on his darkened hearth. The dread of shame and disgrace he was getting accustomed to, as it had hovered over him, waking or sleeping, for weeks; it was now giving place to pity and sorrow for Nance’s sad fate, and to indignation against the neighbours who could suspect him of having compassed the death of his wife.
He was quite alone, not even Gwenifer hovered about, for, fearing to intrude upon his hours of mourning, she withdrew as much as possible to the solitude of her own cottage, where alone and undisturbed she thought over the strange events that had come into her once placid life.
Meanwhile at Scethryg the next day had dawned, a day which Gildas never recalled without a shudder.
The inquest was to be held at ten o’clock, the funeral as soon after as practicable, presumably before sunset. Soon after breakfast he saw that the farmyard was filling with a sombre throng, gathered together from the remotest parts of the parish, for the tale of Nance’s disappearance and the suspicions of foul play connected with it had spread far and wide.
That hour was one of extreme bitterness to the proud, reserved man, who sat on the hearth in his best clothes, looking gloomily into the burning logs.
In his loneliness he longed for Gwenifer’s soothing presence, but remembered with a groan that her heart, too, had gone forth to the sailor, and a longing for vengeance burnt up red-hot within him. He was roused by a knock at the door, which Het, dressed in the blackest of black clothes and with a suitable expression of countenance, opened to admit Mr. Bowen, the coroner, who, with his clerk, had driven noiselessly over the stubble yard. Gildas started to his feet as he entered, and the coroner shook hands with him in his usual friendly manner.
‘I suppose the jury have not come yet – I am rather early,’ he said, sitting down on the settle opposite Gildas. ‘This is a sad thing, Rees,’ he said, sympathetic but guarded.
They were interrupted by the arrival of the jury, who, in fact, had been waiting an eager half-hour in the lane.
The coroner looked at his watch. ‘Ten o’clock; we had better adjourn to the barn. You will have to identify the body,’ he said – ‘a trying ordeal, of course, but necessary.’ And, leading the way, he was followed by Gildas and the jurymen.
In the old dim barn, resting on its trestles, stood the long yellow box, so strange, yet so familiar, to us all. On the closed lid lay a wreath of harebells; and, with a pang, Gildas remembered they had been Nance’s favourite flowers, and how often in the days of his wooing he had told her that their colour was that of her own eyes. Gwenifer, surely, must have placed them where they were!
On the further side the big barn door was closed and bolted, but it seemed as if the sunshine wished to enter and gild that sombre scene, for through the finger-hole a blue shaft of light poured in, shedding a golden radiance over the coffin and sparkling on its metal ornaments.
There was a little shuffling of feet as the lid was removed, and the gruesome wreck of humanity within was disclosed. One by one the jurymen approached and cast one glance upon the body; and, when his turn came, Gildas too drew near with a firm step and a face over which he had drawn that cold, impenetrable mask which so often hid his deepest feelings.
And when at last the whole gathering returned to the big kitchen, and the coffin lid was screwed down upon all that had been saved from the sea, Gildas returned with the others, thankful that hitherto at least he had been able to endure in silence.