CHAPTER XVIII

The Fire

A few days later in the same week, a bright log fire was burning on the Scethryg hearth, for it was supper-time, and the mishteer was just home from his work.

The leaping flames lighted up every corner of the quaint old room, and showed up the glittering pans and platters of an earlier generation which were ranged above the wide-browed chimney. Inside, in the full blaze of the fire, hung the cranks, the cranes, the ladles, and the bellows in a friendly company, the two broad settles flanking the walls beneath them.

Here sat n’wncwl Sam and Hezek, each in his corner, waiting for his supper which was evidently cooking in the large crock hanging down from the chimney.

Cawl, is it? No, for the table is laid with plates and knives and iron forks.

On the middle of the board stands a giant jug of buttermilk, while the end of the table bears a large platter of roof beef, salted and dried under the rafters and boiled in the day-before’s cawl. Hard it is, no doubt, but not too hard for Gildas’s strong white teeth, nor yet for the girl’s, who takes her portion and arranges the plates on the table.

Now she lifts the lid from the steaming crock, and pours into a huge wooden bowl the mealy potatoes, bursting through their grey jackets; the brown bread and cheese is added, and they draw round the board with healthy appetites. Gwenifer sits at the side; she is losing the quaint, pretty break in her speech, but Gildas still thinks there is something unusually musical in her voice. ‘’Tis as though the thrushes are talking soft in the evening sometimes,’ he had said one day, and he thought so tonight, as she recounted her simple tale of the day’s work and events – the red cow’s persistent attempts to get into the garden, Juno’s frivolous games with the gander, the little brown lamb that had grown into a sheep all too soon, the simple things that make up the life of a farm; and Gildas listened with a pleased smile as he ate his salt beef.

Yes, poor Nance was sharing the fate of many a better woman; her hearth and her board knew her no more; her husband’s heart was closing over her loss, and was opening out to a new happiness that seemed to glide into it with the simple joys of his home life – the glowing light on the hearth, the pleasant, cosy meal, which Gwenifer was clearing away, his seat in the firelight, the puffs of blue smoke that curled up from his pipe, it was all very pleasant, and he stretched out his feet to the blaze and laughed at the old men’s gossip as they talked across the fire.

‘Yes, in my deed, then, if you are not believing me,’ said n’wncwl Sam, ‘’tis as true as I am sitting here; so John ‘Crydd’ told me, whatever. ’Twas the shepherd of Voel was looking for a sheep that had strayed down here to the moor, and coming he was towards Gwenifer’s cottage, and he saw it plainly crossing his path in the moonlight; it went out of sight between the bushes, and he says he will swear he heard a sigh t’other side of the broom bush.’

‘Tush,’ said Gildas, ‘’twas the wind,’ and he blew a fresh puff from his pipe.

‘Most like,’ said Hezek, looking into the burning logs, ‘though Phil is a truthful man.’

‘Was it the wind, then,’ said n’wncwl Sam doggedly, ‘that Michael Brynderw saw in the churchyard one night about a fortnight ago walking in between the graves? He’s a bold man, is Michael, and he followed it across the churchyard, but it disappeared under the yew-tree, and when he went there, it was gone; ach-y-fi!’ and he shuddered as he knocked the ashes out of his pipe.

‘Nonsense!’ said Gildas. ‘There’s no such thing as a ghost; those are all superstitions and old wives’ fables, come down from the past – we are wiser now. What d’ye say ’bout it, Hezek? You’ve got more learning than we.’

‘A ghost?’ said Hezek, holding his thin fingers to the blaze and turning his dreamy eyes upon Gildas. ‘Well, I don’t know about ghosts; but ‘spirits,’ he said, ‘I don’t know why spirits would not be seen sometimes.’

‘Twt, twt!’ laughed Gildas again; and as Gwenifer passed he laid hold of her sleeve. ‘Here’s one now ought to tell us all about it if any one can; so many long years alone on the moor with only her thoughts for company! Come, Gwenifer! tell us, lass, what dost think about it?’

‘Yes, Gwenifer knows very likely,’ said Hezek, the far-away look in his eyes brightening for a moment.

‘Say, Gwenifer, come! Has’t ever seen a spirit?’

‘No, indeed,’ said Gwenifer, ‘I have never seen one. But I think there is more in the silence and solitude than we know of; it is full of spirits to me.’

‘Caton pawb!’ said Gildas, laughing, ‘’tis all nonsense, lass, and superstition.’

‘Look you now,’ said Hezek, ‘you are too hard on superstition, as you call it. Hark you, boys! there is much to be said for superstition.’ His eyes brightened, his figure straightened, as in fancy he addressed his ‘boys’ at St. Austin’s school, and Gildas listened with a smile as he harangued his imaginary class. ‘Mind you, boys, I wouldn’t have you believe every marvel, every ghost story, every old legend; sift them out, find the truth, let the light in upon them, and cast away all that is foolish and baseless; but, after all, keep a place in your hearts for the spiritual side of life, for there is much that your dictionaries and your mathematics cannot explain. And as for poor old Superstition, I don’t want her back, boys! She had her follies and weaknesses; but she’s dead and gone, and we have buried her with scant ceremony.’

N’wncwl Sam and Gildas could only listen in silence, the latter with an indulgent smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eyes, while Gwenifer sat down and waited, for well they knew how impossible it was to stop the old man’s flow of speech when he addressed his boys.

‘Yes, yes!’ he continued. ‘We have buried her safe; the parson, the lawyer, the doctor, have all had their say about her, and the schoolboard master has clapped a tombstone upon her, and there’s an end of her, they think; but mind you, boys, now that she’s gone, don’t you think we’ve hustled her away too hastily?’ and he pointed his finger at n’wncwl Sam, who sat about the middle of an imaginary class.

‘Mind you,’ repeated Hezek impressively; and n’wncwl Sam moved a little nervously, and unconsciously dropped his pipe into Het’s clothes-basket, which stood beside him on the settle.

‘Superstition was not all bad,’ continued Hezek, ‘and when we got rid of her so hastily and so unceremoniously I am not at all sure that she did not carry away with her in the folds of her grey robes, much of the romance and poetry that made life full of beauty and interest in the past; and remember you too, boys, she was first cousin to Faith, and I, for one, have still a tender place in my heart for what they call superstition.’

N’wncwl Sam broke the thread of his argument by exclaiming, ‘Dei caton pawb! You can preach like a parson, man, but I don’t know what’s it about.’

The light died out of Hezek’s eyes, his hand fell to his side, and looking round as if dazed he sat down, and, filling his pipe, bent over the hearth with his usual placid far-away look.

‘Well, in my deed!’ said Gildas indulgently. ‘You are a clever speaker, Hezek, and you make us have more respect for our old grandmother’s stories.’

Hezek made no answer, looking silently into the fire; but n’wncwl Sam, thinking the argument had turned in his favour, said triumphantly, ‘Well there, then, that’s all I said; that the shepherd of Voel saw the ‘ladiwen,’ or the ‘ladilwyd,’ running across his path like a mountain cloud.’

‘Well indeed!’ said Gwenifer, ‘I saw something strange on the moor one night when I was going late from here; ’twas something crossing my path like what Phil y Voel saw; but it might be the grey heifer from Wern, she’s always straying.’

‘’Twas that most like,’ said n’wncwl Sam. ‘I wonder will the Liliwen sail before dawn?’

A crimson blush dyed Gwenifer’s cheeks, which she was careful to hide by stooping over the fire, while a little constraint came into Gildas’s voice.

‘What is he stopping for?’ he asked.

‘Oh, waiting he is for the Speedwell; she is bringing him something from Milford, some iron goods they are taking to Spain. What for didn’t he come to see us this time, I wonder? First-class man is Captain Jack.’

‘Yes,’ said Gildas; ‘I have nothing to say against him.’

‘Caton pawb, no!’ said n’wncwl Sam. ‘What dost think of him, Gwenifer?’

Confused and startled, she could only answer, ‘I don’t know – yes, indeed, I think.’

“Yes, indeed,” “I don’t know,” and “nothing against him!” In my deed, if that’s the way my friends speak of me behind my back I’d rather be without them,’ blurted out the old man.

Both Gwenifer and Gildas tried to laugh away his indignation, but the spell was broken, the cheerful sociability of the evening had departed.

‘’Tis getting late,’ said Hezek, rising from his corner.

‘Art going home, Gwenifer?’ asked Gildas. ‘Will I come with thee over the moor? Art afraid, perhaps?’

‘No, no,’ said Gwenifer. ‘I am sleeping here tonight, for ’tis churning tomorrow morning. I am waiting for Het – she is not home yet from the meeting; here she is on the word!’ and Het arriving, n’wncwl Sam, with a “Nos da” to all, followed Hezek out to the old storehouse.

Soon after, the lights were put out, and darkness and sleep fell over all at Scethryg.

Out on the bay, the Liliwen rising and falling slowly with the lapping tide lulled John Davies and the cabin boy, each in his bunk below, more soundly into the land of dreams. The captain should have been sleeping too, for, safe anchored in the bay, there was no need of watch or compass; but a throbbing pain in his shoulder, added to the restlessness of his mind, had banished sleep, and he had risen to pace up and down in the darkness where the only sound was the lip-lap of the sea under the ship’s keel.

When he entered the bay he had hoped to find the usual domestic happiness restored to the inmates of Scethryg; now he was full of troubled thoughts as he recalled his meeting with Gwenifer, and later with Gildas.

As his ship had ploughed her way through the green waters his longing desires had far outstripped her speed, and he had ventured to hope that time might have softened Gwenifer’s disinclination for him, but now – he had had his answer; and there was nothing for him but to sail away, and bid good-bye for ever to the sight of the humble thatched cottage where his strange, erratic heart had at last cast anchor.

In a rift between the clouds he caught a glimpse of the moon, and in her light he saw the little white cot with its thatch of brown on the edge of the moor, and the grey walls of Scethryg with their dark clumps of ivy at the shoulder of the hill; but only for a moment, for the thick bank of clouds had obscured the moon again and the familiar landscape was lost to his sight.

Suddenly he stared eagerly through the gloom, for what was that pale cloud that rose over Scethryg?

A grey cloud curling into billows of yellow and brown, and tinged now with red! He called hastily to the mate and the cabin boy, and in an incredibly short time they were rowing towards Maldraeth, their eyes on the billowy smoke that rose without doubt from the walls of Scethryg. The mate and the boy rowed hard, the captain, with his disabled arm, steering straight into the little cove where Gildas and Nance had quarrelled and parted.

‘Make haste to Tregildas!’ said Captain Jack to the lad, ‘call them all up, bid them bring pails and follow us to Scethryg,’ and the boy ran with his heart in his throat, calling as he went, ‘Tân! Tân!’ till the villagers roused from their sleep, came out to their doorways, and, seeing the glow in the sky, hurried up to the old farmhouse.

Het’s prophecy, “No one will come to help Scethryg,” was not verified, for, as the grey smoke burst out into flames, and showers of sparks rose up into the night sky, there were scores of busy helpers. Every man bore his pailful from the rushing spout or horse-pond in the yard, and, amidst cries and shouts of encouragement, the fire fiend was attacked and fought by willing hands, urged on by eager hearts; for through the whole neighbourhood the tide of public feeling had turned, and there was scarcely one in the parish who did not regret the bitterness with which he had resented Gildas Rees’s objection to the excitement of the Diwygiad, for already that feverish excitement was passing, and calmer and more reasonable sentiments were taking its place.

After all, they argued, every man had a right to his own opinions, and no doubt Gildas Rees had seen cause to fear the effect of the Diwygiad upon his poor wife’s mind. And they rushed at the fire with an energy born of regret and remorse, which before long began to tell upon those leaping flames.

Foremost amongst the workers were Captain Jack and the mate. There was no time for conjecture or questions. They could only rush from the house to the spout and back again; while the flames towered high through the gaping roof, and the roar and the crackle of the sparks filled the air.

Suddenly a hand clutched the captain’s sleeve, and Gwenifer’s face, lighted up by the glow, was full of anxiety. ‘Gildas,’she cried, ‘where is he?’

‘Oh somewhere at work,’ said Captain Jack.

‘No, no,’ said Gwenifer excitedly, ‘he is not here. I thought he was getting the horses out of the stable, but he is not there. Oh, Captain Jack, where is he?’

‘Not here?’ said Captain Jack. ‘Has nobody seen him?’

‘No, no; nobody.’

‘Then God help him! he must be still in his bed. A ladder, Gwenifer! – a ladder up to his window!’ And in a moment Gwenifer had brought the ladder, and together they stood under the smoke-blackened walls. Captain Jack catching at her shawl wrapped it round his head, and climbed up the rungs as a sailor only can climb. It would have been impossible to reach the room in the ordinary way, for the fire seemed to have started in the centre of the house, and the rickety old staircase had burnt completely away, while the outside walls were as yet intact. An opening in the roof made a furious draught, towards which the force of the flames seemed to converge.

In the red light the surging crowd watched Captain Jack’s brave attempts to enter the house – attempts which they feared were doomed to be fruitless, for no sooner had he opened the window than a cloud of smoke rushed out. Blinded and almost suffocated, but undaunted, he thrust himself through the small aperture, for Scethryg windows were only made to open half-way.

The crowd below stood watching breathless while he disappeared, and a cry of dismay escaped them as a long, lithe flame leaped out through the kitchen window and licked the rungs of the ladder.

Within the smoke-clouded room Captain Jack, holding his breath, reached the bed, only to find it empty.

Thank God! Gildas has escaped. And he returned to the window, where shouts and groans reached him from below, and where he saw the ladder was already charred by the flames. Realising his danger, he turned in despair to the doorway. Here the small crooked landing was full of choking smoke; the old stairway had already fallen to the ground – a heap of charred wood.

That way, escape was impossible, but crossing the landing he stumbled blindly into a little doorway which led into the cheese room, from which he remembered a few steps led down to the dairy. He hurried across the room almost suffocated, but stumbled again over something that lay in his way; he stooped, and found it was Gildas himself. Roused by the smoke and the cries of the villagers, he had awoke, half stupefied by the fumes of the fire, and, dazed and alarmed, had started up and realised at once what had happened.

The house was on fire! Some enemy had done this, and the pang caused by this thought was more sharp and cruel than the scorch of the long flame that reached him as he rushed out, to find the stairs ablaze. He turned towards Het’s room, for had not Gwenifer said, “I’m sleeping here tonight”? What if she had slept to her death! But no! the room was empty of all but smoke. He staggered out again, blinded and choking and overcome by the fumes, and fell heavily on the floor at the top of the little flight of steps leading down to the dairy.

Here Captain Jack found him, unconscious but living; for he groaned as the sailor lifted him and with almost superhuman strength carried him down through the dairy to the stable-yard, where the crowd, soon learning the good news of his safety, gathered round him.

It was Gwenifer who had first remembered the little-used dairy door. ‘’Twas there I thought I heard the mishteer calling us,’ she said, ‘and I thought he was safe down here; but Het and I climbed down the elder tree which grows so near our window, and in the hurry we forgot the dairy door;’ and she ran round the house to find her hopes realised, and Gildas lying safe on the stubble with Captain Jack bending over him, bathing his face and holding a flask to his lips.

‘He will cough,’ he said, looking up at Gwenifer.

True, Gildas did cough, and opened his eyes; and Gwenifer, assured of his safety, quietly drew back, leaving the two men together.

‘They will make friends better alone,’ she thought, ‘and Gildas will know who saved him.’

Mingling with the crowd, she was soon aiding their endeavours to extinguish the fire, which was now giving way to their vigorous exertions. The flames were dead, the smoke was lessening, the air was clearing, the fire fiend was conquered.

In the stubble yard Gildas was rising to his feet and steadying himself by a hand on his rescuer’s shoulder. It was his wounded shoulder, but he did not wince; he would have borne much more for the sake of that friendly pressure.

‘’Tis the arm I hurt, too,’ said Gildas.

‘Caton pawb! I had forgotten it!’ said Captain Jack, laughing outright. ‘’Tis you will have to wear the sling now, for I saw your sleeve flaming on your arm.’

‘Yes, and if it wasn’t for you I’d have been flaming all over by now, I expect. You have saved my life, captain;’ and he held out his hand, with a smile of meaning which the sailor understood. He grasped the hand, and a warm pressure spoke for Gildas more than any words could have done.

‘Come, then,’ he said, ‘help me to the other side; there’s surely something we can do;’ and with the sailor’s help he walked, though unsteadily, towards the group of workers, who were still busily engaged in extinguishing the small flames that continued to burst out here and there from the smouldering debris.

‘Thank you, kind people,’ he said, appearing amongst them. ‘Caton pawb! I didn’t know I had a friend in Tregildas!’

‘There’s your mistake,’ said Owen Hughes, one of the deacons at Brynzion. ‘You must forgive our zeal for religion; it had made us over hasty, lad. We forgot that “the wind bloweth where it listeth”; and though it blow like a gale over Brynzion, it may whisper like a still small voice in the heart. Yes, yes, you have friends; tonight has shown you that.’

‘It has shown me I have enemies, too,’ said Gildas bitterly. ‘Who lighted this fire, think you?’

‘That question,’ said Owen Hughes, ‘came into my mind when I first heard the cry of ‘Tân!’ I am troubled sore,’ said the old man, looking down at the ground. ‘I had hoped that the pure flame of the revival spirit had burnt out every stain of malice from our midst; but I’m afraid – I’m afraid,’ he added, shaking his head again sorrowfully, as he turned away and left Gildas standing alone watching the ruin of his house. A group of women stood near, looking on, like himself, at the scene of devastation. ‘Dear, dear!’ said one, ‘there’s a pity! In my deed, I am sorry for Gildas Rees. How did it happen, I wonder!’

‘’Tis the arm of the Lord,’ said Nelli Amos. ‘’Tis plain to see nothing but trouble has followed him since he turned against the Diwygiad.’

‘Twt, twt,’ said the first speaker, ‘his harvest was the fullest in the parish, his barns are bursting over with grain; the Lord has blest him there, whatever, and I am thinking ’tis some man, or woman perhaps, who has done this wicked deed, and not the Lord. With Het and Gwenifer so careful, it couldn’t be an accident.’

‘It might be an accident,’ said Nelli Amos, ‘and yet be the hand of the Lord. Well, it’s put out now, whatever, and I am going home to bed.’ And she turned away in the darkness towards the village. Soon afterwards Gwenifer came up to Gildas, and, laying her hand on his arm with her old habit, said: ‘’Tis put out now, mishteer, and Het and I have made up a bed for you in the storws. Go you and lie down; we will watch here till the morning, for fear a fresh flame may burst out. You can trust us.’

He could see her face in the faint moonlight, and, looking into the dark brown eyes, he said: ‘Yes, I can trust thee, Gwenifer. But listen, lass; come here and let me tell thee my thoughts and my troubles, as I used to do when I was a lad. It has long been in my mind, Gwenifer, and tonight’s work has settled me in my plans. I will leave the old country – I will let Scethryg. Will Jones would be glad to take it and farm it with Bryndu; I can trust him, too. I will go away and work in some foreign land, Gwenifer, where I can forget my troubles and the hatred of my enemies. Dost hear? Dost understand?’ he added, finding she made no answer.

‘Yes,’ she said at last, and the darkness hid the signs of sorrow in her face.

‘Thou wilt keep watch over Scethryg for me; and out there perhaps, with hard work calling for all my strength, some day these bitter things will pass out of my life. I don’t want to be a hard, gloomy man; in my deed I believe the world is full of brightness still. The earth smells sweet, the grass grows green, the birds sing blithely, and the good God is over all; but somehow, lass, I have missed it all. If you take a wrong step ’tis hard to find the right path again; but if there is a right path, I will find it in spite of my enemies. Who, dost think, did this cruel thing?’

‘Oh, Gildas!’ said Gwenifer, steadying her voice and gulping down her sobs. ‘One person only in the whole parish would do this evil deed.’

‘Nelli Amos?’ he asked.

‘Yes. I am sure the fire was safe; I put out the last log and I swept up the hearth. Go, Gildas, to bed; we will watch by the burning.’

He turned away towards the storehouse, feeling for the first time in his life overwhelmed by his troubles. Hitherto he had held his grip on the rudder, and had felt the power to steer between the rocks of danger to a safe anchorage; but now he was shaken and storm-tossed, and sought the shelter of the old storehouse in a frame of mind which was quite new to him. Rest, sleep, oblivion, had become desirable things to the man who had always sprung to meet difficulties and toils, and had enjoyed the struggle. He sighed as he reached the steps, and looked up at the red door, which he called to mind had been the portal through which he had passed to meet misfortune.

 He heard the talk and the calls of the neighbours, who still worked at the smouldering embers, but felt too weary and sick at heart to join in their exertions.

‘Caton pawb, Gildas Rees!’ he said to himself. ‘Art going to be beaten at last?’ and in sheer exhaustion sat down on the bottom step; the burn on his arm, though not a serious one, beginning to make itself felt more acutely.

‘I wish I had asked Gwenifer to see to it,’ he thought, ‘but, dear anwl, I must learn to do without her, too. She will change her mind and marry the captain after all; he will persuade her, I am sure, for I think she likes him now. Well, he’s a straight man and a kindly, after all; yes, I believe that,’ were his thoughts, as he sought and found n’wncwl Sam’s greasy candlestick. ‘If he was foolish and wild – well, I believe he is changed. Yes, yes; I know very well as Owen Hughes said, that “the wind bloweth where it listeth,” and although I don’t like the smoke and the glare of the Diwygiad, I know what the flame of the Spirit can do.’ And, lighting his candle, he sat down in Hezek’s chair to await Gwenifer’s return.

‘I must learn to do without her; but can I? It will be like tearing the life out of me!’ And he fell into a fit of sombre musing, from which he awoke with a start, as he heard footsteps coming up the steps. ‘I have been a fool,’ he said, ‘and now I must bear my punishment.’

Gwenifer came, ere long followed by Hezek, whose sympathy was almost outweighed by his satisfaction at having Gildas, the sceptical, as a patient, and eagerly requesting a soothing salve.

When the arm was bandaged and the old man’s remedy had begun to lessen his pain, he turned to Gwenifer. ‘Go thou now, lass,’ he said, ‘and can diolch. I will try to sleep, for in my deed I don’t know myself in this weak plight.’ The pale dawn was beginning to brighten the sky in the east, and throwing a cold, weird light upon the groups of busy helpers who still stood round the smouldering débris, conversing together in subdued tones. The consensus of opinion was that ‘an enemy had done this thing,’ and though no name was mentioned, yet suspicious looks were cast towards Nelli Amos’s cottage, whose chimneys came just in sight above the sloping path to the village.

‘We must see to this,’ said Ebben the carpenter. ‘A righteous indignation is one thing, but a bitter malice is another. You understand, friends, we must see to this in Brynzion.’ And they lingered round the still smoking house until every vestige of danger had disappeared.

When Gwenifer returned from the storehouse she was met in the yard by Captain Jack and his mate. In the pale grey dawn the former looked haggard and white, his arm once more adjusted in its sling.

‘Dear, dear, is it burnt?’ said Gwenifer. ‘There’s a pity! Come you then at once, and Hezek’s herb oil will cure you.’

‘Twt, twt!’ said Captain Jack, while he called to mind vividly the blustering night when he and his mate first entered that ill-omened red door. ‘Caton pawb, no! We must sail in half an hour.’

‘Well,’ said the mate, ‘I will leave you to say “good-bye,” captain, while I run down to Maldraeth to see is the boat there, because we were in too great a hurry to fasten it safe. Fforwel to thee, Gwenifer; we will bring thee a ribbon from foreign parts when next we come into Tregildas bay.’

‘They don’t want me,’ he thought, as he hastened down the moor. ‘I have long seen how the wind lies in that quarter. ’Tisn’t the slopes of Tregildas nor the friendship of Scethryg that is drawing the captain so often to this bay. ’Tis Gwenifer; and in my deed, if there’s a maid in the world is good enough for my captain, ’tis the sweet “Queen of the Rushes,” as they used to call her.’

When he had disappeared the two persons in question were left alone in the dim, dawning light. The sun was approaching, for behind the highest edge of the moor a rosy flush was spreading, which lighted up Gwenifer’s face with a faint colour.

‘Gwenifer,’ said the sailor, holding out his left hand, ‘if it must be “good-bye,” let it be soon over, lass. Must it be?’

The girl’s eyes filled with tears.

‘Yes, indeed it must be,’ she said, ‘and ’tis sorry I am in my heart that you have set your love upon me. ’Tisn’t that I don’t value it, Captain Jack. From the first day I saw you I liked you, and I wish – oh, I wish – you were my brother. But I can never marry you, never; so put me out of your mind, if you can’t feel to me as a brother.’

‘Tush!’ said Captain Jack, with an impatient gesture. ‘If you can’t love me, Gwenifer, I want nothing else.’

She shook her head, while the tears that had gathered in her eyes stood on her cheek, and she placed her hand in his.

‘Fforwel, lass,’ he said, ‘I have lost something here at Tregildas; but I have gained something too. Good-bye; may God bless thee! One thing I will always remember with gratitude. Gildas Rees has shaken hands with me; tell him, Gwenifer, how glad I am. Where is he?’

‘He’s sleeping in the storws,’ said Gwenifer – ‘quite tired and worn out.’

‘’Tis no wonder he is worn out. Well! bid him “fforwel” for me. Fforwel to you, lass.’ And with a warm pressure of her hand he dropped it suddenly, and turned away down the path to Maldraeth.

It was a pathetic, lonely figure that Gwenifer strained her eyes to watch through the morning mist.

Perhaps she was unstrung by the events of the night and the previous day; perhaps she was wearied in body; perhaps in her tender heart the sailor had held a warmer place than she was aware of. At all events, she sought the dim grey garden, and, finding a secluded corner, buried her face in her hands and cried silently.

She heard the bustle and the talk in the yard, where the neighbours and helpers were gradually dispersing; she heard the songs of the birds, and, drying her eyes, returned to the stubble yard, where she found Het preparing for the milking, and washing her pails under the spout.

‘For seems to me,’ she said, ‘everything will smell of smoke after this night. Ach-y-fi!’

Gwenifer called the cows as usual; but it could not be ‘Corwen’ or ‘Seren’ that she was thinking of as she said with a sigh, ‘Poor fellow! poor fellow!’

The milk frothed into the pail, the sun rose higher above the moor, and, looking over the bay, she saw that the rosy beams were catching the white sails of a ship.

Through the clear air she heard the clink of the anchor-chain, she saw the red pennon flutter as the vessel answered to the swelling breeze and sailed away into the golden haze which hid the horizon.

A fresh breeze rose, the clouds parted, the sun shone out bright and strong, and into the golden haze the Liliwen sank, Gwenifer watching the last glimpse of her sails with tearful eyes.