"Ask him to come here, then."

And Will came, not too hurriedly, and with a.s.sumed nonchalance.

"Well, young man," said the colonel, "I want to know how your arm is?"

"It is quite well, thank you," said Will, carefully studying his accent. "I hope," he added, taking off his hat and turning to Gwenda, who sat up interested, "I hope you are no longer suffering pain?"

"Very little, thank you. I am so glad your arm is well again, and I am glad to have this opportunity of thanking you."

And as Will prepared to withdraw again, lifting his hat and showing his tawny locks and his white teeth, Miss Vaughan placed her hand in his with a friendly good-bye.

The old colonel winced a little.

"I don't think you need have shaken hands with him, child; however, it was very nice of you, and I've no doubt it will please the young man very much. I declare he looks like a gentleman."

"And speaks like one," said Gwenda.

"Yes; pommy word I don't know what's the world coming to!"

"Very nice people those Vaughans, I should think," said Gwilym Morris, as he and Will tramped homewards in the evening.

"H'm! yes," said Will; "I daresay they thought they were honouring me very much by their notice; but, mind you, Gwilym, in a few years I'll show them I can hold up my head with any of them."

"Will," said Gwilym, after a pause, "I am afraid for you, lad; I am afraid of what the world will make of you. At Garthowen, with nothing but the simple country ways around us, we escape many temptations; but once we enter the world outside, even here in the market it reaches us, that subtle insidious glamour which incites us, not to become what we ought to be, but to appear different to what we are in reality."

"I can't follow you," said Will. "I suppose it is every man's duty to try and get on as far as he can in the path of life which he has chosen. I have chosen mine, and I don't mean to leave a stone unturned which may help me on. Yon can't blame me for that, Gwilym."

"No, no! I suppose not; and yet--and yet--"

"And yet what?" asked Will irritably.

"You may get to the very top of the ladder, and then find it has not been leaning against the right wall. That would be a poor success, Will."

"Well, well!" he said, as they entered the farmyard, "what's the matter with you to-night? You wait a few years, give me only a chance, and you'll be proud of your old pupil."

When they had separated, Gwilym looked after him thoughtfully.

"I wonder will I, indeed!" he said.

It was late in the evening when Morva made her way to the cliffs to meet her lover. The moor was bathed in a flood of silver moonlight, the sea below was lighted up by the same serene effulgence, and the silence of night was only broken by the trickle of the mill stream down in the valley, the barking of the dogs on the distant farms, and the secret scurry of a rabbit under the furze bushes.

As she neared the edge of the cliff, the peace and beauty of the scene impressed her eye but did not reach her heart, which was beating with a strange unrest.

In the dark shadow of the crags on the cliff side Will was waiting for her. He had been there some time, and was a little nettled at her delay.

"Where hast been, Morva?" he said, stretching out his hand and drawing her towards him in the shadow. "Come out of the moonlight, la.s.s.

There is Simon 'Sarndu' fishing down there with Essec Jones; they will see thee."

"Well, indeed," said the girl, "what is the good of our going on like this? It will be a weariness to thee to be always hiding thy--thy--"

"My love for thee? No, Morva, 'tis all the sweeter to me that n.o.body guesses it. And n.o.body must guess it; and that's what I wanted to speak to thee about. When a man begins his life in earnest, and takes his place in the outside world, he must be careful, Morva--careful of every step--and must act very differently to those who mean to spend their lives in this dull corner of the world."

"Dull corner!" said Morva. "To me it seems the one bright spot in the whole world, and as if no other place were of any consequence. I'm sure if I ever leave here, I will be pining for the old home, the lovely moor, and the sea and the cliffs. Oh! I can never, never be happy anywhere else!"

"Twt, twt," said Will, "thou art talking nonsense. When I send for thee to come and live with me in a beautiful home, thou wilt be happy.

But listen, girl! Is thy love for me strong enough and true enough to bear what may look like neglect and forgetfulness? For a time, Morva, I want to break away from thee, lest any whispers of my love for thee should get abroad. It would blast my success in life, 'twould ruin my prospects if it were known that I courted my father's shepherdess, and so, for a time I want to drop all outward connection with thee. Canst bear that, Morva, and still be true to me?"

"I don't know," said the girl.

"Canst not believe that I shall love thee as much as ever, and more fervently perhaps than ever?"

"I will try," said Morva; "but I think thou art making a hard path for thyself and me. 'Twould be better far to drop me out of thy life, then thou couldst climb the uphill road without looking back."

"And leave thee free to marry another man? Never, Morva! I claim thy promise. Remember when thou wast a little girl how I made thee point up to the North Star and promise to marry me some day."

"Indeed the star is not there to-night, whatever."

"It is there, Morva, only the moonlight is too bright for thee to see it. It is there unchangeable, as thou hast promised to be to me."

"Yes, I have promised; what more need be?"

"Yes, more; thou must tell me again to-night, Morva, that thou wilt be true to me whatever happens--whatever thou mayst hear about me--that thou wilt still believe that in my heart I love thee and thee only.

Dost hear, girl--_whatever_ thou dost hear?"

"I will believe nothing I may hear against thee, Will; nothing at all.

But when I see with my own eyes that thou art weary of me and art ashamed of me, _then_ remember I am free."

"But thine eyes may deceive thee."

"I will swear by _them_, whatever," said Morva, with spirit.

Will sighed sentimentally.

"What a fate mine is! to be torn like this between my desire to rise in the world and my love for a girl in a--in a humbler position than that to which I aspire!"

"Oh, Will bach! thou art getting to talk so grand, and to look so grand. Take my advice and drop poor Morva of the moor!"

"I will not!" said Will. "I will rise in the world, and I will have thee too! Listen to me, la.s.s, I am full of disquiet and anxiety, and thou must give me peace of mind and confidence to go on my path bravely."

"Poor Will!" said the girl, looking pensively out over the shimmering sea.

"Once more, Morva, dost love me?"

"Oh, Will, once more, yes! I love thee with all my heart, thee and everyone at Garthowen."

"Well," said Will, "we have been kind to thee ever since thou wast cast ash.o.r.e by the storm. It would be cruel and ungrateful to return our kindness by breaking my heart."