"Oh, certainly, certainly," agreed Dr. Owen. "My carriage is at The Bear; perhaps you will walk down with me, both of you?"

"Of course, of course," said Mr. Price; "if you must go."

"Yes, I must go; I must not be late for the meeting at Caer-Madoc."

The vicar hunted for his walking-stick, and Will helped his uncle to get into his greatcoat.

"Thank you, my boy," said the old man, almost warmly, for he was beginning to feel the ties of blood awakening in his heart.

In truth, he was so pleasantly impressed by his new-found nephew's appearance and manners that already visions of a lonely hearth pa.s.sed before him, lightened by the presence of a young and ardent spirit, who should look up to him for help and sympathy, giving in return the warm love of relationship, which no heart, however cold and isolated, is entirely capable of doing without.

Will was elated, and conscious of having stepped easily into his uncle's good graces, he walked up the street with the two clergymen, full of gratified pride.

On their way, to his great annoyance, they met Gryff Jones of Pont-y-fro, a farmer's son holding the same position as his own. He would have pa.s.sed him with a nod, but the genial vicar, to whom every man was of equal importance, whether lord or farmer, stopped to shake hands and make kindly inquiries.

Will and the doctor moved on, and John Thomas the draper, standing at his shop-door, turned round with a wink at his a.s.sistant and a knowing smile.

"Well, well," he said, "Will Owens Garthowen _is_ a gentleman at last.

That's what he's been trying to be all his life."

At the door of the Bear Hotel they came upon a knot of ladies, who at once surrounded Dr. Owen. He was a great favourite amongst them, his popularity being partly due to his good looks and pleasant manners, partly to his good position in the Church, and in some measure certainly to his reputed riches.

Soon after entering the Church he had married a lady of wealth and good position, who was considerably older than himself, and who, having no children, at her death had bequeathed to him all her property. Many a net had been spread for the rich widower, but he had hitherto escaped their toils, and appeared perfectly content with his lonely life.

Will was almost overwhelmed with nervousness and shyness as they reached the group of ladies; but, true to his purpose, he put on a look of unconcern which he was far from feeling.

"How do you do, Mr. Owen?" said one of the girls, holding out her hand with a shy friendliness, "I am Miss Vaughan, you know, whom you saved from that furious bull."

"Yes, of course," said Will, shaking hands.

"I thought perhaps you had forgotten me," she said.

Will had flushed to the roots of his hair from nervousness, but he quickly regained his self-possession. He looked down the side of his leg and pondered his boot.

"Would that be possible, I wonder?" he said, half aloud.

"I don't see much difficulty," said the girl laughingly.

Will laughed too, and his laugh was always charming, the ice was broken, and the chat was only disturbed by the Dr.'s hurried good-bye.

"Good-bye, ladies," he said, as he stepped briskly into his gig. "I am grieved to have to leave you, but that meeting calls. Good-bye, Will, I shall see you at Llaniago, and you, Miss Vaughan, I hear I am to have the pleasure of meeting you at Llwynelen." And the Dr. drove off amongst a flutter of hands and handkerchiefs.

And now Will would have been in a dilemma had not the vicar arrived on the scene. Again there were many "How do you do's?" and much shaking of hands, while Will was debating within himself what he should do.

The vicar at once introduced him to each and all of the young ladies, some of whom would have drawn back in horror had they known that the young man who addressed them with such sang-froid was the son of a farmer, and a brother-in-law of a dissenting preacher.

Will knew this obstacle in his path, and was determined to overcome it.

Gwenda Vaughan, he thought, was delightfully easy to get on with, and their conversation followed on uninterruptedly until they reached the vicarage door, where they parted, the ladies separating, and Will staying to bid the vicar good-bye.

"Who on earth was that handsome man, Gwenda?" asked Adela Griffiths before parting. "I don't know how it is, but you always manage to get hold of handsome men.

"And nothing ever comes of it," whispered Edith Williams.

"Why, he's Dr. Owen's nephew," said Gwenda; "didn't you hear Dr. Owen introduce him?"

And she said no more, but carried away with her a distinct impression of Will's handsome person and charming smile.

About this time a strange thing happened at Garthowen. It was midday.

Ann had just laid the dinner on the table, and Ebben Owens had lounged in.

"Well, the threshing will be done soon," said the old man; "Twm is a capital fellow. Don't know in the world what I should do without him."

"What is that noise?" asked Morva, pushing back her hair to listen, as a curious sound as of shaking and thumping was heard by all.

"'Tis upstairs, and in your room, Gwilym," said Ann.

Suddenly there was a jingling sound and rolling as if of money, followed by a satisfied bark.

"Run up Morva and see," said Ann; "what is that dog doing?"

The girl ran up, pa.s.sing Tudor on the stairs, who entered the kitchen with waving tail and glistening eyes carrying in his mouth a canvas bag from which hung a draggled pink tape, and at the same moment Morva's voice was heard calling, "Oh, anwl! come up and see!"

Ann and Gwilym hurried up, followed by Ebben Owens and Will, to find Morva pointing to the floor which was strewn with pieces of gold.

"My sovereigns!" said Gwilym, "no doubt! and Tudor has emptied the bag.

Where could they have come from?" and everyone looked through the open window down the lane to where in the clear frosty air the blue smoke curled from a little brown thatched chimney.

Ebben Owens jerked his thumb towards the cottage.

"There's no need to ask that," he said. "'Twould be easy to stand on the garden wall and throw it in through the window."

Ann was busily counting the sovereigns which had rolled into all sorts of difficult corners.

"Thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty!"

"Every one right," said Gwilym; "how fortunate! but how I should like to tell Gryffy Lewis I forgive him, and that he has done right in returning the money."

"I expect fear as well as a guilty conscience made him return them, the blackguard!" suggested Will.

"No doubt; no doubt," said the old man.

As for Morva, she was so overcome with joy at this proof of Gethin's innocence that she was scarcely able to hide her agitation from those around her.

When all the money had been gathered into Ann's ap.r.o.n they returned to their dinner to find Tudor occupying the mishteer's chair, with a decided expression of satisfaction on his face, the canvas bag lying beside him.

"Well," said Ebben Owens, ousting Tudor unceremoniously from his seat, and speaking in an agitated and tremulous voice, "one thing has been made plain, whatever, and that is that poor Gethin had nothing to do with the money. You all see that, don't you?"