"Yes--will you come?"

"Yes, just for a moment, and then perhaps you will show me the way to the farm. That Cribserth looks a formidable rampart. Are you sure there is a way round it?"

"Oh, yes; I will come and show you," said Morva. "Here is mother," and Sara approached from her herb garden with round, astonished eyes.

"Well, indeed!" she said; "this is a pleasant sight--a lady coming to see us, and on Morva's birthday, too! Come in, 'merch i, and sit down and rest. The horse will be safe tied there to the gate."

And Gwenda pa.s.sed into the cottage with a strange feeling of happiness.

"Now, what shall I give you?" said Sara. "A cup of milk, or a cup of tea? or, I have some meth here in the corner. My bees are busy on the wild thyme and furze, you see, so we have plenty of honey for our meth."

"I would like a cup of meth," said Gwenda; and as she drank the delicious sparkling beverage, Sara gazed at her with such evident interest that she was constrained to ask:

"Why do you look at me so?"

"Because I think I have seen you before," said the old woman.

"Not likely," replied Gwenda, "unless in the streets at Castell On."

"I have not been there for twenty years," said Sara. "It must be in my dreams, then."

"Perhaps! What delicious meth! Who would think there was room for house and garden scooped out on the moor here; and such a dear sheltered hollow."

Sara smiled.

"Yes; we are safe and peaceful here."

Morva had taken the opportunity of doffing her necklace and placing it in the box.

"I am going to show the young lady the way to Garthowen, mother."

"Yes; it is easy from there to Castell On," said Sara; "the farm lane will lead you into the high road. But 'tis many, many years since I have been that way."

The chat fell into quite a friendly and familiar groove, for Sara and Morva knew nothing of the restraints of cla.s.s and conventionality.

"I am so glad I came; but I must go now," said Gwenda, rising at last.

"My name is Gwenda Vaughan," she added, turning to Morva. "What is yours?"

"Mine is Morva Lloyd; but I am generally called Morva of the Moor, I think. Mother's is Sara."

"Good-bye, and thank you very much," said Gwenda, and Sara held her hand a moment between her own soft palms, while she looked into the girl's face.

"You have a sweet, good face," she said. "Thank you for coming, 'merch i; in some way you will bring us good."

And again that strangely happy feeling came over Gwenda. Rounding the Cribserth, the two girls soon reached Garthowen. It was afternoon, and drawing near tea-time. Ebben Owens was already sitting on the settle in the best kitchen, waiting for it, when the sound of voices without attracted his attention.

"Caton pawb!" he said, "a lady, and Morva is bringing her."

Ann hastened to the front door, and Morva led the horse away, knowing well that she was leaving the visitor in hospitable hands.

"I am Miss Vaughan of Nantmyny! I have been out hunting today, and on the top of the hill I felt so tired that I made up my mind to call here and ask if you would let me rest awhile."

"Oh, certainly! Come in," said Ann, holding out her hand, which Gwenda took warmly.

"Miss Owen, I suppose?"

"I was Ann Owens," she said, blushing. "I am Mrs. Gwilym Morris now these three years. This is my little boy," she added, as a chubby, curly-headed child toddled towards her. She had already opened the door of the best kitchen. "There is no fire in the parlour," she apologised, "or I would take you there."

"Oh, no; please let me come to your usual sitting-room. Is this your father?"

And she held out her hand again. There was something in her face that always ensured its own welcome.

"Yes, I am Ebben Owens," said the old man, "and very glad to see you, though I not know who you are."

"I am Gwenda Vaughan of Nantmyny, come to ask if you will let me rest awhile. I have been out with the fox-hounds; we have had a long run, and I am so tired."

She had no other excuse to give for her inroad upon their hearth; but in Wales no excuse is required for a call.

"Well, indeed," said the old man, rubbing his knees with pleasure, "there's a good thing now, you come just in time for tea. I think I have heard your name, but I not know where. Oh, yes. I remember now; 'twas you the bull was running after in the market, and my boy Will stop it; 'twas good thing, indeed, you may be kill very well!"

Gwenda stopped to pat Tudor to hide the blush that rose to her cheek as she answered:

"Yes, indeed, and of course we were very grateful to him!"

"Oh, yes; he's very good fellow. Will you take off your hat? 'Tis not often we're having visitors here, so we are very glad when anybody is come."

"I was afraid, perhaps, I was taking rather a liberty," said Gwenda, laying her hat and gloves aside, "but you are all so kind, you make me feel quite at home."

"That's right," said the old man; "there's a pity now, my son-in-law, Gwilym Morris, is not at home. He was go to Castell On to-day to some meeting there. What was it? Let me see--some hard English word."

"I can speak Welsh," said Gwenda, turning to that language.

"Oh! wel din!" said the old man, relieved, and continuing in Welsh, "'tisn't every lady can speak her native language nowadays."

"No. I am ashamed of my countrywomen, though I speak it very badly myself," said Gwenda.

"There's my son Will now, indeed I'm afraid he will soon forget his Welsh, he is speaking English so easy and smooth. Come here, Ann," the old man called, as his daughter pa.s.sed busily backwards and forwards spreading the snowy cloth and laying the tea-table. "The lady can speak Welsh!"

"Oh! well indeed, I am glad," said Ann; "Will is the only one of us who speaks English quite easily."

"Oh! there's Gwilym," said her father.

"Yes, Gwilym speaks it quite correctly," said Ann, with pride, "but he has a Welsh accent, which Will has not--from a little boy he studied the English, and to speak it like the English."

"Will is evidently their centre of interest," thought Gwenda, "and how little he seems to think of them!"

Here the little curly pate came nestling against her knee.