It"s no wonder if you are drowned crossing that nasty place in such a storm, You are like a wet sea-gull. If you were a baby you wouldn"t be more trouble," etc., etc.
Cardo still waited until he saw in the kitchen the blaze of freshly-piled logs on the culm fire, Gwen"s voice still reaching him in snappish, reproving tones through the closed door. Then he turned away, and though he was bodily cold and saturated with the sea water, his heart was full of warmth and a newly-awakened sense of the joy and fulness of life.
[1] Oatmeal and water kept until fermentation has commenced, and then boiled into a thin porridge.
[2] Dear heart.
[3] Woe is me.
CHAPTER V.
GWYNNE ELLIS ARRIVES.
For a few days, Valmai, although she had received no serious harm from her watery adventure, still felt a little languor and indisposition, which kept her a prisoner in the house. As she lay on the old shabby sofa, her time was fully occupied by reading to her uncle, books of Welsh history or the effusions of the old bards, which interested him so much. Ever and anon, while he searched for a reference or took notes of some special pa.s.sage, she would fall into a dreamy reverie, a happy smile on her lips and a light in her eyes which her uncle saw not. Yes, Cardo loved her! She knew now that he did, and the world was changed. She would make haste to get well and find him again on the sh.o.r.e, on the cliffs, or on the banks of the Berwen. Her uncle had heard from Gwen of her drenched condition on the night of the storm, but had already forgotten the circ.u.mstance, and only recalled it when he missed her active help in some arrangement of his heavy books.
"How did you get wet, merch i?"
"Coming over the Rock Bridge I was, uncle. I had been to see Nance, and the storm increased so much when I was there that when I returned the waves washed right over the bridge."
"Well, to be sure! Now on the next page you will find a splendid description of such a storm; go on, my girl," and Valmai continued the reading.
Meanwhile, Cardo, after a good night"s rest, was no whit the worse for his battle with the storm; but he was full of fears lest Valmai"s more delicate frame should suffer. He rose with the dawn and made his way over the dewy gra.s.s across the valley, and into the field where Essec Powell"s cows were just awaking and clumsily rising from their night"s sleep under the quiet stars. The storm had disappeared as suddenly as it had arisen, and all nature was rejoicing in the birth of a new day.
Gwen was already approaching with pail and milking stool as he crossed the field through which a path led to Abersethin. She dropped a bob curtsey and proceeded to settle her pail under "Corwen" and to seat herself on her low stool.
"Your young mistress got very wet last night?" said Cardo, in an inquiring tone.
"Yes, Ser, did you see her?"
"Yes--I was crossing the bridge at the same time. Is she any the worse for her wetting?"
"Not much the matter with her," said Gwen; ""tis lying down she is, a good deal,--miladi is a bit lazy, I think," and with this scant information he had perforce to be content.
When he returned to Brynderyn to breakfast, he found his father looking somewhat discomposed as he read and re-read a letter which he had just received. He made no comment upon its contents, however, but looking up said:
"You must have found the storm very interesting, Cardo; what kept you out so late?"
He did not add that he had paced up and down for an hour in his bedroom after retiring for the night, peering out into the darkness in great anxiety for his son"s safety.
"Very interesting, father; nothing less than a ducking on the Rock Bridge! The storm was raging furiously there, and a girl was crossing in the midst of it; she was in some danger, and I was able to help her to cross in safety."
"One of our congregation?" asked the old man.
"By Jove! no, father; there isn"t one girl under seventy in our congregation!"
"A Methodist, then, I suppose--one of Essec Powell"s lot?"
"Yes," said Cardo, beginning to redden; "but surely you wouldn"t let a woman be drowned without making an effort to save her because she was a Methodist?"
"I did not say so, Cardo; but certainly I should prefer my son"s risking his life for a member of the church."
Cardo made a gesture of impatience which his father saw and felt. It irritated him, and, fixing his eyes steadily on his son"s face, he said:
"I don"t know how it is, but of late that subject has frequently been on your tongue. I have no cause to love the Methodists, and I hope they are not now going to add to my reasons for disliking them by coming between me and my son. I simply wish you not to mention them to me, Cardo--that is not much to ask."
"I will not, father," said Cardo, pushing his plate away; "I will never mention them to you again--"
"Good!" replied his father. "I have a letter here which I would like to read to you, but not this morning, as I am very busy."
"All right, father--in the afternoon," said Cardo; and when Betto appeared to clear away the breakfast things he was lost in a profound reverie, his long legs stretched out before him and his hands buried deep in his pocket.
Betto tried in vain to recall him to outward surroundings by clattering her china and by sundry "h"ms" and coughs, but Cardo still remained buried in thought and jingling his money in his pocket. At last she _accidentally_ jerked his head with her elbow.
"h.e.l.lo, Betto! what is the matter?"
"My dear boy," said Betto, "did I hurt you? Where were you so late last night?"
"Oh, out in the storm. Have you seen my wet clothes? I flung them out through my bedroom window; you will find them in a heap on the garden wall."
"Wet clothes? Caton pawb! did you get in the sea then?"
"Oh, yes! tumbled over and over like a pebble on the beach," he said, rising; "but you know such duckings are nothing to me; I enjoy them!"
Betto looked after him with uplifted hands and eyes.
"Well, indeed! there never was such a boy! always in some mischief; but that"s how boys are!"
Cardo went out whistling, up the long meadow to the barren corner, where the furze bushes and wild thyme and harebells still held their own against the plough and harrow; and here, sitting in deep thought, and still whistling in a low tone, he held a long consultation with himself.
"No! I will never try again!" he said at last, as he rose and took his way to another part of the farm.
In the afternoon he entered his father"s study, looking, in his manly strength, and with his bright, keen eyes, out of keeping with this dusty, faded room. His very clothes were redolent of the breezy mountain-side.
Meurig Wynne still pored over apparently the self-same books which he was studying when we first saw him.
"Sit down, Cardo," he said, as his son entered; "I have a good deal to say to you. First, this letter," and he hunted about amongst his papers. "It is from an old friend of mine, Rowland Ellis of Plas Gwynant. You know I hear from him occasionally--quite often enough.
It is waste of stamps, waste of energy, and waste of time to write when you have nothing special to say. But he has something to say to-day.
He has a son, a poor, weak fellow I have heard, as far as outward appearance and bodily health go--a contrast to you, Cardo--but a clever fellow, a senior wrangler, and an M.A. of his college. He has just been ordained, and wants to recruit his health before he settles down to a living which is in the gift of his uncle, and which will be vacant in a short time; and as he offers very good remuneration, I don"t see why he shouldn"t come here. He would be a companion to you. What do you say to it?"
"As far as I am concerned, let him come by all means, if you wish it, father; it can make no difference to me."
"Indeed it will, though! You will have to show him about the neighbourhood, and lay yourself out to make his stay here as pleasant as possible, for he will pay well."
"Pay!" said Cardo, with a frown, his sense of hospitality chafing under the idea. "Pay! that spoils it all. If you take my advice in the matter, you will write to your friend, and tell him to send his son here by all means, but decline to take any remuneration."