"Does she?" said the old man, with a little show of interest. "Does
Sara say so?"
"Yes," said Morva; "she says she is sure of it."
"Perhaps indeed! I hope she is right, whatever!" And he would lay his hands on Morva's and Tudor's heads, both of whom leant upon his knees and looked lovingly into his face.
[1] "Blessed be!"
CHAPTER XVIII
SARA
For Gwenda and Will, from this time forward, all went "merry as a marriage bell." Early in the spring their wedding took place in London, and when one morning Morva brought from Pont-y-fro post office a packet for Ebben Owens containing a wedge of wedding cake and cards, he evinced some show of interest. On the box was written in Gwenda's pretty firm writing,
"With love to Garthowen, from William and Gwenda Owen."
Ebben rubbed his knees with satisfaction.
"There now," he said, "in her own handwriting, too! Well, indeed! I thought she was a nice young lady that day she came here, but, caton pawb! I never thought she would marry our Will."