"I hear Morva's voice in the yard. Will I call her in?" said Ann, and she tapped at the little side window.
"No, no," said Gethin, "I will take it to her," and he went out, carrying the gaudy box in his hand.
"Morva!" he called, and under the elder tree, where she was counting the chickens at roost on its branches, the girl stood facing him, the rising moon shining full upon her. "Morva, lass," he said, drawing near; "'tis the present I told thee of. Wilt have it?" and there was a diffident tremor in his voice, which was not its usual tone; for to-night he was as shy as a schoolboy as he opened the box and drew out the shining necklace. The iridescent colours gleamed in the moonlight and Morva exclaimed in admiration:
"Oh, anwl! is that for me?"
"Yes, for thee, lass; for who else?" said Gethin. "Let me fasten it on for thee. 'Tis a tiresome clasp," and as she bent her shapely neck and his fingers touched it for a moment, she gently drew further away.
"Dost like them?" said Gethin, looking from the shining shells to the glowing face above them.
"Oh, they are beautiful!" she answered, feeling them with her fingers. "I will go in and show them to Ann. I haven't said 'thank you,' but I do thank thee indeed, Gethin;" and he followed her into the "hall," where the glowing light from the fire and the candle fell on the changing glitter of the shells.
"Oh, there's beautiful!" said Ann. "Come near, Morva, and let me look at them. Well, indeed, they are fit for a lady."
"Thee must have paid a lot for that," said Ebben Owens, rather reproachfully.
"Not much indeed, father, but I wasn't going to forget my little playfellow, whatever."