[[5]] "Heart to heart!"—A Druidical motto.
[[6]] Dear friends.
CHAPTER XI.
THE STORM.
"Wild waves, where are you flowing
Out on the seething bay?
Wild wind, what are you doing
Tearing the sea and tossing the spray?
There the storm bells are pealing,
There the sea-gulls are wheeling,
And the cabin-boy kneeling,
Out on the seething bay."
The next day the storm, which had threatened Mwntseison for days, was at its height. During the night the wind had increased into a furious gale, lashing the foaming waves up the sides of the cliffs, rushing up the narrow valley, and carrying huge lumps of foam into the fields above the village. Lying awake, Gwladys listened, dry-eyed, to the roar of the sea and the shriek of the wind. Every hour since that critical moment when Hugh had looked into her eyes, and they had quailed before his, seemed to bring but an access of misery to her heart. Her husband's tenderness had not failed—indeed, the tones of his voice were even more gentle than before; but she was too conscious of a subtle change, the cause of which she knew too well. Hugh no longer trusted her—no longer loved her! He was as fully aware of the state of her feelings towards Ivor as though she had told him in plain words, "I love him, and I have never loved thee as I ought." Oh, the pity of it! that she could not fling her arms about his neck and say, "Hugh, it is not true; it is a foolish fancy of thine! I love thee with all my heart," and, as she looked at Hugh's sleeping form beside her, she would have given worlds to be able thus to reassure him—but she could not. He tossed restlessly on his pillow, and she listened to his mutterings.
"What shall I do, Mari?" he murmured, in his sleep. And Gwladys knew that in the bitterness of his heart he was seeking comfort from Mari Vone.
When the morning broke, she rose, listless and weary, and, leaving Hugh still sleeping, went downstairs and busied herself with the preparations for breakfast. As she drew back the wooden bolt of the house door, it was pushed open from without, and Gwen came into the passage, as usual wrapped in her grey shawl. She looked pale and haggard, and her eyes gleamed fiercely as she brushed roughly past Gwladys, and preceded her into the kitchen. She seated herself on the settle under the chimney, where Madlen was kindling the fire.
"Thou art up early to-day, Gwen," said Gwladys, a little trembling in her voice, for a restless night had already shaken her nerves. "Wilt stay for breakfast with us?"
"Why, no; of course not! I have breakfast at home, and want none of thy charity. Where's the Mishteer?"