"Wel wyr!" she said, "they have lighted a second candle—and shop candles, depend on it! Dear, dear! there's nice it is to be rich!"
In the little room under the thatch, where Hugh Morgan had retired for the night, there was no candle or lamp, but it was flooded by a stream of moonlight, which made a slanting path across the rough, uneven floor. Hugh crossed and re-crossed it as he walked with folded arms and bent head up and down—up and down until the moon was high in the sky. A rough wooden bedstead and bed occupied one dark end of the long, low room, which was otherwise destitute of furniture, excepting a worm-eaten bench which stood against the bare, white-washed wall. At the further end, in the dark shadow, stood two or three generations of spinning-wheels, in various stages of decay, accompanied by a few old cloaks and fishing-nets hanging over the rough rafters.
Here Hugh Morgan set himself to face his troubles and to fight with his angry feelings; and if, when the morning dawned, he had neither chased away the one nor conquered the other, he had at least gained courage to meet them with fortitude and patience. Suddenly he started, with his eyes fixed steadily on the further end of the room—for there, in the shadow, stood Mari Vone, her tall, graceful figure stooping forward a little, one white arm hanging by her side, the other raised and with finger pointing upwards, seemed to remind him that though he sought in vain for comfort on earth, from Heaven he might still gather help and strength! Her golden hair was unbound, and hung, as he remembered it of old, in flowing waves below her waist; and as he gazed earnestly into the darkness, her face, with every feature and lineament distinctly marked, appeared before him—the deep blue eyes, the white eyelids that too often drooped over them, the parted lips, the dimpled chin—all were distinctly visible. He did not stop to ask himself how she had come there, but with the instinctive relief which her presence always brought him, he stretched out his hands with an exclamation of greeting, and, stepping across the bar of moonlight into the dark shadow, stood face to face with—nothing!—nothing but the old spinning-wheels and nets, and cloaks of different hues which hung down beside them. He stood baffled and astounded.
"Could these old rags have shaped themselves in his imagination into Mari's beautiful form?"
He returned to his seat on the bench, and tried once more to recall the picture to his mental vision—but in vain. She was gone! And Hugh turned again to face his loneliness and sorrow. Curiously enough, as the night advanced, his thoughts were withdrawn in a great measure from Gwladys, and were occupied with Mari Vone. A sore feeling of resentment against her took the place of the placid, contented friendship which for so many years had reigned in his heart.
"It was her fault," he thought—"all this bitter trouble that had come upon him! Everybody in the village knew that she had jilted him shamefully! And what did that mad woman mean?—'The girl who has loved you all her life!' But whatever she meant, it was some fancy of her disordered brain!"
Mari Vone had injured him—had spoiled his life, and had laid him open to the temptation of a foolish headstrong passion—a passion that had already died out within him like the furze bush on yonder hillside that blazed up so merrily when the farmer's boys lighted it to-night at ten o'clock, and now see, scarcely a spark remained. So had his passion for Gwladys died out within the last few days, and Mari Vone had been the cause of all his mistakes and troubles! As for Gwladys, he bore her no resentment.
"Poor child, poor child!" he thought; "it has been no fault of hers! I alone am to blame! I was the Mishteer, and she dared not refuse me! But Ivor—how has he repaid me? But I will watch and see that at least he shall not lead Gwladys into mischief. Could they have met clandestinely? But no! the thought was unworthy of him or of her! But yet—he would watch! Yes—watch!" And for the first time in his life the giants of suspicion and jealousy clamoured loud at the door of his heart.
But he showed no outward sign of disturbance next morning when, rather late, he entered Gwladys' room. Mari Vone stood beside her, and, leaning over the still pale invalid, raised one finger to enforce silence; and the attitude instantly reminded Hugh of the figure he had seen by the old spinning wheels, and the feelings of resentment which it had roused again took possession of him.
"Hush!" said Mari, "she is sleeping!"