"What is it?" said Ivor, listening with his pipe in his hand; and again on the night wind came the long-drawn mournful tones of a woman's voice, who sang some old-world melody with a wild refrain.
"Mark my word, 'tis that Gwen Owen again!" said Robert, "that mad woman from Mwntseison; she has taken to coming here lately, and sits on the edge of the cliffs, always at night, and always singing the same tune. I am beginning to know it quite well; indeed, I think I must have heard my mother sing it, and I believe she called it a Witch Song."
"I seem to know it, too," said Ivor. "Let us go out and listen."
"Howyr bâch," said Acsa, "there's foolish you are to tempt the Almighty like that! when He has given you a warm kitchen to sit in, you go wilfully out to listen to a witch tune! Take care she doesn't draw you away with it; she is Peggi Shân's grand-daughter, and you know, Robert the Mill, that your own uncle Simon was drawn by her singing out there on her father's smack, till he was lost in the fog and drowned! Ach y fi! don't venture."
"Twt, twt," said Robert, "she's far enough from us here." And he slipped back the wooden bolt and opened the door.
"Shut it after you, then!" screamed Acsa, "for I won't let the tune in here; but, oh! there it is in the chimney again!" And she set herself to her scrubbing to deaden the weird sounds.
Outside Robert and Ivor listened, while full and clear on the night-wind came Gwen's voice, sometimes in a low, soft, wailing tone, almost lost on the breeze; sometimes rising as if in tones of entreaty; at other times in passionate words that almost ended in a shriek.
"Caton pawb!" said Ivor, "she is madder than I thought she was!" And, as a large white owl flitted silently by them, the two men started nervously.
"It's enough to make one's blood run cold. There! do you hear the crows? She has startled them from their nests on the cliffs."
"Poor Gwen!" said Ivor. "I never thought she would come to this. Let us go near her and hear what she says."