And with a pleasant nod Hugh Morgan left the house. It requires nothing less than a death, or a parting for years, to make a Welsh husband kiss his wife before stranger eyes.
Gwladys, when she had finished her own part of the brewing, went to bed and to sleep, while Hugh sat over his accounts in the sail-shed until his candle burnt low and the last column was added up. Then, with a satisfied "There!" he pushed the book away from him, and leaning back in his chair, fell into a heavy sleep, quite unconscious that a grey, ghost-like figure hovered round and round the old sail-shed, sometimes pressing her ear to the keyhole, sometimes peering in through the tiny window of the office; making no sound on the soft turf that crept up close to the boarded walls of the shed, for she carried her wooden shoes in her hand while she watched the busy man bending over his accounts, and at last, in healthy fatigue, throwing himself back for a refreshing sleep. Yes! so heavily Hugh Morgan slept, that he did not hear the creeping footsteps outside, nor yet the crackling of burning wood around him, nor smelt the sickening fumes from burning sails and ropes, which served to deaden his oppressed senses.
When Ivor Parry, "with his breath in his throat," reached the burning building, he found the whole population of Mwntseison gathered round it, everyone eager to help, but all paralysed by the horror of the scene. Where was the Mishteer? he who would have been foremost in helping and directing the surging crowd; his absence took the nerve and pluck out of everybody, and the fear that he might be in the shed intensified the excitement.
Gwladys, overcome by terror, lay swooning in her mother's arms. She opened her eyes when Ivor's voice reached her ears.
"Save him, Ivor, thy friend! save him if thou lov'st me!"
Her mother, who overheard her words, looked round in affright, lest any other ear should have caught the frenzied accents.
Ivor was gone in a moment. Leaving the crowd, he passed round to the back of the shed where the little office was situated, and which the flames had not yet reached. One woman was already there. It was Mari Vone, who, in frantic excitement, dragged at the boards which formed the walls of the building. Her whole being seemed centred in the effort to break a way into the office. Ivor wasted no time in words, but joined her at once in her mad tearing at the boards, and with his additional strength, one at length gave way, and in a few seconds a hole large enough to pass through rewarded their efforts. A column of smoke rushed with such fury through the opening that, for a moment, both were thrown back. But, not to be beaten, Ivor pressed in through the blinding smoke, followed closely by Mari. They heard the shouts and cheers of a small portion of the crowd, who had now assembled on that side of the building and watched their efforts; but there was no time for thought, for fear, or for conjecture; only one mad impulse, to search on the ground while their breath lasted. Not at the desk! not at the cupboard! Even at that moment of strained suspense the memory of a tune passed through Ivor's brain.
"Come, flames of yellow, red, and blue,
Help! for you are my servants true!"
Stumbling at the door, he stooped, Mari with him, and felt the Mishteer's body lying prone across the threshold. A heavy beam lay over his chest; his feet and legs were already licked by the curling flames; while his head and shoulders lay within the little office. Ivor saw or felt the situation at once, and Mari, whose busy fingers groped with his in the smoke, understood it, too. With almost superhuman strength, he lifted the heavy beam, while Mari dragged Hugh gently, but firmly, away from its crushing weight.
The density of the smoke was not quite so great on the floor as it was higher up, and to this fact Hugh Morgan hitherto owed his life. He was quickly carried to the breach in the wall, which willing hands had enlarged during the few seconds occupied in his deliverance, and, when Ivor and Mari emerged with their silent burden, a shout of joy rose from the people—a shout which quickly subsided into an awestruck silence when the straightened form lay motionless on the grass before them. Not a moment too soon had they made their escape, for the office was now in a blaze of swirling flames.