Ivor was so overcome by the sight of his dying friend that for a few moments he could only stand speechless at the foot of the bed, until he heard again the broken voice which called him by name.
Gwladys had flung herself down by the side of the bed, and with her face buried in the bedclothes, tried to control the heavy sobs which shook her frame.
"Here I am, Hugh bâch!" said Ivor, bending over Hugh's prostrate form.
"Art there, lad? Give me thine hand. Wilt forgive me, Ivor, for all the pain I have caused thee? 'Twas done in ignorance; say thou wilt forgive me, lad. Let us part friends, as we have always lived."
"Oh, Hugh! I have nothing—nothing to forgive thee; only to be deeply grateful to thee. Thou hast filled my life with kindnesses, and above all, with thy friendship. I have not been worthy of it, but I have never wilfully done anything to betray it."
"No," said Hugh; "we can meet on the other side with open brows—friends for ever, Ivor! Gwladys—thine hand! Lift my head a little without moving my body." And Mari, seeing that Gwladys was too overcome to move, passed her arm gently under his head.
"That will do. Now I must make haste," and placing Gwladys' hand in Ivor's, he looked at him with serious but calm eyes. "Ivor, I leave her to thee; take care of her for my sake; thou know'st now my wishes. Fforwel, Ivor! I feel my life is going. Fforwel, Gwladys, my beloved child!"
There was a long silence, only broken by the panting breath and Gwladys' sobs.
Ivor had gently laid her hand on the coverlet, and retired once more to the foot of the bed.
"Who is holding my head?"