"How's all going on at Mwntseison?" he said at last.
"Oh, just as usual," said Mari, with a smile. "Poor Lallo seems to be coming back to her cheery ways a little, though she looks much older; and Gwladys, too, is getting quite well and strong—she is busy in the garden every day now, and often she comes down to me. We like to sit together, Ivor, though we don't talk about the past—some things, thou know'st, are too sacred for words. But we understand each other, and love to sit silent, with our knitting and our thoughts."
"Yes," was all his answer; but she knew he was grateful for her reference to Gwladys.
"Wel wyr," said 'n'wncwl Jos, as she bolted the door after his departure, "thee and Ivor are such friends, perhaps thee'lt make a match of it after all."
Mari sat down to laugh. "Oh, 'n'wncwl Jos!" she said, "will you never remember my age? I am ten years older than Ivor."
"So thou art, so thou art, merch i; but upon my dear little deed, nobody would guess it."
As the spring advanced, and the days lengthened, Mari frequently walked out over the cliffs to gather bracken for Peggi Pentraeth's donkey, sometimes going as far as the brow of the hill, from which she could look down at the old mill in the valley. At these times, Ivor, seeing her from below, would run up the sheep path to meet her, just for a word of news from Mwntseison—just in the hopes of hearing something of Gwladys. And Mari, who knew well what drew him towards her, and what lent wings to the vigorous steps with which he climbed the hill, would always reward him with some scrap of information.
"Price Merthyr preached at Tan-y-groes Chapel last night, Ivor," she said one evening, as they walked slowly over the cliff together. "Gwladys and I went to hear him. Her mother questioned us close when we came home about the sermon; indeed, we remembered pretty well, both of us. There was the pwnc[[1]] after the sermon, and we stopped for that" (Ivor listened eagerly), "but not for the singing class, for, of course, Gwladys cannot join in that yet."
"B'd siwr!" said Ivor, with a shake of his head, for he knew, and felt himself, that to join in the singing would look like disrespect to the Mishteer's memory; "as far as that goes, 'twas a long time before I could sing myself. The first tones of my voice brought the memory of Hugh Morgan to my mind, and the singing seemed to die away."
"I cannot tell how it is," said Mari, "but I can sing. My heart seems strangely happy. It seems such a thin veil between us and Hugh, and life is so short! so very short at the utmost, it is not worth while mourning for anyone. But I must go. See those fishing boats going in? I must see if they have any fish for 'n'wncwl Jos's supper. Fforwel, Ivor!" and she waved her hand at parting.