He looked after her as her tall, graceful figure was lost to view behind the broom bushes.
"Jâr-i! she is a beautiful creature!" he thought. "How such a woman came to be born at Mwntseison I can't think!" And he trudged down the hill, whistling as he went, his thumbs in his armholes.
At the mill door stood a small boy who had come up over the sands from Mwntseison, the tide being low at the time.
"What is it?" said Ivor.
"'Tis Eynon Bryneithin is wanting to know, can he send his corn to be ground to-morrow? He was coming up to see you himself, but he got a hurt on his foot coming over the rocks, and there he is now sitting at 'The Ship,' and there he will be sitting till Catrine turns him out to-night. She sent me up to tell you."
"I will come back with thee and speak to him," said Ivor, "for I cannot grind his corn till Monday. There's Glasynys coming to-morrow, and Peutre-du next day," and Ivor took his way once more to the top of the cliff, accompanied by the boy.
The sun was setting in crimson and gold behind the sea; the silver crescent moon rising above the upland fields; the sea-gulls were flying homewards overhead; and the little sea-crows quarrelled and cawed as they settled down to their nests on the sides of the cliff. The sea shimmered and rippled in the gorgeous colours of the sunset, and the soft evening air was laden with the scent of the furze, which spread its golden mantle over every grassy knoll. Even the boy was struck by the beauty of the scene.
"'Tis a nice night," he said.
"Brâf!" said Ivor, drawing in a long breath of the perfumed air.
"What is that?" said the boy, pointing to something on the side of the path, a few yards in front of them.