Over the cottage fires in the evening, when the peat burnt brightly, and the "uwd" simmered in the iron crock, the events connected with the Mishteer's and Mari Vone's deaths were frequently the subjects of conversation; but Gwladys' connection with them seemed gradually forgotten. She was amongst them still, and had dropped so naturally into her old place of Nani Price's daughter that her marriage was seldom called to mind. She was well content that it should be so, for into the even flow of her innocent life it had only brought a sorrowful "troubling of the waters," from the memory of which she shrank with a self-upbraiding regret, and she never by word or deed alluded to the past.
Her simple, guileless nature was already throwing off the clouds that had darkened her life; a tide of youthful vigour and joy ran full in her veins; Nature asserted her right to be happy, and she seemed to grow in beauty as the days sped on. True, a pensive look often crossed her face, but it rather added to, than detracted from, the charm of her expression. She gradually took up all her old habits—tossing the hay in the hay-fields; binding the sheaves in the corn-fields; singing at her work in the garden; and still carrying her creel to the beds of laver, to the great relief of Nance Owen, who grew more infirm with advancing years.
"There's good she is to me, calon fâch!"[[1]] she would say. "As isel[[2]] as ever! You would never guess she had money in the bank."
Indeed, "the money in the bank" was little more than a myth to Gwladys. Mr. Lloyd, the lawyer, looked after her affairs with great interest, and the respect which every Welshman feels for those who will not touch their capital. He sent Gwladys her dividends regularly; but the blue envelope which brought them was always an anxious mystery to the simple girl, and its receipt was invariably followed by a journey to Caer Madoc in Peggi Pentraeth's donkey-cart, where, having deposited the money in the bank, she and her mother returned with lightened hearts, feeling very rich with a few sovereigns in their pockets. 'N'wncwl Jos generally drove them on these occasions, managing to receive his "pinshwn" on the same day. The journey was always kept a dead secret beforehand, for "who knew but that a donkey-cart bearing two such wealthy people as Gwladys and 'n'wncwl Jos might not be waylaid, and its occupants robbed on the road."
Not that any inhabitant of the village would do such a thing! but stray sailors from far-off ports did sometimes find their way to Mwntseison, and English tramps often passed through in their wanderings.
'N'wncwl Jos had found a comfortable resting-place for his latter years, for Lallo had come forward with kindly offers of hospitality.
"Come and live with me and Siencyn," she had said, when on his return from Mari's funeral, the old man had begun to look mournfully around him. "Thou wilt be company for Siencyn when he comes home, and when he is away thou canst help me with that andras of a pig, for he wants a firm hand over him."
"Oh, he'll get that," said 'n'wncwl Jos, "if I come to live with you; and a firm leg, too, if he doesn't behave."
And so it was settled, and Lallo found something to occupy her time and thoughts; and the old man, though he lost much of his jocularity, regained by degrees his old cheerfulness, and spent much of his time with Nani Price and Gwladys. He was always a welcome guest, not only because of his connection with Mari, but that sometimes he rowed up to Traeth Berwen, and stumped up as far as the old mill to see Ivor Parry.
"Jâr-i! Ivor is getting on," he said one evening, while Gwladys, at her work, listened with fluttering heart. "He's getting a reg'lar jolly miller; and there's beautiful cwrw Acsa brews! without my secret, too. But his heart is at Mwntseison still, though so many friends are gone from here. There's questions he asks me. 'How is Josh Howels?' he sez. 'And how is Nani Price and her daughter?'