But what was the matter with the sea to-night? that in every pause of the conversation it sent up whisperings and murmurings, that bore in their tones such personal suggestions to both Ivor and Gwladys!
They could distinctly hear the dash of the waves on Traeth-y-daran, and in both their hearts arose the memory of the night they had spent together there.
A bright star followed in the wake of the sun, and though Ivor only said, "'Tis a fair sunset, and promises another fine day," to which she smilingly assented, yet in the hearts of both arose the memory of the star whose setting they had watched together.
Yes, though not a word of love was spoken between them, for Ivor still feared to startle his companion by a too sudden change of manner, still both felt that the barriers were down, that the cold wall of separation was broken, and that once more the tide of love was flowing full towards them.
At last, when the evening breeze grew colder, and warned them they must part, there came a louder swish from the waves below, and Gwladys, with drooping eyes, said:
"I don't forget what thou didst for me in the storm down there, Ivor. I have never thanked thee, oh, no! but it is all here," and she laid her hand on her heart.
"There is no need, lass. Between me and thee there is no need for words, we have gone through too many bitter things together not to understand each other now."
"Yes, indeed!" was all her answer; and, with great relief, from that hour she put away from her all that was bitter in the memory of the past, and began to make room in her soul for the flowers of hope that were springing up within her.
"Well, good-night, lass. I have had a happy hour—and thou?"
"Well, yes, I suppose indeed," was all she answered; but it was accompanied with such a happy smile that Ivor seemed quite content, and astonished Acsa by entering the mill yard with a merry song on his lips.