She was roused by the stumping of 'n'wncwl Jos's wooden leg, and rose slowly and straightened herself, and, turning to the window, saw the dark figure by the limekiln was gone; and she passed over the threshold of the penucha with a strange perception that all the delight, the passionate love, the intense enjoyment of life were left behind her, and that the future contained for her only the dim and grey quietness of evening. But this was fifteen years ago, and Hugh had never asked her again. She had never spoken to Alfred Smith afterwards. The very thought of him was hateful to her.
As the long years went by, she and Hugh were frequently thrown together in that small community. They learnt to meet without embarrassment, and to part without a pang; and gradually Hugh's strong nature found its solace in his work, and in the ever-increasing claims of his work-people upon his time and thoughts. He alone knew how hard had been the struggle to regain calmness and comparative content after the shattering of his hopes which Mari's fickleness had brought upon him; but it came at last, and he thought he had entirely got over his old love-affair.
True, no day seemed complete on which he had not seen Mari Vone. His love for her had developed into a perfect friendship—so he thought. He scarcely ever arranged a business transaction without asking her advice, and although she was not employed in his sail-shed, every incident connected with his work was laid before her, and her opinion on every matter weighed much with him.
She had never married, neither had Hugh, and their intercourse had outwardly lost every trace of the romance which once hung round it. Thus it was with Hugh Morgan; but what had the years brought to Mari? At first a deep and bitter regret, a wild unrest, which nothing but pride enabled her to hide. She knew that the misunderstanding between her and her lover was the subject of much gossiping interest around her, and she determined that no one should guess her sorrow, or see any sign of her pain. She schooled herself to meet Hugh with calmness and outward indifference, though not a tone of his voice or a change of looks or manner escaped her notice. Deep in her heart she nourished her undying love for him, and when, as time went on, she saw that a warm friendship had taken the place of love in his heart, she endeavoured, with the unselfishness of a true woman, to accommodate herself to his wishes and ideas.
The fifteen years that had passed since she and Hugh had watched the moon sink beneath the horizon with such tumultuous feelings, had scarcely altered her or aged her in the least. Time seemed to have stood still with her, or to hesitate to lay his destroying finger upon her charms of person, although on her spirit his hand was ever setting new and tender graces, and as she sat at her knitting, with her eyes fixed on the sunset, her ear was strained to catch the faintest sound of an approaching footstep. And here it comes. And in the darkening twilight Hugh Morgan stoops his head as he enters the low doorway. Mari did not rise; these visits were of too frequent occurrence for ceremony, and she merely looked up from her shining needles as the stalwart form stood before her, asking, "Where's 'n'wncwl Jos?"
"He's not come in; wilt look for him? Most like he is smoking on the lower limekiln."
"Well, I will wait."
"B'tshwr,"[[3]] said Mari, rising and pushing the rush chair towards him; "supper will be ready directly," she said. "We have fresh buttermilk from Glanynys."
"And potatoes?"
"Of course."