It was Gwladys who spoke first.
"See how the moon has travelled, Ivor; she is near her setting; the dawn is not far off. Let us go. What will my mother think?"
"She will think thou art staying with Nance Owen, as thou often hast before. Dost see that bright star? We will wait until it sets! So short a time for happiness out of all our long lives, Gwladys!"
"The good God will not grudge it us!" she whispered.
"When that star sinks down behind the sea I will loosen my hold of thee, fanwylyd; but until then thou art mine—and mine only! We are alone in the world—two ships which have sailed together half-way across the ocean, and now must separate for ever!"
Gwladys' long-drawn sobs had subsided, and left only a little catch in her breath, which Ivor heard with yearning tenderness.
"'Tis hard for us both, love; but God grant thee comfort as the years go by. Thou wilt, perhaps, gain peace, and learn to forget the past."
"Never, never!" said the girl. "Calm and peace! where are they coming from, Ivor? Oh, never, never!"
"'Tis a cruel thing, this life which is before us, lass. If I had known that Hugh had set his love on thee, I might have strangled mine at its birth, even though I had killed myself in doing so; but now, 'tis too late, indeed!"
"God knows about it, whatever," said Gwladys between her sobs.