"Yes," was all she could say in reply; and once more Ivor lifted her over the surf, and placed her on the tiny beach. He sprang back into his boat as if afraid to trust himself near her.
"Fforwel!" he said, in a hard, dry voice.
"Fforwel!" answered Gwladys. And with eyes fixed upon each other they separated, every wave of the ebbing tide increasing the distance between them.
As soon as Ivor had passed the point of rocks which enclosed the little creek, he set to with hard rowing to reach the further end of the harbour, passing by Mwntseison still asleep. His face was white and hard set, his hair hung in damp clumps on his forehead, and as he rowed his pale face wore an expression of sullen anger,—in truth, an expression very foreign to his general disposition. Having reached the southern side where the cliffs towered higher and more frowning from the sea, where the fishing boats never came, he was as much alone as if he had been off some far desert island. With an angry motion he flung both the oars from him, rattling noisily as they fell, and sitting moodily in the stern he gave himself up to his bitter reflections. He did not feel the cool morning breezes on his damp face, nor hear the lapping of the water under the keel of his boat as it rose and fell on the gentle swells; all so calm and peaceful around him, and he so full of tumult within! It was just the hour between the dark and the dawn; the sea was of the rough grey of a herring's back, melting into the soft white of the horizon. The gurgle of the fish coming up to the surface for a breath of air was distinctly audible in the silence, and as the flush of the dawn rose higher behind the hills, all sorts of mysterious sounds awoke round the little boat. The hoarse cry of an invisible puffin came over the waters—a soft whispering of the morning breeze filled the air, the strangely human cries of the young seals which still haunt the caves in the cliffs of Mwntseison, all fell unheeded on Ivor's ear. He was fighting with an emotion which he had never known before—jealousy of Hugh Morgan! a blind, unreasoning anger; and underlying it, a desperate conviction that in the end he should submit to his fate—for to fight against the Mishteer was as impossible to him—as contrary to his nature—as it would have been to commit a crime! And it was rebellion against this iron destiny which filled his heart with impotent anger. From the moment when he had caught the last glimpse of Gwladys standing solitary on the shore of the creek, he had known how it would be with him—how strong and unbending were the bonds which compelled him to give his best to his friend.
"As for her," he thought, "she would forget him, would soon learn to be content with her lot—yes, more than content—for no woman could be loved by Hugh and not love him in return! That he never doubted; but for himself?" Self-sacrifice as an abstract idea had never dawned upon him. He was but an untaught man, whose only education had been what a tender nature and a simple country life had brought him; but one thing was plain to him, he must efface himself, and Hugh Morgan must have his way!
Meanwhile Gwladys remained motionless, watching the little boat, until, a mere speck, it rounded a ridge of rocks which jutted out into the bay, and behind which lay Mwntseison; then she dragged her weary steps up the steep cliff from the shore, following a shepherd's path through the broom and heather bushes, till she reached the top of the hill, where she sat down to watch the rising sun. Behind her lay the sea, with its soft sighings and tender whisperings, the old world of her happiness and her youth—and Ivor! before her lay the cold east, from whose mysterious bosom the dawn was breaking, and as she watched, the sun rose and tipped each little blade and leaf with gold. Here, kneeling between the broom bushes, while the morning breeze ruffled her hair, alone on the hillside, she struggled in an agony of tears and supplications to put away from her the memory of the past night, with its golden moon of love and its bitter waves of sorrow—and to turn her face towards that path of duty which lay before her. At another time how she would have delighted in the sounds and sights around her! the dewdrops glistening on the sea-pinks, the gossamer webs stretched like frosted silver from bush to bush, the rabbits peeping out of their burrows, the shepherd awakening his flock, the sea-gulls sailing high above the hill top, where the little sea-crows were beginning the day with a squabble; but it was all lost upon Gwladys, who reached her mother's house while the village was still sleeping under the early morning sun. There was only the wooden bolt to push back, and she knew the simple trick by which it was reached from the outside.
"Why! thou hast risen early," said her mother, as she saw her enter. "What! is Nance Owen up so early?"
"I have not been there!"
There was something in the girl's voice which startled her mother.
"Where, then?" she cried, sitting up in bed.