The work in the sail-shed went on as usual in the following week—the same hum of voices, the same chatter and laughter amongst the women. The only difference was that Ivor Parry looked ill and worn.
"He had been out fishing one night," so ran the story, "and returning in the early morning had slipped as he jumped from his boat, and falling on a slippery rock had had what 'n'wncwl Jos called 'a nasty old shake.' When asked about it, he had treated it with indifference, saying, 'I did slip and twisted my back a little; but, caton pawb! what is that?' And he had been as busy as ever at his work, scoffing at any suggestions of sympathy."
Gwladys, at the further end of the long shed, worked quietly at her canvas, with drooping eyelids and flushed cheeks. She knew she was an object of interest to those around her, and was thankful to remember that no one knew anything about her love for Ivor. She heard the comments upon his fall and his altered appearance with a strange callousness which frightened her. Her heart was like a stone within her; she never turned her eyes towards the other end of the shed where the harder and heavier part of the work was carried on by the men. Fortunately for her, it is not considered etiquette in Wales for a lover to pay marked attentions to his betrothed in public, so she was spared the pain of conversing with Hugh in Ivor's presence, except upon the ordinary topics connected with the work. But although Hugh adhered to the usual fashion of ignoring his sweetheart's presence before the curious eyes of the gossips, he yet held his head more proudly than ever. There was a light in his eyes and a smile on his lips which added a fresh charm to his handsome face; and as he gave directions to his work-people, there was a ring of happiness in his voice which plainly told its own tale. One thing troubled him—Ivor was suffering! Of that he was sure. And as it drew near closing time, he spoke to his friend words of serious advice and of kindly sympathy; for Hugh could be as tender as a woman in spite of his burly frame.
"Look here, 'mach-geni!"[[1]] he said, sitting on a bale in front of Ivor; "this will never do. Every hour thou art getting to look paler and thinner; thou must stop in bed to-morrow, and I'll send to Abersethin for Dr. Hughes. I'm afraid thou hast got more of a wrench than thou knowest of."
"Not a bit," laughed Ivor; but his laugh had not its usual light-heartedness. "I know exactly what the wrench was—it hurt a good deal; but dost think I'm going to stop in bed and send for a doctor? I never did such a thing in my life! Twt, twt, 'twill be all right if thou wilt let me alone, and not bother me about my looks."
Hugh had never known him so irritable before, and he looked at him critically as he left him.
"Well, if thou won't listen to advice, I can't help thee."
"What about that order for the Sea Nymph?" Ivor called after him.
Hugh shook his head. "I cannot take it," he said; "the time is too short. Send them to Rees of Carnarfon; it will be quite as convenient for the owners, and more so for me," and he returned slowly towards Ivor. "I am going to be married next week," he said; "come down this evening, lad, and I'll tell thee all about it. Thou must sprack up, and arrange some jollification for the people. We'll have two days' holidays, and I'll leave all the fun in thine hands, Ivor, only come to me for the money. I know I can trust thee to manage it all. Dost hear, man? Why, what's the matter with thee? Dr. Hughes shall see thee to-night, or my name's not Hugh Morgan."
"'Twas only a wrench," said Ivor; "it's all over, and I'll see to the bonfires and shooting."