"No, I have not. But then I don't go into the village much, nor do I attend to gossip. All I know of you comes from Mrs. Bell, and she adores you."
Gwen crossed her feet and folded her hands. "My father and I never got on well together," she said rapidly and in a low voice, looking down as she spoke. "He treated me very harshly, and we very often quarrelled."
"That was not your fault, I swear," cried the lover impetuously.
"No. I can honestly say that it wasn't. But every one knew that we did not get on well together, and when my father was murdered, some people said"--she drew another long breath--"that I--I--murdered him."
She looked up with a frightened glance, as if she expected Hench to turn and fly after hearing such a confession. Instead of doing so, the young man laughed aloud and lifted her from the bench into his arms. "What a silly thing to say," he murmured, pressing her to his breast.
"You--you--don't---believe it?" gasped Gwen, making no attempt to get away.
"Darling, it is not worth my while to answer such a question. I love you and I have done so from the first moment I set eyes on you. Can I believe that the most perfect girl in the world is guilty of anything, much less of such a dreadful crime?"
"But people say----"
"I won't hear another word. Thus I stop your mouth"--and before Gwen was aware, Owain had kissed her full on the lips.
"Oh," she said, half frightened, half delighted, "how can you!" Then suddenly she slipped from his arms. "No! No! Only when you learn the truth about my father's death and end this scandal, will I--will I----"