“Dear, dear,” said Gwen, beginning to smooth down her apron, and trying to stroke my hair, which I shook away from her hand. “What weak creatures we are! dear, dear, why ’tis enough to fret the Lord h’all to nothing, to hearken to us, a-makin’ idols one time o’ bits o’ clay, and then when we finds they ain’t gods for us to worship, but poor sinnin’ mortals like ourselves, a-turnin’ round and hating of ’em; dear, dear, we’re that weak, Gwladys, seems to me we can never have an h’easy moment unless we gets close up to the Lord.”
“I wish you wouldn’t preach,” I said, impatiently.
“No, my dear, I ain’t a-going, but, Gwladys, I will say this, as you’re wrong; you were wrong long ago, but you’re more wrong now; you did harm with the old love, but if you ain’t lovin’ and sisterly to Owen now, you’ll do harm as you’ll rue most bitter. I’m a h’ignorant, poor spoke woman, my maid, but I know as Owen will turn to you, and if you’ll be lovin’ to him, and not spoil him, as h’everybody but David has h’always bin a-doin’, why you may help on the work the good Lord has begun. But there, you’ll take what I says in good part, my dear, and now I may as well tell you what brought me in at this hour to see you.”
“Yes, you may tell me,” I said, but I spoke wearily, there was no interest in my voice.
“I thought how ’twould be,” continued Gwen, “I guessed how the maid would fret and fret, and when you turned me out of your room so sharp, I was fit to cry with the fear on me that you thought poor old Gwen had turned selfish, and ’ad an h’eye to her own comfort and meant to leave the Squire.
“Why, my dear, it stan’s to reason I should fret. Do I not remember the old time when the old mistress was alive, and when your mother came home a bride, so grand, and rich, and beautiful; and now to know that there’ll never be a woman of the house about, and only the Squire and the little blind darlin’ to live at Tynycymmer; but you’re right, Gwladys, ’twould never do to part the Squire and the little lad; and I was ’shamed o’ myself for so much as thinkin’ of it; and before I dropped asleep, with the baby close to me, so that I could see his little face, I made up my mind that I’d think no more of the lonesomeness, but stay at Tynycymmer, after you and my mistress went away. When I settled me to do that, I felt more comfort; but still, what with the feel of not seeing my maid every day, and being worried, and kissed, and made a fool of by her; and what with the thought that she had a sore heart of her own for Mr Owen’s sake, who was coming back so different from what she fancied; I was no way as easy in my mind as I am most nights. And ’twas that, Gwladys, and the moon being at the full, and me only asleep for a few minutes, that made me set such store by the dream.”
Gwen’s last words had been very impressive, and she and I believed fully in dreams.
“What was it?” I asked excitedly, laying my hand on her arm.
“Well, my dear; ’twas as vivid as possible; though by the clock, I couldn’t ’ave bin more’n five minutes dreamin’ it. I thought we had h’all gone away to the black coal country, where there’s never a green leaf or a flower, only h’everything black, and dear, dear! as dismal as could be; and I thought that David went down into one of those unearthly places they calls a mine. Down he would go, into a place not fit for honest men, and only meant for those poor unfortnets as ’ave to trade by it.”
“I mean to go into a mine when we live at Ffynon,” I interrupted.