Ten minutes later Rhys, leaning stupidly against the door-frame where Davy had left him, felt a pair of warm arms steal round his neck, and a loving voice say, 'Poor Rhys! What do it matter? There do be other farms to be had. We shall not lose each other if we do be waiting. You have got a lease somewhere that shall upset old Pryse. And look you, Rhys, neither Pryse nor his lordship have leases of their lives. He may not live to turn you out. Do not be disheartened. Trust God, do your duty, and leave the rest to Him!'
Poor Rhys! The very first words of sympathy had sunk into his soul. He had never known Cate so loving in all his life. She had been wayward, teasing, and tantalising, but never thus. His trial sank to nothing in the new discovery. He clasped her close, and took courage. Half his fear had been to lose her.
A loud summons from Ales recalled Rhys to neglected duties, and barefooted Cate sped homewards to have a sharp-tongued contest with her mother, who renewed an old cry that 'Cate needn't be spoiling her market for Rhys Edwards, whatever.'
The news spread rapidly that Mrs. Edwards had notice to quit the farm next Michaelmas, and commiseration was general.
But when Jane Edwards, supported by Rhys and Owen Griffith, walked into Mr. Pryse's apartment at the inn on the 9th of October, Caerphilly Fair Day, neither she nor Rhys made any allusion to the notice received or looked in any way daunted.
She put down her money, and asked for her receipt.
The agent eyed her curiously, but in the face of two witnesses he required to guard his words.
As Mrs. Edwards examined carefully the receipt he gave, he remarked, with his sinister smile—
'His lordship requires you to pay due regard to the ejectment notice served upon you. He cannot permit tenants at will to build on his land without express permission.'
'If his lordship do be knowing anything of that ejectment notice, he will know that it be just so much waste paper. Good-day, sir.'