Did Pabo know what was being done at Caio? No—assuredly not. She who had read his thoughts and knew his heart was well aware that he would readily die himself rather than that any of his people should suffer. He knew nothing. They, with a rare exception only, would meet their fate, the men give their necks to the halter, the women submit to be made widows rather than that their master and chief should fall into the hands of his enemies. Brave, true, faithful hearts! But was it right that they should be called on to endure such sacrifices? She shuddered. What, would she have him taken and die an ignominious death? Him whom she loved better than any one—with a one, soul-filling love? Could she endure such a sacrifice as that? Then she heard the step of Howel coming to the door.
He entered and was with her alone.
"Morwen," said he, in a low voice, "I shall be able shortly to do no more for my dear chief. Should you ever see him again, tell him from us all—all but perhaps one who is beside himself with fear—that we die willingly. But with him I can no more communicate. That must be done by you. It is expedient that he should fly farther; search will be made everywhere for him. Where he is, that I know not, though I may have my suspicion. Do this—at nightfall mount the valley of the Annell till you come to the stone of Cynwyl."
"The stone of Cynwyl," repeated Morwen mechanically.
"Take a pebble out of the brook and place it upon the rock. That will be a sign that he is not safe, and must fly to other quarters."
"What other tokens be there?"
"Two pebbles was to be the sign that all was safe and he was to return. That is not the case at this present time. Remember, then—One pebble."
"And two calls him hither?"
"Two pebbles. But remember, One only."
"Two pebbles," said Morwen, but so that none heard it: it was said to her own heart.