CHAPTER VI.

CHANGES.

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."

"Right," said Hugh; but he shook his head as he went away.

Later on in the evening, as Madlen was preparing supper under the big open chimney in the kitchen, a step disturbed her.

"Who's that?" she said snappishly, for the uwd[2] was at the point of boiling. "Oh, Ivor Parry!"

"Yes," he answered, walking in unceremoniously. "I wanted to see the Mishteer."

"Wel wyr! didst expect to see him here? He is up with Gwladys Price, of course. Howyer bach![3] There's going to be changes! I tell thee, Ivor Parry, he's perfectly mad about the girl. Wel, dwla dwl yw dwl hên!"[4]

"Will he come to his supper?"

"Most likely not; not even potatoes and buttermilk will bring him home now."

But her prognostications were false to-night, for at that moment Hugh entered, bright and breezy.

"Hello, Ivor! just in time for supper, 'mach-geni; sit down. Art better?"

"Oh, all right," he said, sitting down to the table, on which Madlen placed the smoking "uwd" with a large jug of milk. In every other cottage in Mwntseison wooden bowls and wooden spoons would have been used, but the Mishteer's table was graced by blue-rimmed basins and silver spoons.

"I wanted to see thee, Ivor; we've not had a talk for some time."

"No, I have been too busy."

"And so have I, in my deed," said Hugh. "What between the torn sails of the Albatross--the new boat which is building for me--and a few new things I am getting for my house--well, the time has seemed to fly. What dost think of the new 'coffor' I have bought for Gwladys?" and he opened with pride the doors of a handsome oak wardrobe. "The best piece of work John 'Saer'[5] has ever done, I think." The shelves inside were well filled with stores of snowy napery, sheets, and table-cloths, etc., luxuries little known in Mwntseison. "And these drawers at the bottom to keep her clothes! Mari Vone has seen to it all for me."

"A splendid coffor, indeed," said Ivor; "and John Saer knew who he was working for, I think." But then he added a most irrelevant remark, "Poor Mari Vone!"

"What dost mean by that?" said Hugh, flushing a dark red.

"Oh, nothing," said Ivor. "I was only thinking how dull it must be for her to arrange the household for another girl."

"Dull!" said Hugh earnestly, and with a momentary sadness in his voice. "Thou art mistaken, Ivor. Mari Vone knows not what dullness means. She would laugh to hear thy words."

"When art going to be married?"

"Why, on Tuesday," said Hugh; "of course I expect thee to be my teilwr. Pretty Gwennie Hughes and Laissabeth Owen are to be bridesmaids."

"That is what I came down to speak about," said Ivor. "I thought very likely thou wouldst want me to be teilwr."

"Of course! who else?"

"Well, I'm afraid I cannot be that," said Ivor awkwardly, digging his hands in his pockets. "See this letter, and say if thou thinkest I ought to refuse so good an offer."

Hugh took the letter with a look of serious surprise, and read it without comment from beginning to end; then he folded it up deliberately, and returned it to Ivor, looking him full in the face, and before his honest eyes Ivor's quailed and were cast down.

"Thou wilt better thyself very much by accepting their offer; but I never thought thou wouldst leave me, Ivor. I would have given thee as much as that had I known thou wert looking for it. I have, perhaps, been slow in rewarding thy merit; but, Ivor, I looked upon thee as a brother, and I meant only to wait until my wedding was over to offer to take thee into partnership, but now--go! I have been mistaken in thee; I never thought money would come between us. Even now--stay, Ivor, and I will give thee what Rees Carnarfon offers thee."

Ivor shook his head. "I have determined to go," was all he answered.

Hugh was wounded to the quick. He had a deep love for his manager--a love that had grown up for years between them, in spite of the difference in their ages--and to find that parting had no bitterness for Ivor meant bitter sorrow for Hugh.

"Then there's no more to be said, but pay what I owe thee," and he counted it out on the table.

Ivor gathered it stolidly into his palm, and took up his hat.

"Fforwel, Mishteer," he said, "we must part now; your life is full--you can do without me. There is Josh Howels, he is quite able to take my place; he knows all the ins and outs of the business," continued Ivor.

Hugh nodded. "Oh, yes, I can do without you," he said, in an offended tone.

"Fforwel, then," said Ivor, and he held out his hand, which Hugh, after a moment's hesitation, grasped warmly. "If you are ever in any trouble, send for me, Mishteer, and I will come."

Again they said "Fforwel," and parted--Hugh Morgan with a feeling of burning indignation and a smarting sense of disappointment; Ivor with a dull, heavy aching, which he was not to throw off for many a weary month.

"Let him think me ungrateful and grasping," he said; "it is better for him than to know the truth. Fforwel, Hugh Morgan, I shall never meet a man like you again!"

Indignation and sorrow were the feelings uppermost in Hugh's mind as he sat smoking on his lonely hearth that evening. Madlen had gone to bed, and he sat long into the night, gazing into the dying embers of the peat fire, "chewing the cud of sweet and bitter thought." The announcement of Ivor's intended departure was a crushing blow to him. He had loved the man with all the tenderness which in his lonely life had had no other outlet until Gwladys Price's beauty had enslaved him; and even this had not altered his feelings for his friend, but had rather drawn him nearer to him. Mari Vone and Ivor had been his ideals of all that was manly and womanly, and his affections had gone out to them unstintingly; and now he would have been ashamed that any one should see how deeply he felt the change in Ivor--in truth, his bright, black eyes were dimmed with unshed tears as he knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and, slipping the wooden bolt of the front door into its hasp, walked slowly up the stairs.

The next day Ivor was absent from the sail-shed. Such a thing had never happened before, excepting when he had been attending to business for the Mishteer; but now everybody knew this was not the cause, and gossip, with its busy tongue, suggested all sorts of reasons--all of them, fortunately, very wide of the mark. "He had injured his back too much to continue working," one said. "The increased wages offered by Rees Carnarfon had dazzled him." "He was tired of Mwntseison, and thought this would be a good opportunity for making a move," etc., etc.

"What can it mean?" said a girl to Gwladys, as she entered the sail-shed in the morning. "What can have come to Ivor? Have you any idea?"

Gwladys shook her head, and would not trust her voice to speak.

"I'll tell you what they say," said the girl, "that he is jealous of you."

They were already beginning to drop the familiar "thee" and "thou" in addressing Gwladys. She noticed the omission, and blushed a vivid red.

"There!" said her friend, holding up her hands in admiration, "there's the colour we've been used to see in your face; in my deed, you are not like yourself lately. Twt, twt, it is not such a wonderful thing to be married that you need grow thin and pale about it. 'That will be the end of us all,' as the old maid said when she watched the wedding. There! look at her now, Mishteer!" And Hugh, who was just entering, gazed with admiration at Gwladys' blushing face.

"Thou hast brought back her roses, indeed, Malen," he said, smiling. "What hast been saying to her?"

"We were talking about Ivor Parry, and I tell her it is jealousy of her that has made him leave."

"Was that possible?" thought Hugh, as he turned away. "Was it the jealousy of love that had caused Ivor's strange behaviour?" and somehow the thought brought comfort to him; the loss of his friend did not weigh quite so heavily upon him. "He would get over this foolish feeling; he would return to Mwntseison again, and to his work in the sail-shed, and the same happy relations would exist between them as had of old."

Gwladys had retired to her old corner. The sail had already been spread in a convenient position for working, her stool placed before it, and she knew well whose tender care had arranged her work for her. She looked over to where Hugh Morgan was standing, stalwart and strong, as if he were going to address his work-people, and a wan little smile flitted over her face, where the rich colour was already ebbing.

Hugh caught the smile, and his heart beat fast, for, though he hid his feelings from the eyes of the crowd, as was his bounden duty to do if he did not wish to brush the bloom off the peach, to rob his love of the romance of a real Welsh courtship, still his thoughts were ever hovering round Gwladys. Be it remembered that, though he was past the intoxication of "love's young dream," he had succumbed to the passion which had assailed him with all the strong fervour belonging to middle age. His heart had been so long steeled against the glamour of love that now at last, when it had made a breach in his walls, he had completely surrendered to its mad enthralment. His fervid words, the passionate ardour of his looks and his embraces, fell upon Gwladys' soul with scorching pain; she could not feel the same love for him, and, therefore, wearied of its intensity. She reproached herself incessantly with coldness and want of feeling, and endeavoured by occasional warmth of manner to make up for the ordinary want of interest.

"I will love him when we are married, and, God helping me, I will be a good wife to him." This was the continual burden of her thoughts; her life was one constant struggle to banish from her mind the memory of Ivor, and, though his image ran like an under-current through the stream of her existence, she yet managed to keep all conscious thoughts of him in abeyance. "What was to come of it all? What was going to happen to smooth out the tangled path into which her feet had so unintentionally strayed? God knows! I can only trust, and try to be a good wife."

While these thoughts passed through her mind, Hugh was speaking, and the work-people had dropped their tools, and were listening with attention.

"You know, my friends," he said, "that a great sorrow has fallen upon me in the loss of my right-hand man, Ivor Parry. His reasons for going are good ones. He has been offered a post of great responsibility, bringing with it an increased salary. It is every man's duty to make his way in the world if he can, and however much we may regret his loss here, I know that there is not one of you, man, woman, or child, who does not send with him to-day a greeting of love, and an earnest hope that his path may be blessed with every good which can fall to man in this world. Josh Howels will take his place as my manager, and I expect from you the same obedience and deference to him, and to my orders through him, as you have always shown to Ivor Parry."

Josh Howels rose to say a few words in answer. Gwladys leant back against the boarded wall of the shed, her head leaning on a rough shelf, her eyes fixed on the sky and sea, which were visible through the wide open doors. She saw the sea-gulls sailing in the air; she heard the hoarse cry of the puffins, which crowded the cliffs above Traeth-y-daran; and the picture of a moonlit beach, on which sat two figures close together, arose before her mental vision; but, with a spasm of pain, she literally shrank from the picture, and by a strong effort of will banished it from her mind.

In a few days the eventful week had dawned which she had dreaded, and yet longed for of late! Surely this dull aching would cease! surely this sharp agony of thwarted desires would be quenched when once she was Hugh Morgan's wife! Here lay her only hope--and to this hope she clung with the frantic energy of a drowning man. Her mother had finished all her simple preparations for the wedding, which was to bring such honour and lustre upon them; she had forced herself to forget that pale dawn when Gwladys had entered the house like a spirit or unrest. Sometimes when she heard of Ivor's intended departure from the village, or when she saw Gwladys' paling cheek, a throb of disquietude would pierce her heart; but Hugh Morgan's tenderness, his absolute devotion to her daughter re-assured her.

"She must love him," she thought; "no woman could help it! She will be a happy girl, and I shall be a happy mother-in-law!"

Indeed, in the whole village congratulations for Nani and Gwladys were rife, and "There's a fortunate girl!" was the refrain of every conversation upon the subject of the Mishteer's marriage. One alone was dissatisfied--Mari Vone! And as she sat in the gloaming on the eve of the wedding-day, her thoughts were evidently none of the happiest; her fair golden head drooped a little over her shining knitting needles, her graceful tall figure had a listless curve in it as she sat looking out of the open doorway; she heard a footstep on the road which she recognised at once. "He is going to Gwladys!" she thought, and she patiently clasped her hands upon her bosom, as if to quiet the throbbing heart within; but no! the steps drew near, and against the red sunset the figure of Hugh Morgan loomed clear and large. He nodded pleasantly over his pipe, and Mari pushed a rush stool nearer the door for him to sit upon.

"That will do!" he said; "the smoke will blow out to the road." And with a long-drawn "Ah!" of satisfaction, he stretched out his legs, and gave himself up to the enjoyment of his pipe for a time, during which Mari plied him with questions, most of which he answered with a nod or shake of the head.

"Hast Madlen finished her baking? and roasted her chickens? The lobster and crab I have boiled myself. Gwladys will be glad of a dainty supper, for she will be very tired. It is well for her that she is marrying a man who can afford to give her dainties, for her mother tells me she has a poor appetite lately, and turns away from the barley bread."

"God bless her! she shall have white bread, white as a dog's tooth! and anything else she may fancy," said Hugh, and he puffed away in silence a little longer.

"You are sure to be at the wedding, Mari?"

"Oh, yes, I am coming," she answered quietly.

"It gave me a terrible fright when somebody said you were not coming--you and Ivor away. I should have felt it a bad omen, Mari."

"Oh, twt, twt! nonsense about bad omens! If I had stopped away it would only have been because I am getting too old for weddings, and biddings, and fairs. I leave that to the young girls now."

Hugh laughed sarcastically.

"You know better than that, Mar. You know very well that whenever you appear the girls have all to hide their heads. They are none of them fit to hold a candle to you. What old age may make of you I don't know; but sure I am, no creature that treads God's earth graces it more than you do!"

"Oh! there's pretty words, whatever, Hugh," said Mari, dropping her knitting on her lap, and letting her hands fall with it, and gazing out rather sadly over Hugh's shoulder to the glowing sea and sky beyond.

"You are going to see Gwladys to-night, of course? She will be expecting you."

"Yes," said Hugh; "I am going now--but--but Mari, I felt I wanted to say something before I went. We have been friends for years--we shall be friends still--eh?" and he held out his broad brown hand.

Mari placed her own in it.

"Friends forever, Hugh, as long as life shall last!"

"And after," he said. "Well, fforwel, and God bless you!" and Hugh made his way under the wreaths and banners which already spanned the road, in readiness for next day's festivities, leaving Mari to her thoughts and to her knitting, upon which by and by a large tear fell.

"Hoi! hoi! stop a bit!" said 'n'wncwl Jos, whom Hugh met stumping down the road. "Don't go under the banners before the wedding. It brings bad luck, man."

"It's too late," answered Hugh jovially, "for I have been under two or three," and his beaming smile and sparkling eyes, as he turned up the path towards Gwladys' cottage, showed that whatever the future had in store for him, to-night he was well content.

[1] My boy!

[2] Porridge.

[3] Dear people! (an exclamation).

[4] "There is no fool like an old fool!"

[5] Carpenter.