?" he said.

"Never to tell anyone what I told thee over yonder beyond the
Cribserth. Will wants it to be a secret."

"Fear nothing," said Gethin, "I will never tell tales. Gethin Owens
has not many good qualities, but he has one, and that is, he would
never betray a trust, so be easy, Morva. I am going to Pont-y-fro.
Good-night!"

"Good-night," echoed the girl, and, taking up her pail, she closed the
beudy door, and as she crossed the yard under the bright starlight she
recalled Gethin's parting words, "Be easy, Morva," and repeated them to
herself with a sorrowful smile.

* * * * * *

"'Tis Martinmas Fair to-morrow," said Ann, as Morva entered the best
kitchen. "Are you going, father?"

"Yes," he said. "I have those yearlings to sell."

"I will come with you," said Gwilym Morris, for they seldom let the old
man go alone. "I can see about Will's coat, and I want some books.
Come on, Ann, come with us; 'twill be a lively fair, I think."

"Very well, I'll come and look after you both."

"That's right," said the old man, rubbing his knees. "Twm will drive
the yearlings. Art coming, Will?"

"No," he answered, "I have promised to go to Caer-Madoc to-morrow."

And so Garthowen was empty next day, for Gethin did not return to the
midday meal. Morva, as usual in Ann's absence, took charge of the
house, and very sad and lonely she felt as she roamed from one room to
another, dusting a chair or table occasionally, and looking out through
the windows at the dull, leaden sea, for outside, too, the clouds were
gathering, and the wind whispered threatenings of change.

Three nights ago! Was it possible? So lately as that was she bright
and happy, and was the world around her so full of light and warmth?

She leant her elbows on the deep window-sill and mused. How long ago,
too, it seemed since she had taken down the old Bible and hunted up
Gethin's delinquencies. She saw it now in her mind's eye, and, getting
upon the table, she reached it down again, and turned to the disfigured
page.

Now she knew how little harm there had been in those foolish, boyish
rhymes; now she knew the bright black eyes which had guided the pen in
those brown fingers were full of nothing but mischief. "Oh, no! no
harm," she said, "only fun and mischief." She read the lines again,
and a sad little smile came over her mouth, then she looked at the
signatures below. "Gethin Owens, Garthowen." "G