few days later the announcement of his approaching marriage reached
Garthowen, in a letter from Will himself, enclosing the unposted
missive, which he had discovered in his pocket as he drove to Nantmyny
on the previous Sunday.

It pacified the old man somewhat, but nothing availed to lift the cloud
which had fallen upon his life; and the intimation of the near approach
of his son's marriage with "a lady" coming upon him as it did
unexpectedly, was the climax of his depression of spirits. He sat in
the chimney-corner and brooded, repeating to himself occasionally in a
low voice:

"Gone! gone! Both my boys gone from me for ever!"

Ann and Gwilym's arguments were quite unheeded. Morva's sympathy alone
seemed to have any consoling effect upon him. She would kneel beside
him with her elbows on his knees, looking up into his face, and with
make-believe cheerfulness would reason with a woman's inconsequence,
fearlessly deducing results from causes which had no existence.

"'Tis as plain as the sun in the sky, 'n'wncwl Ebben bach! Gethin is
only gone on another voyage, and so will certainly be back here before
long. Well, you see he _must_ come, because he wouldn't like to see
his old father breaking his heart--not he! We know him too well. And
then there's his best clothes in the box upstairs! And there's the
corn growing so fast, he will surely be here for the harvest."

She knew herself it was all nonsense, realising it sometimes with a
sudden sad wistfulness; but she quickly returned to her argument again.

"Look at me now, 'n'wncwl Ebben!--Morva Lloyd, whom you saved from the
waves! Would I tell you anything that was not true? Of course, I
wouldn't indeed! indeed! and I'm sure he'll come soon. You may take my
word for it they will both come back very soon. I feel it in my heart,
and mother says so too."

"Does she?" said the old man, with a little show of interest. "Does
Sara say so?"

"Yes," said Morva; "she says she is sure of it."

"Perhaps indeed! I hope she is right, whatever!" And he would lay his
hands on Morva's and Tudor's heads, both of whom leant upon his knees
and looked lovingly into his face.

[1] "Blessed be!"

CHAPTER XVIII

SARA

For Gwenda and Will, from this time forward, all went "merry as a
marriage bell." Early in the spring their wedding took place in
London, and when one morning Morva brought from Pont-y-fro post office
a packet for Ebben Owens containin