g a wedge of wedding cake and cards,
he evinced some show of interest. On the box was written in Gwenda's
pretty firm writing,

"With love to Garthowen, from William and Gwenda Owen."

Ebben rubbed his knees with satisfaction.

"There now," he said, "in her own handwriting, too! Well, indeed! I
thought she was a nice young lady that day she came here, but, caton
pawb! I never thought she would marry our Will."

A second piece of cake was enclosed and addressed. "To my friends Sara
and Morva of the Moor," and Morva carried it home with mingled feelings
of pride and pleasure, but paramount was the joy of knowing that she
was completely released from the promise which had become so galling to
her.

"I knew," said Sara, "that that face would bring us a blessing," and
she looked with loving inquiry into Morva's face, which was full of
varying expressions.

At first, there was the pleasurable excitement of unfolding and tasting
the wedding cake, but it quickly gave way to a look of pensive sadness,
which somehow had fallen over the girl rather frequently of late; the
haunting thought of Gethin's absence, the cloud of suspicion which had
so long hung over him, (it was cleared away now, but it had left its
impress upon her life), her ignorance of his whereabouts, and above
all, a longing, hidden deep down in her heart, to meet him face to face
once more, to tell him that she was free, that no longer behind the
broom bushes need she turn away from him, or wrest her hands from his
warm clasp. All this weighed upon her mind, and cast a shadow over her
path, which she could not entirely banish.

Sara saw the reflection of the sorrowful thought in the girl's
tell-tale eyes, and her tender heart was troubled within her.

"A wedding cake is a beautiful thing," said Morva; "how do they make
it, I wonder? Ann said I must sleep with a bit of it under my pillow
to-night, and I would dream of my sweetheart, but that is nonsense."

"Yes, 'tis nonsense," said Sara, "but 'tis an old-time fable; thee
canst try it, child," she added, smiling, and trying to chase away the
girl's look of sadness.

"'Twould be folly indeed, for there is no sweetheart for me any more,
mother, now that Will is married. Oh! indeed, I hope that sweet young
lady will be happy, and Will too."

"He will be happy, child; but for thee I am grieving. Thou art hiding
something from me; surely Will's marriage brings thee no bitterness?"

"No, no," said