and the red earthen pitcher which went so
often to the well. "I see it, 'merch i; 'tis a journey for me. I
don't see quite where it ends, but I will be safe, Morva, for God is
everywhere. _They_ are calling me, and they will bring me safe home
again. Let me go, child; 'tis to fetch a blessing for Garthowen and
for thee, so don't thee fret, lass. Then my work will be done; there
will be only one more journey for me--the last! and from that thou wilt
not see me return. But I will be with thee, and thee must not sorrow
for me."

"Oh, mother," said the girl, burying her face in her apron, "are you
going to die? How can I live in this world without you?" And swaying
backwards and forwards, she cried bitterly.

"Not yet, my child, not yet; I have work to do and there are happy days
in store for us both; but some day, Morva, it must come, and when it
comes thou must not grieve for me. Come, 'merch i, 'tis late; let us
go to bed."

And the girl, somewhat comforted, dried her eyes and closed the rickety
door. She slept heavily after her late watching, so heavily that she
did not hear when Sara rose in the grey of the dawn. At her usual time
Morva rose too, and immediately missed her mother. A wild fear
throbbed through her heart as she searched in and out of the cottage.

"Mother!" she called up the step ladder which led to the loft, out in
the cwrt and in the garden. "Mother fach! where are you?" But there
was no answer, and she realised that Sara had gone, and that she was
alone!

After the first pang of fright, a calmness and even happiness entered
her heart; she had learnt to put implicit trust in her strange
foster-mother, and a feeling of complete reassurance and content began
to take possession of her mind.

It would be well with Sara, for whatever she attempted she never failed
to accomplish, and it would be well with Garthowen too! "Her ways are
blessed," said the girl, clasping her hands, and returning to her
solitary breakfast. "The spirits have her in their keeping, that I
know, and she will come back and bring us joy and happiness!"

Whether in the depths of her heart it was dawning upon her what
blessing she expected from Sara's pilgrimage is difficult to know;
perhaps unconsciously she already nourished the hope which was to grow
with every day of her mother's absence, until it gilded her whole life
with a rapturous expectancy; at all events, it was a very blithe and
joyous maiden who brus