hed the dew off the sheep path to Garthowen in
time for the milking that morning. She would have sung one of Sara's
old Nature songs, had not the remembrance of the sorrow at the farm
kept her silent. The March wind blew keen and crisp around her, the
air was filled with the quivering songs of the larks, the furze was
bursting into bloom, even the bare blackthorn put on its speckled
mantle of white; what wonder was it in a world so fair, that Morva's
heart sang for joy? But as she turned round the Cribserth, a sudden
shadow came upon her, for here was Ebben Owens coming towards her, with
bent head and slow dragging step. She hurried forward to meet him.

"I thought thee wouldst turn back, lass, or make an excuse to pass me
by," he said.

"But no! no! no!" said the girl, linking her arm into the old man's,
and turning back with him, "'tis closer and closer we must cling
together, 'n'wncwl Ebben, dear, the further we go on the path of life.
Did you think that Morva could pass you by? Ach y fi! no indeed! But
where are you going so early?"

"To see Sara," said the old man--"to see if she will still be my friend
when she knows how bad I am."

"She knows it all," said Morva; "I told her last night, and her heart
was torn with sorrow and love for you; and now turn back with me to
Garthowen, for Sara is gone; the cottage is empty!"

"Gone!" said the old man, with a gasp, "Sara gone!"

"Yes--gone! 'Garthowen shall not die of grief while I can help him,'
she said; 'I am going a long journey, child, and ye must not grieve for
me; I will come back and bring joy and comfort with me.' That's what
she said," and Morva nodded her head emphatically. "Oh, she will come,
she will come, as she has promised, and bring you comfort; what it will
be I cannot tell," and leaning her head coaxingly on the old man's arm
she asked, in a playful tone of mystery, "now what can it be, this
great blessing she is going to bring you?"

"I don't know," said the old man, taking scant interest in her
surmises; he was thinking how he would bear this fresh loss!

"But what do you think?"

"A Bible, perhaps."

"A Bible!" said Morva impatiently, "no--no, not a Bible; Sara knows you
have plenty of them at Garthowen, and she has too much sense to bring
you another--no! 'tisn't that! but oh, what will it be, I wonder?"

And day after day this was the question that ran through her thoughts,
"What will it be, I wonder?"

Sitting down to her