blush
rising to the temples; so he stole from the pathway and crept along
behind the broom bushes, watching through their interlacing branches
while Morva approached from the cottage, singing in sheer lightness of
heart, Tudor following with watchful eyes and waving tail, and a sober
demeanour, which was soon to be laid aside for one of boisterous
gambolling, for on the green sward Morva stopped, and with a bow to
Tudor picked up her blue skirt in the thumb and finger of each hand,
showing her little feet, which glanced in and out beneath her brick-red
petticoat. She was within two yards of Gethin, where he stood still as
a statue, scarcely breathing lest he should disturb the happy pair, his
eyes and his mouth alone showing the merriment and fun which were
brimming over in his heart.

"Now, 'machgen i," said Morva, "what dost think of me?" and she
curtseyed again to Tudor, who did the same. "Dost like me? dost think
I am grand to-day? See the new bows on my shoes, see the new caddis on
my petticoat, and above all, Tudor, see my beautiful necklace! Come,
lad, let's have a dance, for Gethin's come home," and she began to
imitate as well as she could the dance which Gethin had executed, with
such fatal consequences to her heart, at the Garthowen cynos. Up and
down, round and across, with uplifted gown, Tudor following with
exuberant leaps and barks of delight, and catching at her flying skirts
at every opportunity. As she danced she sang with unerring ear and
precision, the tune that Reuben Davies had played in the dusty mill,
setting to it the words of one refrain, "Gethin's come home, bachgen!
Gethin's come home!"

Little did she know that Gethin's delighted ears missed not a note nor
a word of her singing, or silence and dire confusion would have fallen
upon that light-hearted couple who pranked so merrily upon the green.

But human nature has its limits, even of happy endurance; the
temptation to join that dance was irresistible, and Gethin, suddenly
succumbing to it, sprang out upon them. There was a little scream, a
bark, and a flutter, and Morva, clasped in Gethin's arms, was wildly
whirled in an impromptu dance, round and round the green sward, up and
down, and round again, until, breathless and panting, they stopped from
sheer exhaustion; and when Gethin at last led his laughing partner to
rest under the golden broom bushes, he cared not a whit that she chided
him with a reproving finger, for her voice