shouted out that he had found something, and we all ran
towards him, and there, tied safely to a hencoop, lay a tiny baby, wet
and sodden, but still alive. It was thee, child, so wasn't I right to
call thee Morforwyn?[1] though indeed we soon shortened it to Morva.
When I saw thee I knew at once 'twas thy mother who had come to me
here, and had led me down to the shore, and I begged them to give me
the baby. 'There is a reason,' I said, but I did not tell them what it
was. What was the good, Morva? They would not understand. They would
only jeer at me as they do, and call me Sara ''spridion.'[2] Well, let
them, I am richer than they, oh! ten thousand times, and I would not
change my life here on the lonely moor, and the visions I have here,
for any riches they could offer me."

"No, indeed, and it is a happy home for me, too, though I don't see
your visions; but then you tell me about them, and it teaches me a
great deal. Mother, I think my life is more full of happy thoughts
than most of the girls about here because of your teaching. No, I
don't want to leave here, except, of course, I must live at Garthowen
when Will wants me."

The old woman made no answer, but continued to gaze at the crackling
furze.

"You wish that too, mother?" asked the girl.

"I did, 'merch i, but now I don't know indeed, Morva. Thou must not
marry without love."

"Without love, mother! I have told you many times I love Will with all
my heart."

Sara shook her head with a smile of incredulity.

"It is a dream, child, and thou wilt wake some day. Please God it may
not be too late."

A pained look overspread the girl's face, a turmoil of busy thought was
in her brain, but there was no uncertainty in the voice with which she
answered:

"Mother, I love Will. I have told him so. I have promised to be his
wife, and I would rather die than break my word."

"Well, well," said Sara, "there is no need to trouble, child, only try
to do right, and all that will be settled for thee; but I think I see
sorrow for thee, and it comes from Will."

"Well," said Morva bravely, as she flung another bunch of furze on the
fire, "I suppose I must bear my share of that like other people. 'As
the sparks fly upward,' mother, the Bible says, and see, there's a fine
lot of them," and she raked the small fire with the lightsome laugh of
youth.

"Ah!" said the old woman, "thou canst laugh at sorrows now, Morva; but
when they come they will pri