ountain, and laid it
under his arm and came down here to drink of the Aydyr. He drank the
Aydyr dry because he was feverish and flushed with age; and he set down
the crag in a hole he had scooped with the palms of his hands for more
water; and then he lay down on his back, and Death (who never could
reach to his knee when he stood) took advantage of his posture to drive
home the javelin. And thus he lay dead, with the crag for his headstone,
and the weight of his corpse sank a grave for itself in the channel of
the river, and the toes of his boots are still to be seen after less
than a mile of the valley.

Under this headstone of Idris lay the body of George Bowring, fair and
comely, with the clothes all perfect, and even the light cap still on
the head. And as we laid it upon the grass, reverently and carefully,
the face, although it could smile no more, still appeared to wear a
smile, as if the new world were its home, and death a mere trouble left
far behind. Even the eyes were open, and their expression was not of
fright or pain, but pleasant and bright, with a look of interest such as
a man pays to his food.

"Stand back, all of you!" I said sternly; "none shall examine him but
myself. Now all of you note what I find here."

I searched all his pockets, one after another; and tears came to my eyes
again as I counted not less than eleven of them, for I thought of the
fuss we used to make with the Shrewsbury tailor about them. There was
something in every pocket, but nothing of any importance at present,
except his purse and a letter from his wife, for which he had walked to
Dolgelly and back on the last entire day of his life.

"It is a hopeless mystery!" I exclaimed aloud, as the Welshmen gazed
with superstitious awe and doubt. "He is dead as if struck by lightning,
but there was no storm in the valley!"

"No, no, sure enough; no storm was there. But it is plain to see what
has killed him!" This was Evan Peters, the quarryman, and I glanced at
him very suspiciously. "Iss, sure, plain enough," said another; and then
they all broke into Welsh, with much gesticulation; and "e-ah, e-ah,"
and "otty, otty," and "hanool, hanool," were the sounds they made--at
least to an ignorant English ear.

"What do you mean, you fools?" I asked, being vexed at their offhand way
of settling things so far beyond them. "Can you pretend to say what it
was?"

"Indeed, then, and indeed, my gentleman, it is no use to talk no more.
It