THE NORTH STAR
Ebben Owens was going to market in his rough jolting car, Dyc "pigstye"
beside him, both dressed in their best frieze. In the back of the car,
covered over with a netting, lay three small pigs, who grunted and
squealed in concert when a rough stone gave them an extra jolt. In the
crowded street at Castell On, where the bargaining was most vigorous,
and the noise of the market was loudest, he stopped and unharnessed
Bowler, who had "forged" into town with great swinging steps and much
jingling of buckles and chains.
Having led him into the yard of the Plough Inn, he returned, and with
Dyc's help proceeded to lift out the pigs and carry them to the pen
prepared for them in the open street, Dyc taking them by the ears and
Ebben Owens by the tail. Now, pigs have remonstrated loudly against
this mode of conveyance for generations, but nobody seems to have
listened to their expostulations. They are by no means light and airy
creatures, indeed, for their size, they are of considerable weight, so
why they of all other animals should be picked out for this summary
mode of transport is difficult to understand. At any rate the
Garthowen pigs resented it warmly, and the air was rent with their
shrieks as Will and Gwilym Morris came upon the scene. Ebben Owens
almost dropped his pig in the delight of seeing his son in his new
clothes. Will nodded smilingly at him, while keeping at a respectable
distance from the shrieking animals, and the old man was filled with a
glow of pride and happiness which threw a _couleur de rose_ over
everything for the rest of the day. In truth, Morgan Jones of Bryn
made an easy bargain with him for those pigs, and Ebben went home in
the evening with ten shillings less in his pocket than he meant to have
had when he started from home.
"Look you here," he said to Ann and Gethin, who both hovered round him
on his return with loving attentions, "look you here now; wasn't a
gentleman in the market looking smarter than our Will to-day! There
was the young son of Mr. Vaughan the lawyer, was dressed like him
exactly--same brown hat, same grey suit, and his boots not shining so
well as Will's! Caton pawb! there's handsome he was! Shouldn't wonder
if he didn't marry a lady some day, with plenty of money!"
"Shouldn't wonder, indeed," said Gethin, clapping him on the back; "and
there's proud he'll be to drive his old father to church with him!"
"Hech! hech! hech!" laughed the old man, sitting down and rubbing his
knees. "Well, indeed, he's a fine boy, whatever!"
"Wasn't Gwilym there?" asked Ann.
"Yes, yes, to be sure, and he is looking very nice always; but I didn't
notice him much today."
Meanwhile, in the town, Will and Gwilym had much to do; there were
books to be got--there was a horse to be looked at for the farm--and,
moreover, Will was to call upon Mr. Price the vicar, so the hours
passed quickly away, until late in the afternoon when the crowd was a
little thinning, the Nantmyny carriage passed through the street,
within it Colonel Vaughan and his niece. Will saw it at once, and
turned away to avoid recognition--for although nothing would have
pleased him more, he was a man of great tact and common sense, and
never spoiled a good chance by indiscreet intrusion. As he turned
away, Colonel Vaughan caught sight of him, and, stopping the carriage,
beckoned to a bystander, who touched his hat with a knobbed stake from
the hedge.
"Isn't that young Owens of Garthowen?"
"Iss, sare," said the man, knocking his hat again.
"Ask him to come here, then."
And Will came, not too hurriedly, and with assumed nonchalance.
"Well, young man," said the colonel, "I want to know how your arm is?"
"It is quite well, thank you," said Will, carefully studying his
accent. "I hope," he added, taking off his hat and turning to Gwenda,
who sat up interested, "I hope you are no longer suffering pain?"
"Very little, thank you. I am so glad your arm is well again, and I am
glad to have this opportunity of thanking you."
And as Will prepared to withdraw again, lifting his hat and showing his
tawny locks and his white teeth, Miss Vaughan placed her hand in his
with a friendly good-bye.
The old colonel winced a little.
"I don't think you need have shaken hands with him, child; however, it
was very nice of you, and I've no doubt it will please the young man
very much. I declare he looks like a gentleman."
"And speaks like one," said Gwenda.
"Yes; pommy word I don't know what's the world coming to!"
"Very nice people those Vaughans, I should think," said Gwilym Morris,
as he and Will tramped homewards in the evening.
"H'm! yes," said Will; "I daresay they thought they were honouring me
very much by their notice; but, mind you, Gwilym, in a few years I'll
show them I can hold up my head with any of them."
"Will," said Gwilym, after a pause, "I am afraid for you, lad; I am
afraid of what the world will make of you. At Garthowen, with nothing
but the simple country ways around us, we escape many temptations; but
once we enter the world outside, even here in the market it reaches us,
that subtle insidious glamour which incites us, not to become what we
ought to be, but to appear different to what we are in reality."
"I can't follow you," said Will. "I suppose it is every man's duty to
try and get on as far as he can in the path of life which he has
chosen. I have chosen mine, and I don't mean to leave a stone unturned
which may help me on. Yon can't blame me for that, Gwilym."
"No, no! I suppose not; and yet--and yet--"
"And yet what?" asked Will irritably.
"You may get to the very top of the ladder, and then find it has not
been leaning against the right wall. That would be a poor success,
Will."
"Well, well!" he said, as they entered the farmyard, "what's the matter
with you to-night? You wait a few years, give me only a chance, and
you'll be proud of your old pupil."
When they had separated, Gwilym looked after him thoughtfully.
"I wonder will I, indeed!" he said.
* * * * * *
It was late in the evening when Morva made her way to the cliffs to
meet her lover. The moor was bathed in a flood of silver moonlight,
the sea below was lighted up by the same serene effulgence, and the
silence of night was only broken by the trickle of the mill stream down
in the valley, the barking of the dogs on the distant farms, and the
secret scurry of a rabbit under the furze bushes.
As she neared the edge of the cliff, the peace and beauty of the scene
impressed her eye but did not reach her heart, which was beating with a
strange unrest.
In the dark shadow of the crags on the cliff side Will was waiting for
her. He had been there some time, and was a little nettled at her
delay.
"Where hast been, Morva?" he said, stretching out his hand and drawing
her towards him in the shadow. "Come out of the moonlight, lass.
There is Simon 'Sarndu' fishing down there with Essec Jones; they will
see thee."
"Well, indeed," said the girl, "what is the good of our going on like
this? It will be a weariness to thee to be always hiding thy--thy--"
"My love for thee? No, Morva, 'tis all the sweeter to me that nobody
guesses it. And nobody must guess it; and that's what I wanted to
speak to thee about. When a man begins his life in earnest, and takes
his place in the outside world, he must be careful, Morva--careful of
every step--and must act very differently to those who mean to spend
their lives in this dull corner of the world."
"Dull corner!" said Morva. "To me it seems the one bright spot in the
whole world, and as if no other place were of any consequence. I'm
sure if I ever leave here, I will be pining for the old home, the
lovely moor, and the sea and the cliffs. Oh! I can never, never be
happy anywhere else!"
"Twt, twt," said Will, "thou art talking nonsense. When I send for
thee to come and live with me in a beautiful home, thou wilt be happy.
But listen, girl! Is thy love for me strong enough and true enough to
bear what may look like neglect and forgetfulness? For a time, Morva,
I want to break away from thee, lest any whispers of my love for thee
should get abroad. It would blast my success in life, 'twould ruin my
prospects if it were known that I courted my father's shepherdess, and
so, for a time I want to drop all outward connection with thee. Canst
bear that, Morva, and still be true to me?"
"I don't know," said the girl.
"Canst not believe that I shall love thee as much as ever, and more
fervently perhaps than ever?"
"I will try," said Morva; "but I think thou art making a hard path for
thyself and me. 'Twould be better far to drop me out of thy life, then
thou couldst climb the uphill road without looking back."
"And leave thee free to marry another man? Never, Morva! I claim thy
promise. Remember when thou wast a little girl how I made thee point
up to the North Star and promise to marry me some day."
"Indeed the star is not there to-night, whatever."
"It is there, Morva, only the moonlight is too bright for thee to see
it. It is there unchangeable, as thou hast promised to be to me."
"Yes, I have promised; what more need be?"
"Yes, more; thou must tell me again to-night, Morva, that thou wilt be
true to me whatever happens--whatever thou mayst hear about me--that
thou wilt still believe that in my heart I love thee and thee only.
Dost hear, girl--_whatever_ thou dost hear?"
"I will believe nothing I may hear against thee, Will; nothing at all.
But when I see with my own eyes that thou art weary of me and art
ashamed of me, _then_ remember I am free."
"But thine eyes may deceive thee."
"I will swear by _them_, whatever," said Morva, with spirit.
Will sighed sentimentally.
"What a fate mine is! to be torn like this between my desire to rise in
the world and my love for a girl in a--in a humbler position than that
to which I aspire!"
"Oh, Will bâch! thou art getting to talk so grand, and to look so
grand. Take my advice and drop poor Morva of the moor!"
"I will not!" said Will. "I will rise in the world, and I will have
thee too! Listen to me, lass, I am full of disquiet and anxiety, and
thou must give me peace of mind and confidence to go on my path
bravely."
"Poor Will!" said the girl, looking pensively out over the shimmering
sea.
"Once more, Morva, dost love me?"
"Oh, Will, once more, yes! I love thee with all my heart, thee and
everyone at Garthowen."
"Well," said Will, "we have been kind to thee ever since thou wast cast
ashore by the storm. It would be cruel and ungrateful to return our
kindness by breaking my heart."
"Oh, I will never, Will; I will never do that! Be easy, have faith in
me, and I will be true to my promise."
"Wilt seal it with a kiss, then?"
Morva was very chary of her kisses, but to-night she let him draw her
closer to him; while he pressed a passionate kiss upon her lips. There
was no answering fervour on her part, but she went so far as to smooth
back the thick hair which shaded his forehead and to press a light kiss
upon his brow.
"Well done!" said Will, with a laugh, "that is the first time thou hast
ever given me a kiss of thine own accord. I must say, Morva; thou art
as sparing of thy kisses as if thou wert a princess. Well, lass, we
must part, for to-morrow I am going to Llaniago to see about my rooms,
and there's lots to do to-night, so good-bye."
And once more holding her hand in his, he kissed her, and left her
standing behind the broom bushes. She passed out into the moonlight,
and walked slowly back over the moor with her head drooping, an unusual
thing for Morva, for from childhood she had had a habit of looking
upwards. Up there on the lonely moor, the vault of heaven with its
galaxy of stars, its blue ethereal depths, its flood of silver
moonlight, or its breadth of sunlit blue, seemed so closely to envelop
and embrace her that it was impossible to ignore it; but to-night she
looked only at the gossamer spangles on her path.
"What did Will mean by 'We must part! Whatever thou mayst hear!'" and
she sighed a little wearily as she lifted the latch of the cottage door.
"Morva sighing!" said Sara, who sat reading her chapter by the
fireside. "Don't begin that, 'merch i, or I must do the same. I would
never be happy, child, if thou wert not happy too; we are too closely
knit together."
And she took the girl's strong, firm hand in her own, so frail, so
slender, and so soft. Morva's eyes filled with tears.
"Mother, I am happy, I think. Why should I not be? They are all so
kind to me at Garthowen, and I love them all so much. I would lay my
life down for them, mother, and still be happy!"
"Yes, child, I believe thou wouldst. Come to supper, the cawl is
ready."
"Tis the cynos to-morrow night, mother, will I go?"
"Yes, of course; I wouldn't have thee go to the cynos of any other
farm; there is too much foolishness going on."
"Robin Davies, the sailor, is going to bring his fiddle, and there will
be fun, but Ann will not allow any foolishness."
"No, no," said Sara, "she's a sensible girl, and going to be married to
Gwilym Morris too! that will be a happy thing for her I think."
Morva was silent, following her own train of thoughts while she ate her
barley bread and drank her cawl, and when she broke the silence with a
remark about Will, to both women it came naturally, as the sequence of
their musings.
"Will is going away to-morrow, mother."
"Away to-morrow! so soon?"
"Only for a day or two, I think."
"Was that the meaning of the sigh then, Morva?"
"I don't know," said the girl, pensively chasing a fly with her finger
on the table. "Oh, mother! I don't know, it is all a turmoil and
unrest of thoughts here," and she drew her hand over her forehead.
"Well, never mind that, 'merch i, if it is rest and happiness _here_,"
and Sara laid her finger on the region of Morva's heart. "Tell me
that, child; is it rest and love there?"
"Oh! I don't know, mother; I don't know indeed, indeed."
And then she did what Sara had scarcely ever seen her do since she had
"gone into long frocks and turned her hair up," she crossed her arms on
the table, and leaning her head upon them, she sobbed, and sobbed, and
sobbed.