stool and sit down here. The open air is like
balm after being shut up so long."

"It is a long time," he replied, "more than
five months."

Mrs. Gwynn was trembling at heart. She
felt an anger which she did not wish to show;
for, if by any manifestations of temper or
resentment she lessened or broke the waning
thread of attachment which bound him to her
daughter, she felt she should never forgive
herself. She kept inwardly saying, " Patience,
patience! he may be true and love her yet;"
but her indignant convictions gave her words
the lie.

"It's a long time, Edward Williams, since
you've been near us to ask after Nest; " said
she. "She may be better, or she may be
worse, for aught you know." She looked up
at him reproachfully, but spoke in a gentle
quiet tone.

"I—you see the hay has been a long piece
of work. The weather has been fractious—
and a master's eye is needed. Besides," said
he, as if he had found the reason for which he
sought to account for his absence, "I have
heard of her from Rowland Jones. I was at
the surgery for some horse-medicine—he told
me about her: "and a shade came over his
face, as he remembered what the doctor had
said. Did he think that shade would escape
the mother's eye?

"You saw Rowland Jones! Oh, man-alive,
tell me what he said of my girl! He'll say
nothing to me, but just hems and haws the
more I pray him. But you will tell me. You
must tell me." She stood up and spoke
in a tone of command, which his feeling
of independence, weakened just then by an
accusing conscience, did not enable him to
resist. He strove to evade the question,
however.

"It was an unlucky day that ever she went
to the well!"

"Tell me what the doctor said of my
child," repeated Mrs. Gwynn. "Will she
live, or will she die?" He did not dare to
disobey the imperious tone in which this
question was put.

"Oh, she will live, don't be afraid. The
doctor said she would live." He did not mean
to lay any peculiar emphasis on the word
"live," but somehow he did, and she, whose
every nerve vibrated with anxiety, caught the
word.

"She will live!" repeated she. " But there
is something behind. Tell me, for I will know.
If you won't say, I'll go to Rowland Jones
to-night and make him tell me what he has
said to you."

There had passed something in this
conversation between himself and the doctor,
which Edward did not wish to have known;
and Mrs. Gwynn's threat had the desired
effect. But he looked vexed and irritated.

"You have such impatient ways with you,
Mrs. Gwynn," he remonstrated.

"I am a mother asking news of my sick
child," said she. " Go on. What did he say?
She'll live—" as if giving the clue.

"She'll live, he has no doubt of that. But
he thinks—now don't clench your hands so—I
can't tell you if you look in that way; you
are enough to frighten a man."

"I'm not speaking," said she in a low
husky tone. " Never mind my looks: she'll
live—"

"But she'll be a cripple for life. There!
you would have it out," said he, sulkily.

"A cripple for life," repeated she, slowly.
"And I'm one-and-twenty years older than
she is! " She sighed heavily.

"And, as we 're about it, I'll just tell you
what is in my mind," said he, hurried and
confused. " I've a deal of cattle; and the farm
makes heavy work, as much as an able healthy
woman can do. So you see—" He stopped,
wishing her to understand his meaning without
words. But she would not. She fixed
her dark eyes on him, as if reading his soul,
till he flinched under her gaze.

"Well," said she, at length, "say on.
Remember I've a deal of work in me yet, and
what strength is mine is my daughter's."

"You 're very good. But, altogether, you
must be aware, Nest will never be the same
as she was."

"And you've not yet sworn in the face of
God to take her for better, for worse; and,
as she is worse "—she looked in his face,
caught her breath, and went on—"as she is
worse, why, you cast her off, not being church-
tied to her. Though her body may be
crippled, her poor heart is the same alas! and
full of love for you. Edward, you don't
mean to break it off because of our sorrows.
You 're only trying me, I know," said she, as
if begging him to assure her that her fears
were false. " But, you see, I'm a foolish
woman—a poor foolish woman—and ready to
take fright at a few words." She smiled up
in his face; but it was a forced doubting
smile, and his face still retained its sullen
dogged aspect.

"Nay, Mrs. Gwynn," said he, " you spoke
truth at first. Your own good sense told you
Nest would never be fit to be any man's wife
—unless, indeed, she could catch Mr. Griffiths
of Tynwntyrybwlch; he might keep her a
carriage, may-be." Edward really did not
mean to be unfeeling; but he was obtuse,
and wished to carry off his embarrassment by
a kind of friendly joke which he had no idea
would sting the poor mother as it did. He
was startled at her manner.

"Put it in words like a man. Whatever
you mean by my child, say it for yourself, and
don't speak as if my good sense had told me
anything. I stand here, doubting my own
thoughts, cursing my own fears. Don't be a
coward. I ask you whether you and Nest
are troth-plight?"

"I am not a coward. Since you ask me, I
answer, Nest and I were troth-plight; but we
are not. I cannot—no one would expect me

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