In a year, at farthest."
"Will the mine then be safe 'n a year?"
The bright look left Owen's face. "What do you know of the mine?child," he laughed. "I am speaking about money."
I made no reply to this, though Owen waited for it. I watered myflowers in silence, and then walked away. Yes, there was a gulf betweenus.
I might have broken it down then--he gave me the opportunity: he showedby his manner that the old days still occupied some dim corner of hismemory; the old days were not quite forgotten; but I would not breakdown the wall; I would not breathe on the ice with the breath of love.I walked away, and my opportunity was gone! As I did so, I thought ofDavid's words when he begged of me to help Owen to keep in the rightpath; when he expressed his fears, and asked me to aid him. I did notaid him--I neglected my duty. Owen was not the only sinner. In God'ssight, was he the worst?
Meanwhile, in the outside world, the people of Ffynon talked of a goodtime coming, of freedom from danger, of improvements about to beeffected, which would enable the mothers to send down their boys intothe mine without fear, and would insure the return of the fathers to thechildren, of the husbands to their wives. Higher wages, too, and moreconstant employment would follow the new, safe, and profitable system,which not only would save lives, but bring a much greater proportion ofcoal to the surface. Thus all parties were bright and happy--allparties happy from their own point of view; but while the miners talkedof safety, mother and Owen talked of money.
CHAPTER TWELVE.
YOU ARE CHANGED TO ME.
The events in this story followed each other quickly, I must not delayin writing of them. Hitherto I have but skirted the drama, I havescarcely ventured to lift the folds of the dark curtain, but now Ihesitate no longer.
Here! I push back the veil, let those who will step with me beyond itskind screen. I am going into a battle-field, and the place is gloomy.Heavy with clouds is the sky, red with blood the ground, and cold withdeath lie the conquered, ay, and the conquerors too. But enough! mystory must tell itself, the shadows must come up one by one as theywill.
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We were five months at Ffynon, and the dreary winter had nearly passed,a few snowdrops and crocuses were in the little garden, and all springflowers that money could buy and care cultivate, adorned the prettycottage within. I had been on a long rambling expedition, and had takenNan with me, and Nan had entertained me as I liked best to beentertained, with accounts of mining life and mining danger. Strange,how when we are young, we do like stories of danger. I came back a gooddeal excited, for Nan had been giving me particulars, learned from hermother's lips, of the fearful accident caused in our very mine in 1856by fire-damp, when one hundred and fourteen lives were swept in a momentinto eternity. "That was a dark day for Ffynon," said Nan, "not a housewithout a widow in it, not a home without a dead husband or father.Mother lost her father and brother, and our Stephie was born that verynight. Mother warn't twenty then, but she got old in a minute and nevergrew young again. Eh! dear," added the small thing, with her heavy oldworld sigh, "ain't it a weary world, Miss Morgan?"
"Well, I don't know," I said, "you are inclined to take a dark view oflife, but things will brighten, Nan. Owen is making things sodelightfully safe down in the mine, that soon you'll have no cause to beanxious, and then you'll grow young, as young as me, and enjoy yourlife."
"I'll never be younger nor twenty," said Nan, solemnly, "never; and,Miss Morgan, I can't help telling _you_ something."
"Well, my dear, what is it?"
"They do say, father and Miles, not to me, for they knows I'm soanxious, but I hears 'em whispering when they thinks I'm asleep o'nights. They do say that for all Mr Morgan is so keen about saving theminers, and making things safe and compact, that he have the coalpillars what supports the roof, cut all away to nothing, and the timberwhat's put in, in place o' the pillars, ain't thick enough. It don'tsound much I know, but it means much."
"What does it mean? Nan," I asked.
"Why, falls o' roofs, Miss Morgan. Oh! _I_ knows the sign of 'em, butthere," seeing how white my face had grown, "may be 'tis 'cause I'm ananxious thing, and they do say there's a heap more coal bin brought up,and the ventilation twice as good."
I made no reply to this. I did not say another word. When we came insight of Nan's cottage, I bade her adieu by a single-hand shake, and ranhome. On the gravel sweep outside the sunny, smiling cottage, might beseen the substantial form of Gwen, and by Gwen's side, his hat off, thebreeze stirring his wavy brown hair, stood Owen.
Graceful, careless, happy, handsome, looked my brother, as he raised hisface to kiss David's boy, who sat astride on his shoulder. The baby waskicking, laughing, crowing, stretching his arms, catching at Owen'shair, and making a thousand happy sounds, the first indications of alanguage he was never to learn perfectly on earth. Alas! what _did_ thebaby see in the darkness, that made his face the brightest thing I everlooked at, the brightest thing I ever shall look at in this world. Thesight of the baby and Gwen caused me to forget Nan's words; I ranforward eagerly and spoke eagerly.
"Gwen, what a surprise! how delighted I am! have you come to stay? Oh!you darling, darling pet!" These last words were addressed to littleDavid, whom I took out of Owen's arms, and covered with kisses. "Howmuch he has grown! What a beauty he is!--like a little king. There! myprecious lamb; go back to Owen, for I _must_ give old Gwen a hug!"
Laughing heartily, Owen received him back, perched him anew on hisshoulder, while I turned to Gwen, whom I nearly strangled with thevehemence of my embrace. "There! you dear old thing. _Have_ you cometo live with us? Oh! how dreadfully, dreadfully I have missed you. Oh!never mind your cap. I'll quill you another border in no time. Now,are you coming to live here? Do speak, and don't look so solemn."
"Dear, dear, my maid!" said Gwen, shaking herself free, and panting forbreath. "Good gracious! Gwladys, my maid, I'm a bit stout, and none soyoung; and you did shake me awful." A pause, pant-pant, puff-puff fromGwen. "Why, there! I'm better now, and fit to cry with the joy ofseeing you, my maid; but,"--with a warding-off gesture of her fathands--"good gracious! Gwladys, don't fall on me again." A peal oflaughter from Owen, in which the baby joined.
"Speak," I said, solemnly; "if you don't instantly declare yourintentions, and the duration of your stay, I shall _strangle_ you."
"'Twas on account o' the fever," said Gwen. At these words my handsdropped to my sides, the baby's laughter ceased to float on the air, andOwen was silent. "There's nought, to be frighted at," continued Gwen,observing these signs; "on'y a case or two at the lodge, and littleMaggie and Dan, the laundress's children were rather bad. The Squiresaid it warn't likely to spread; but it would be best to make all safe,so he sent little David and me here for a fortnight, or so. Dear heart,he was sore down in the mouth at sayin' good-bye to the baby; but I waspleased enough, Gwladys, my maid. I wanted to get a sight o' youryellow hair, and to see my mistress, and Mr Owen."
"And I'm delighted to renew my acquaintance with you, Gwen," respondedOwen, heartily. "I assure you I have not forgotten you. There! takebaby now," he added. "I think I hear my mother calling you." When Gwenwas gone, Owen, to my surprise came to my side, and drew my hand throughhis arm.
"I want to talk to you about the baby," he said. "What a splendidfellow he is? How sad he should be blind. Somehow I never realised itbefore. I always knew that David's boy was without sight, but, as Isay, I never took in the meaning of it until I looked into thosebeautiful dark eyes. Isn't David awfully cut up about it? Gwladys."
"I'm not sure," I replied. "You must remember, Owen, that he isaccustomed to it; and then all about baby's birth was so sad. Indeed,David does not like even to talk much about him; and when we are by, henever takes much notice, when he is brought into the room, only Gwentells me how he comes up every night to see him, and how he kisses him--indeed, I know he quite lives for baby."
/> "Gwladys, I wish you would tell me about Amy? Was she worthy of thatnoble fellow?"
I looked at Owen in surprise--surprise from a twofold cause, for thevoice that brought out the unexpected and unusual words trembled.
"He is the noblest fellow I know, quite," said Owen, emphatically,looking me full in the face. "What kind of woman was his wife?"
"I did not know her very well," I replied. "I don't believe I caredgreatly for her. Still, I am sure, Owen--yes,