Tynycymmer!"
Indignant, and with tears in my eyes, I sought David, told him what Ihad heard, and demanded an explanation.
"There is nothing to explain, dear," he replied. "We have lost somemoney, and are obliged to retrench for a bit. But don't repeat theservants' foolish talk to the mother, Gwladys, 'twill only pain her."
After this, we settled down very quietly, no fresh event occurring forsome time. David went more and more amongst the people, acquaintinghimself with every man, woman, and child on the estate, winning his wayjust in the most natural way into their hearts, learning all about theirprivate history, finding out exactly where the shoe pinched John Thomas,and where Thomas John's sorest trouble lay, until gradually I heardnothing more of his stinginess, but much of his love, and when he tookthe babies in his arms, and called the tiny children by their names, themothers prayed God to bless the young squire with a fervour they hadnever used for the old.
This took place very naturally, and mother's face began to growcontented and happy. Still, Owen never came home; he was spoken oflovingly, hopefully, but neither mother nor David mentioned his return,and I grew tired of asking questions on this subject, and tired ofwishing him back. I dreamed dreams of him instead, and imagined withpride the great deeds he must be doing, and the glory he must bewinning. So far away, so little mentioned, his return so indefinite, hebecame clothed with a halo of romance to me. My love grew in intensity,and I magnified my beautiful and gifted brother into a hero. It wasjust then David's great joy, and also his great trouble, came to him.
We Morgans of Tynycymmer were very proud. Why not? we were poor, old,and Welsh--quite enough to account for any haughtiness we might assume.We believed ourselves to be, if not the direct descendants, at least acollateral branch of that Morgan, son of Leir, some time a king of thisland, after whom this county was named. There was a time when to be atrue Morgan, of Glamorganshire, meant more to its happy possessor thanmany a higher sounding title. Of course that time and its glory hadpassed away, years had deprived us of more than the old stout hearts ofour ancient ancestors; our gold had also taken to itself wings, our greyand ivy-covered home had fallen, much of it, into ruins, and our broadand goodly acres passed into the unloving hands of strangers. Still,firmly as the limpet to the rock, the poorer we grew, the more did weattach ourselves to the wild old Welsh country. Each squire ofTynycymmer bringing home, in his turn, a bride who often possessedneither money nor beauty; but always something else, without which shecould never have married a Morgan of our house--she had pure, untaintedWelsh blood in her veins. None of the Morgans were so foolish, sounfaithful to the old stock, as to marry an English woman; if our goldwas scant, our blood at least was pure. So we went on, each freshmaster of Tynycymmer a little poorer than his father, when suddenly andunexpectedly a chance came in our way. There was born into the world, aMorgan either more sensible or more lucky than his progenitors; a Morganwho, going abroad to seek a bride, brought home one who not only couldboast of blue Welsh blood, but had also beauty and a fortune. Thislucky Morgan was my father, his rich and lovely bride my mother.
Esther Williams was the daughter of a Glamorganshire man. Her fatherpossessed, at the other side of the county, a fine extent of coalcountry, and a very large fortune was he able to bestow upon his onlychild. The fortune consisted of some coalfields, and with the rentalfrom these my father was able to restore Tynycymmer to much of itsancient splendour. My mother's family was not so old as ours, but beingtrue Welsh, and having beauty and a fortune, this fact was graciouslyoverlooked by us, and we condescended to use her money to our ownaggrandisement. I have said that we were a proud family--but of us all,there was none who so upheld the family traditions, and who so rejoicedin the family honour, as the one who was herself only a Morgan bymarriage, my mother.
Of the days when she was only Esther Williams, she never cared to speak;her money was never "her money," but the "Morgans' money." Money thatbrought fresh glory to the old house, was honoured indeed--she regardedherself individually, as a humble instrument destined to do much good--for herself, her appearance, her character, she felt little pride orsatisfaction; but for the sake of the name given to her by her husband,she would indeed walk with stately mien, and uphold her dignity to thelast; and well she could do it, for though a little woman, she wassingularly dignified and graceful-looking, and was, in short, every inchworthy of the high position she believed herself to have attained. Shepossessed the dark eyes and raven locks of the true Welsh woman. How Icame to be fair-haired and blue-eyed remained a mystery, and wasreckoned rather a disgrace. When a tiny child, Gwen had impressed thisfact upon me, and I remember blushing and looking distressed, when fairpeople were mentioned. Yes, my mother was a beautiful woman; I have avivid memory of her, as she looked in my father's lifetime, dressed inthe time-honoured black velvet, the old jewels flashing in her hair, asbending down her haughty dark face, until it touched my fair one, shefilled my greedy and receptive little brain with the ancient stories ofour house.
I heard of the ghosts and the deeds of vengeance from Gwen, of thefairies and deeds of glory from mother.
Yes, my mother was very beautiful, and with the exception of two specksin the fair fruit of her heart, the best woman I know. How loving shewas, how tender, how strong, how brave! But the specks marred the fullperfection: one speck was her pride, the other her unjust preference forOwen. At the time of which I write, I did not consider this preferenceunjust, for I too loved Owen best, but even then I had felt the fullpower of her pride. I mention it here in order to make David's sorrowand David's joy more fully understood.
Those retrenchments which took place when David came of age, were nosmall sorrow to mother. When the housekeeper went away, and many of theservants were dismissed, when the old coach was not sold, but put out ofsight in some unused coach-house, when the horses were parted with tothe highest bidder;--mother felt pain, though of her feelings she neverspoke, and to their expression she gave no vent; her pride was hurt bythis lowering of the Morgans' importance, but her very pride was its ownshield in preventing its betrayal, and _she_ knew then, though I didnot, why these things were done. But a year later, that pride receivedanother blow. I remember the beginning of it. The postman brought tous a letter. I say to _us_, for all our letters, with the exception ofthose few received when David returned so suddenly from Oxford, werepublic property. This letter contained news. A distant cousin ofmother's had died in London; had died and left one orphan daughter quiteunprovided for. This cousin was a Williams, but though calling himselfby the well-known Welsh name, was no true Welshman: his family had longago settled in England, had married English wives, and had become, inmother's opinion, nobodies. The unprovided daughter had not writtenherself, knew nothing indeed about the letter, but a friend of hers indespair how best to help her, had ventured to inform Mrs Morgan ofTynycymmer, that her cousin's child was a pauper.
"Have her here on a visit," said David, promptly.
Mother, her heart full of sorrow and pity for the lonely girl, assentedat once. Amy Williams was invited and came.
And now came mother's trouble and the shock to her pride, for David fellin love with the penniless English girl.
I am not surprised at it, and looking back on it now, I am glad. Amywas the only person I ever met who understood David, and who appreciatedhim. I am glad for his sake, and hers, that they had one short happyyear together. For however tender and considerate David was withmother, on this point he was firm; he thought more of Amy's happinessthan mother's pride, and he married Amy though mother opposed itbitterly. Of course I did not hear a great deal about it. I was veryyoung, only fourteen, at the time, and mother ever kept her feelingswell under control, and not one of the servants even guessed how muchshe disapproved of this marriage; but I remember on David's and Amy'swedding-day, running in to mother to show her my white muslinbride's-maid's dress, and mother kissing me, and then saying, withconcentrated bitterness, "Had Owen been the eldest son
, whatever hisfaults, he would never have given me the pain David has done to-day."
Fond and proud as I was of Owen, I did not quite like mother to say thatof David on his wedding-day. Well, he and Amy were married; they spenta week in North Wales, another week in London, and then came home.Mother wanted to transfer the reins of authority into Amy's hands, butAmy would not take them; she was the meekest little thing I ever knew,she was quite too meek to please me. I never got to know her, I neverreally cared for her; but she suited our David, and he suited her. Hispresence was to her as the sun to the flower, and truly he was a greatsun for the little fragile thing to bask in. I am sure she had a greatdeal in her which David alone could draw out, for after talking to herhe always looked happy, his whole face in a glow. Looking back on itnow, I can recall nothing brighter