glorious, for thecottage at Ffynon was to be furnished with some of the superabundance ofTynycymmer.
Mother and David went through the old rooms many times, and everythingthat was small enough, and choice enough, and pretty enough, was markedto go. Mother and David both looked sad during these pilgrimagesthrough the Tynycymmer rooms. But whenever David said, "Mother I shouldlike you to have this, for such a corner," or, "Mother, we will put thisin Owen's room," she just bent her stately head in acquiescence, andsaid, "It shall be as you wish, my son."
So the rare cases of old china went away, and the choicest landscapeswere removed from the walls; only the family portraits remained in theportrait gallery, and a painter's proof of Noel Paton's "_Mors JanuaVitae_," which David and Amy had brought home after their wedding tour,was left undisturbed in David's study.
Then the waggons came, old-fashioned, slow, and cumbersome, and thefurniture was stowed in, and Gwen and mother and David went to and fro.
At last the cottage was ready, everything to our least belongings,packed and put away, and mother and I saw the day dawn when we were toleave Tynycymmer, and take up our abode at Owen's house. I found on themorning of that day in late October, I found on that last day, to myastonishment, that even going away had its sorrows. A mist of tearscame dimming my eyes as I looked at the sea, as I wandered through thegardens and grounds, as I peeped into the no longer orderly rooms.Memories I had tried to put out of sight returned to me. That arbouroverhanging the sea, where I had talked to Amy of Owen, and Amy, in ashort, vivid, last flash of resentment, had told me I was wrong; thatDavid was the brave man. Poor little gentle Amy! I had never loved hervery much, I had scorned her earnest words; but they were true. Iacknowledged them with a great stab at my heart, when I visited thearbour for the last time.
Here was the horse-chestnut-tree where Owen and I had sat and dreameddreams, summer after summer. I hurried away from it. Here was thecherry-tree from which I had stolen the cherries, for which Owen hadreproved me. Here, crawling listlessly after me, was the lame, andhalf-blind terrier, which had once belonged to Owen, and had beensportive enough when Owen and I were together. Here was the study,where I had copied Owen's exercises. Here the stain, still left in thecarpet, where Owen had upset the ink. Here the spot--here, by the deep,mullioned window--where, after a long labour for Owen, he had put hisarm round my childish neck, looked full into my eyes, and "called me thebest little sister in the world."
Oh! what ailed the place this morning; it was alive with Owen, peopledwith Owen in every nook. From each corner Owen started up andconfronted me, as he was. _As he was_--what was he now? I dashed myblinding tears away. Kissed little David, hugged Gwen, who wasabsolutely speechless with her own sorrow, got into the carriage besidemother, and was off--away! For mother's sake, who was very white, andseemed to be suffering intensely, I abstained from shouting. ForDavid's sake, who kept his hat well down, and who never spoke, I, too,remained silent. In process of time we arrived at Ffynon, and at thecottage which was to be our future home. A tree or two surrounded it; alittle scrap of a garden, neat with gravel, and bright with lategeraniums in pots, led up to it. Inside there was a drawing-room, lowand small; a dining-room to match; behind, kitchens, a pantry, andcellars; over head, four bed-rooms. That was absolutely all. Goodnessme! dear, dear! as Gwen would say, was there ever such a nutshell of aplace! Why, it was a toy-house, a doll's abode. I could stand ontiptoe and touch the ceiling of the apartment set aside for my slumbers.I could stand by the bedstead at one end of the room, and nearly pullthe bell at the other. But then the bedstead was so pretty, so tiny, sobright! The whole room, encased in its fairy-like pink and white, waslike a little bower; the muslin curtains were partly drawn, the blindspartly down, the evening sun cast a glow over everything. I approachedthe window, whistling to my canary as I went. I drew up the blinds, andpushed back the curtains. My cheeks were hot, I wanted to see my waves.Perhaps from long habit, I thought I should see them. I looked out,and behold! a black country--hills, low and barren destitute of trees,clothed with coal dust; straight, red brick chimneys, from which curledvolumes of ugly smoke; roads winding everywhere, of a grimy grey; atrain of coal trams, whizzing up to the noisy dirty station; the roar ofsteam-engines filling the air; dark figures rushing here and there, andthe machinery and shaft of what I afterwards learned was David's mine,quite close. The entrance to this mine lay within not many hundredyards of the house. Oh! there was noise enough and life enough here,but it was ugly! ugly! ugly! I quickly shut down the window; I drew theblinds and curtains into their former position. I would notacknowledge, even to myself, how my heart rose up in wild longing forthe green trees, and the fresh, sweet, salt waves of Tynycymmer; I onlysaid to myself, "The cottage is lovely, fairy-like; but the view isugly!"
That night I slept well in my little room, and in the morning was ableto acknowledge that, though the coal country was far from beautiful, andFfynon was not quite the home to choose, yet any change was welcome tome; and had Owen only been coming back the hero I had painted him, haddear old David's brave face not worn such a patient look, had my mothernot been quite so silent, and quite so sorry for leaving Tynycymmer, andhad Gwen been still to the fore to scold me, and pet me, I should havebeen, notwithstanding the ugly view, the happiest girl in the world.
I got up early this first morning, and went out. I ran down, withoutanyone knowing it, to the place where the machinery roared loudest, andthe black coal dust was thickest. I looked into the mouth of the shaft,watched with interest the rows of grimy miners getting into the cage,and descending into the mine; started back at first from their blackfaces, which, relieved by the dazzling white of teeth and eyeballs, madethem look hardly human; presently gathered courage, came close, askedeager questions, made all verbal preparations for a speedy descent intothe coal mine; rather laughed at the idea of fear in the matter, andreturned home in time for breakfast, my light dress covered with dirtystains, my golden hair full of coal dust, my whole person very dirtyindeed.
"Gwladys," said mother, "you must never venture near the shaft aloneagain."
"If you do, Gwladys, I must take you back to Tynycymmer," said David.
I did not want that; if Ffynon was dirty, it was very new and veryinteresting.
CHAPTER EIGHT.
I SAID I WOULD DO MUCH FOR THESE CHILDREN.
We were a fortnight at Ffynon. All my possessions were unpacked and putneatly away in the wardrobes allotted to them. My favourite books, my"Cambrian Magazine," my "Westward Ho!" my "Arabian Nights," my"Mabinogion," reflected gay colours behind polished glass doors.Packing-cases had disappeared. The cottage inside was perfection,bright with potted plants, cool with muslin drapery, glowing with richcrimson curtains. The rare and lovely Tynycymmer china filled niches inthe drawing-room, exquisite landscapes from the pencils of Fielding andCooper adorned the walls, the blackest of coal sent out the clearestflames of ruddy hue from the highly-polished grates. Every room wasperfect, perfect with neatness, cleanliness, order, and perfect alsowith a minute, but highly-finished beauty. The tiny abode hardly neededeven a fairy's touch to render it more lovely, on the day Owen wasexpected home. On this day mother came down in the black velvet robewhich had lain by for years. It was worn high to her throat, finishedoff at neck and wrists with Honiton. A tiny Honiton cap restedbecomingly on her shining, abundant, still raven black hair.
I was lying on my bed, my face flashed, my yellow locks in confusion, arumpled cotton dress, too soiled for July, too out of season forOctober, adorning my person, when mother in her massive folds, her eyesbright as stars, came in.
"Make yourself nice, my darling. Owen will be here before long," shesaid.
She kissed me and went away. When she left me I jumped up, and lookedat my watch. It was not yet four o'clock. Owen could not arrive beforeanother hour. I cared nothing about my dress. I could not sit in statein the tiny drawing-room to meet Owen. I put on a winter jacket, and myhat, ran downstairs, and wen
t out.
Mother saw me from the window, and called after me, and I called back inreply--
"I shall not be long, I shall return in time for Owen."
Mother turned away with a sigh. What a rebellious, thoughtless youngthing I was! Of course mother wanted me. She would like to look at mein my trim, orderly, number one gown, to arrange a ribbon here and acurl there, to sigh, and smile, and talk, to hazard a thousand sweetinnocent conjectures. Should we know our darling? What would he thinkof me? I had been such a little one when he went away!
These remarks, these touches, these looks, would have helped motherthrough that last trying hour of suspense, that hour which, if all _has_been well, if all _will_ be well, is still fraught with pain through itsvery intensity. Yes, they would have helped mother, and driven me wild.I was