A gown too she
wore, instead of her peasant dress, a gown of red and black homespun,
which had been her best when she was first married. On her head a
black felt hat, with low crown, and slouching brim over her full
bordered cap of frilled muslin. Strong shoes with bows on the instep,
her crutch stick in her hand, and a little bundle of clothes tied up in
a cotton handkerchief completed her outfit, and thus equipped she stole
silently to the bedside where Morva lay, flushed with the heavy sleep
of youth and health.

"My little daughter!" was all she said, but her eyes were full of tears
as she passed through the cwrt and took the sheep path which led to the
top of the moor. Reaching the brow of the hill she turned into a
narrow lane, over which the thorn bushes, just showing signs of their
budding greenery, almost met together. Under their branches she made
her way, to where the lane opened out to a grassy square, on which
stood a tiny whitewashed cottage. The thatch reached low over the
door, and its one window no bigger than a child's slate. There were no
signs of life, but Sara did not hesitate to raise the wooden latch and
open the door, which she found unbolted.

In the murky gloom of the cottage it was difficult at first to see
where the bed lay, but as space was circumscribed she had not far to
look; in fact, one curtained side of the bed made the wall of the
passage, and she had but to turn round this to see an old and wrinkled
face asleep on the pillow.

"I must wake her, pwr thing," said Sara, and she began to call softly,
"Nani, Nani fach!"

The sleep of age is easily put to flight, and Nani opened her eyes.

"Sara ''spridion'!" she said, in astonishment. "Sara Lloyd, I mean,
but I was dreaming, Sara dear. What is it?" and she sat up not a
little disturbed, for Sara's name alone sufficed to arouse the latent
fear of the "hysbis" or occult, always lurking in the Celtic mind.

Sara only smiled as the word "'spridion" escaped the frightened woman's
lips.

"Is it time to get up?" she said, beginning to rub her eyes.

"No, no," said Sara, taking a seat by the bedside, and leaning upon her
stick. "Lie still, Nani fach, and forgive me for awaking you, but I am
going a journey, and a journey that won't wait."

"Oh, dear!" said Nani, "are you going by the old tren, then? As for
me, I'm too frightened of it to go and see my own daughter. She's
asked me many times, and I would have good living ther