rlish to refuse. So, like a simpleton, I said, "Yes;" and away she
tripped, with an odd laugh, as if she was mighty pleased.

I did not know it at the time, nor did I hear it until long after, but
Gwen's brother David, that same afternoon, had been to see my Rhoda.

He told her that Miller Howell expected that she would have him for a
husband, and had given him permission to ask her, and that Hugh Anwyl
cared for too many girls to love her.

However, in the evening I called for Gwen, and we two walked together to
the waterfall.

Nobody had arrived before us; so we sat down on the cromlech, and began
to sing what you may call a duet--that is, a stave for two voices.

But my heart was all with Rhoda Howell; and, as I sat singing alongside
of that artful craft, Gwen Thomas, I thought of nothing but the good
news I had to tell, and how it would joy the girl I loved so dearly.

It might have been ten minutes or more--at last, however, I spied the
old miller, and behind him his pretty daughter, arm-in-arm with David
Thomas.

Rhoda's face was unusual white, and her eyes didn't quite look straight
ahead, but seemed to tack about, as if the wind had shifted to a stormy
quarter.

Not much was said by any one, and that little not worth remembering.
After a bit, Gwen pulls out her pitch-pixie, and starts off with "Hail,
smiling morn!"--a very proper ditty; then "Hop-a-derry-dando," "The Men
of Harlech," and a lot more--we men singing tenor and bass to the girls'
treble voices.

Ah, lads! I think I bear that harmony roll away with the waterfall.
I've never forgotten it. The first storm in mid-ocean and the last song
your love sings--these, my boys, are sounds which stick to your ears
like barnacles to the bottom of a hulk, or limpets to the rocks on the
shore.

In the middle of this sing-song, as you may call it, I spied Rhoda--who
wouldn't so much as look or smile at me--whisper to her father, the old
miller; and presently they both left. I wish now that I'd given them a
stern chase, and boarded, like a bold buccaneer. But, you see, I
couldn't rightly make out Rhoda's looks. Something was amiss. That I
guessed. And I thought that the sky being so ugly and overcast, I'd
better wait for the chance of clear weather on the morrow.

As soon as the singing was over, I saw that lubber David--who I could
have kicked all the way to Dolgelly with pleasure, indeed--I saw him
catch Gwen by the buttonhole, and give her some