d our story, he had out his trap indeed, and drove us home,
four miles round by the road, so that Gwen should not be frightened a
second time.

"Don't talk about it," said Gwen; "folks will laugh."

"I'll tell Rhoda, and no one else," was my plain answer.

On the morrow I rose with the dawn, and ran round to the miller's door.
Every other day, for the past six months, Rhoda was out and about at
that hour, scrubbing the steps or feeding the chickens. There was no
Rhoda then; so I wended my way to "The Wynn Arms," Barmouth, where I
waited for upward of four long hours. Then at last Evan Evans lurches
up, a full three sheets in the wind, and as thick-headed as the thickest
landsman.

Well, messmates, it took me a sight of time to see about that there kit.
Ye see, I hadn't too many shots in the locker, and wanted to do the
thing cheap. But this lubber, Evan Evans, was more harm than good,
having lost every atom of his tongue except the part that's constructed
to do the swearing. That was lively enough, and woke up the
storekeepers.

It was quite dusk before I returned to Glanwern, and I had, as you
remember, to leave by daylight on the morrow. Now, indeed, thought I,
the time has come when I must speak to Rhoda; so I marches for the third
time boldly up to Miller Howell's door, and spies about for my poor
dove, who I loved more than life.

The door, my boys, was shut, and locked, too; which, by the bye, ain't
much of a custom in that part of North Wales, where "Taffy ain't a
thief," and we can trust our neighbours as ourselves.

"Rhoda!" I calls out, quite gently, yet so as she must hear, unless
she's out of the house, or gone deaf, indeed.

None answered. No, indeed, none. My dear boys, I felt desperate; so,
with a firm hand, I knocked at the door-handle.

In a jiffy, out comes Miller Howell, with a face like the mast of a
rakish yacht, long, and thin, and yallow.

"What d'ye want, Hugh Anwyl?"

The words was spoken harsh indeed, and angry. I started as if he had
struck me across the face, or ordered me into irons.

"Master," says I, "I'm going away for along journey, perhaps never to
come back again; and I wish to say good-by to your daughter Rhoda."

He looks at me from top to toe, and up again from toe to top. The man's
features were as hard and pitiless as if they had been cut out of a
block of Welsh granite. Then, without a word, he slams the door in my
face.

Friends and messmates, I'm a