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"Really, Ruth," he exclaimed one day, when they had been imprisoned by rain a whole morning, "one would think you had never seen a shower of rain before; it quite wearies me to see you sitting there watching this detestable weather with such a placid countenance; and for the last two hours you have said nothing more amusing or interesting than 'Oh, how beautiful! or, 'There's another cloud coming across Moel Wynn."
They had just finished dinner, which had been eaten in profound silence, as if in a house of mourning. Even Sylvius Hogg had been unable to keep up the conversation. What could he say that he had not already said a hundred times before? "I shall start for Christiania to-morrow morning," he remarked at last. "Joel, I wish you would procure a kariol and drive me to Moel." "Very well, Mr. Sylvius.
"How dare you waste your time writing this sort of stuff?" He had a copy of the paper containing my "Witch of Moel Sarbod" in his hand then some months old. He screwed it up into a ball and flung it in my face. "I've only just read it. What did you get for it?" "Nothing," I answered. "Nothing!" he screamed. "You got off for nothing? You ought to have been whipped at the cart's tail!"
But winter was coming on, and could Edward keep his army in the field? An attempt had been made to enter Snowdon from Anglesey, but the English force was destroyed at Moel y Don. It looked as if Edward would have to retire. Llywelyn left Snowdon, and went to Ceredigion and the Vale of Towy to put new heart in his allies, and from there he passed on to the valley of the Wye.
My thoughts had left the happy dream of Winifred's presence and were with Sinfi Lovell. As I looked at the tall precipices rising from the chasm right up to the summit of Snowdon, I recalled how Sinfi, notwithstanding her familiarity with the scene, appeared to stand appalled as she gazed at the jagged ridges of Crib-y-Ddysgyl, Crib Goch, Lliwedd, and the heights of Moel Siabod beyond.