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"Nellie and I," continued his brother, "are quite looking forward to see our niece of course we make all allowance for the rhapsodies of a lover; but discounting all that, I really think, Meurig, he has found a pearl in that old, rough oyster-shell of a house." "Wait a moment, Cardo," said his father, as he saw his son hunting about for his hat.
"What can be more idyllic than to drive through the glowing sunset, and find such a meal as this waiting for me broiled fish, cream, honey?" Meurig Wynne reflected with satisfaction that none of these luxuries were expensive. "I hope you will get strong here," he said; "the air is pure and bracing, and you can roam about where you please.
"'Meurig, she said, and she put out her hand, which I took in mine. Even while I held her hand I noticed on her bed a bunch of sweet violets which I had seen Lewis gather in the morning. 'Meurig, why have you been cold to me? she asked, while her hand still lay in mine.
However disturbing these visions may have been, the nurse was generally discreet enough to maintain perfect silence upon them until she got back to the safety of her own home. But it is not very surprising if her tongue sometimes got the better of her, as in a story obtained by Professor Rhys at Ystrad Meurig.
Pembrokeshire, in particular, retains a complete separateness, so to speak, from the rest of the country, and is often called "Little England beyond Wales." Thus it was that the English language seemed always more natural to Meurig Wynne than the Welsh.
Meurig Wynne, "y Vicare du," or "the black Vicar," as he was called by the country people, in allusion to his black hair and eyes, and also to his black apparel, sat in his musty study, as he had done every evening for the last twenty-five years, poring ever his old books, and occasionally jotting down extracts therefrom.
"We sha'n't keep this fellow long with us," said Lewis Wynne, indicating Cardo with a jerk of his thumb; "he can scarcely take his eyes off that ramshackle old house up there on the cliff; naturally he is longing to see his wife. You must make no objection, Meurig." "None. I have no wish to do so."
They spoke of a love whose existence I had not guessed; of his devotion to Ellen Vaughan, my wife's cousin; of his deep gratitude to Agnes for her unfailing kindness to him and to his beloved Ellen; of his deep distress at my evident dislike of him. "'What has come between us, Meurig? he said. 'What has become of the faithful love of so many years?
Meurig Wynne still pored over apparently the self-same books which he was studying when we first saw him. "Sit down, Cardo," he said, as his son entered; "I have a good deal to say to you. First, this letter," and he hunted about amongst his papers. "It is from an old friend of mine, Rowland Ellis of Plas Gwynant. You know I hear from him occasionally quite often enough.
"'Agnes, I said, 'are you not straying very far from home? "'I came for a walk, she answered; 'it is a lovely day! "'I did not know you could walk so far, I said. 'Last evening when I asked you to come down to the shore with me, you said it was too far! "'Yesterday, Meurig, I was feeling very ill; to-day I am better. "Her lip quivered a little, and she looked round uneasily, I thought.
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