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Updated: June 22, 2025
The clumsy door stood wide open, and the sunshine streamed in, and glistened on the bright brass pan in which Morva was crumbling her curds, her sleeves tucked up above her elbows, showing her dimpled arms. With her spotless white apron, her neatly shod feet, and her crown of golden hair, she looked like the presiding goddess of this temple of cleanliness and purity.
With eagerness like a child's she followed every dash, every scrape, and every fling of the dance, and when it was ended, and Gethin returned, laughing and panting, to his seat on the barrow, alas! alas! he had danced into her very heart. "Oh! there's handsome he is!" said Magw, the dairymaid, with a sigh; and Morva echoed the sentiment, though she did not give it utterance.
When they rose from their knees and the wooden shoes had clattered out of the kitchen, Gwilym said, as he drew his chair to the table: "Ann, we must wait a little longer for our furniture. My bag of sovereigns is gone!" "Gone?" echoed everyone, and Morva, who was putting away the Bible, turned white with a deadly fear, which seemed to freeze the blood in her veins.
"Oh, I will never, Will; I will never do that! Be easy, have faith in me, and I will be true to my promise." "Wilt seal it with a kiss, then?" Morva was very chary of her kisses, but to-night she let him draw her closer to him; while he pressed a passionate kiss upon her lips.
Already the sun was rising over the grey slopes, the cottage walls caught the rosy tints, and the ribes tree, which alone was tall enough to catch his beams over the high turf wall of the court, glowed under his morning kiss. Morva looked round the fair scene with eyes and heart that took in all its beauty.
"But what do you think?" "A Bible, perhaps." "A Bible!" said Morva impatiently, "no no, not a Bible; Sara knows you have plenty of them at Garthowen, and she has too much sense to bring you another no! 'tisn't that! but oh, what will it be, I wonder?" And day after day this was the question that ran through her thoughts, "What will it be, I wonder?"
"No, no," said Sara, "she's a sensible girl, and going to be married to Gwilym Morris too! that will be a happy thing for her I think." Morva was silent, following her own train of thoughts while she ate her barley bread and drank her cawl, and when she broke the silence with a remark about Will, to both women it came naturally, as the sequence of their musings.
The golden marsh marigolds glittered around her, the beautiful bog bean hung its pinky white fringe over the brown peat pools, the silky plumes of the cotton grass nodded at her as she passed, and the wind whispered in the rushes the secrets of the sea. Morva listened with a smile, a brown finger up-raised.
"Never!" said Will, a vindictive feeling rising within him, "never will I set thee free to marry another man, whoever he is!" "He is no one," interpolated Morva, in a low voice. "Whoever he is," repeated Will, as though he had not heard her, "I will never set thee free, never never, never!"
"Here comes the parson," he said, and Will smiled graciously even at Morva, whom he generally ignored in the presence of Ann and his father. "Hast been stopping at home, Morva? I thought thee wast at chapel." "I am going home now," said the girl, eyeing him rather critically. "I will tell mother I have seen the 'Rev. Verily Verily."
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