Page:Century Magazine v082.djvu/90

soothed a frightened bird. "Where are we, lass?"

"On the Glen path, where thou must have fallen. But thou art hurt; I must call the others!"

His fingers tightened about her hand. "I—I waited for thee, Gladdwyd."

"Yes, lad, but we came down the Capel way. All the while I cooked the porridge for supper I watched for thy passing, and when thou didst not come, I could not rest. 'N'wncwl John and Father are searching the woods for thee now."

"And thou camest to seek me?" asked Evan tenderly. "Thou carest enough— enough for that?"

With a half-sob she laid her hand upon his arm. "Come, Evan, I will help thee; try to rise."

But he groaned with pain as she attempted to lift him.

"No! No!" he cried in anguish, "I cannot move, something crushes me here," and he lay his hand on his chest.

Gladdwyd started up in terror. "I will go for Father," she cried, "his light is flashing now through the trees."

But Evan turned his face to her beseechingly:

"Wait with me, here," he pleaded. "It 's not for long."

Tenderly she lifted his head to her lap and sat waiting fearfully until the moving lights should come near enough for her father to hear her call.

Presently Evan stirred and moaned, then suddenly a flash of joyous wonder overspread his face.

"It 's beautiful, it is!" he murmured breathlessly, "all beautiful now. Life—and—love—and death."

The years have passed, but the weather-beaten little shelter, with its pathetic inscription yet legible above the penny-box, may still be seen on the path that leads to Fous Noddum. But it is only a place for the birds and squirrels now, and no vibrant harp notes mingle with the music of the Glen.