me look at him, Nest!” said Owen.
She took her little dead son out from under her shawl; they looked at hiswaxen face long and tenderly; kissed it, and covered it up reverently andsoftly.
“Nest,” said Owen, at last, “I feel as though my father’s spirit had beennear us, and as if it had bent over our poor little one. A strangechilly air met me as I stooped over him. I could fancy the spirit of ourpure, blameless child guiding my father’s safe over the paths of the skyto the gates of heaven, and escaping those accursed dogs of hell thatwere darting up from the north in pursuit of souls not five minutessince.
“Don’t talk so, Owen,” said Nest, curling up to him in the darkness ofthe copse. “Who knows what may be listening?”
The pair were silent, in a kind of nameless terror, till they heard EllisPritchard’s loud whisper. “Where are ye? Come along, soft and steady.There were folk about even now, and the Squire is missed, and madam in afright.”
They went swiftly down to the little harbour, and embarked on boardEllis’s boat. The sea heaved and rocked even there; the torn clouds wenthurrying overhead in a wild tumultuous manner.
They put out into the bay; still in silence, except when some word ofcommand was spoken by Ellis, who took the management of the vessel. Theymade for the rocky shore, where Owen’s boat had been moored. It was notthere. It had broken loose and disappeared.
Owen sat down and covered his face. This last event, so simple andnatural in itself, struck on his excited and superstitious mind in anextraordinary manner. He had hoped for a certain reconciliation, so tosay, by laying his father and his child both in one grave. But now itappeared to him as if there was to be no forgiveness; as if his fatherrevolted even in death against any such peaceful union. Ellis took apractical view of the case. If the Squire’s body was found driftingabout in a boat known to belong to his son, it would create terriblesuspicion as to the manner of his death. At one time in the evening,Ellis had thought of persuading Owen to let him bury the Squire in asailor’s grave; or, in other words, to sew him up in a spare sail, andweighting it well, sink it for ever. He had not broached the subject,from a certain fear of Owen’s passionate repugnance to the plan;otherwise, if he had consented, they might have returned to Penmorfa, andpassively awaited the course of events, secure of Owen’s succession toBodowen, sooner or later; or if Owen was too much overwhelmed by what hadhappened, Ellis would have advised him to go away for a short time, andreturn when the buzz and the talk was over.
Now it was different. It was absolutely necessary that they should leavethe country for a time. Through those stormy waters they must ploughtheir way that very night. Ellis had no fear—would have had no fear, atany rate, with Owen as he had been a week, a day ago; but with Owen wild,despairing, helpless, fate-pursued, what could he do?
They sailed into the tossing darkness, and were never more seen of men.
The house of Bodowen has sunk into damp, dark ruins; and a Saxon strangerholds the lands of the Griffiths.
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