Garthowen Part 35

When the captain left her she fell into a reverie, her sweet, patient face, with its delicate complexion, lighted up by the images of retrospection; the dark blue eyes, which held so much insight and purpose in their depths, were still beautiful under their arched eyebrows, the soft, straight fringe of hair combed down over her forehead like a little child's showed the iron-grey of age, and the mouth, a little sunken, told the same tale, but the spirit of love and peace within preserved to Sara a beauty that was not dependent upon outward form. It was felt by all who came in contact with her, and perhaps was the cause of the curious feeling of awe with which her neighbours regarded her.

As the little puffing steamer ploughed her way through the clear, green water, the ever-changing sky of a March day overhead, the snow-white wreaths of spray, the clear white line of the horizon, the soft grey, receding sh.o.r.e, all unheeded by the captain and his three subordinates, aroused in Sara's mind the intense pleasure that only a heart at peace with itself and with Nature can feel, and as she leant her soft veined hands on her crutched stick, resting her chin upon them, a little picturesque figure on the commonplace, modern steamer, the romance of life which we are apt to a.s.sociate only with the young, added its charm to the thoughts of the woman of many years. The beauty of the world, the joy of it, the great hopes of it, all filled her soul to overflowing, for she believed her journey would bring light and happiness to Ebben Owens. This had been the desire of her young life, and would now be granted to her in her old age. Yes! Sara's heart was full of joy and grat.i.tude, for she knew neither doubt nor fear.

CHAPTER XXI

THE MATE OF THE "GWENLLIAN"

"There!" said Mrs. Jones next morning, as she gave Sara's toilet a finis.h.i.+ng touch, consisting of sundry tugs of adjustment to the red mantle and an encouraging pat on the shoulders; "there! go 'long with you now and find your precious Gethin, and give him a good scolding from me. Tell him he is the last man in the world I would expect to desert an old friend as he has done lately. There! the sight of such a tidy, fresh-looking little country woman will do our pale-faced town people good. Oh, anwl! I wish my Tom was alive; he'd have piloted you straight to the _Gwenllian_. He knew every s.h.i.+p that came into the docks. His heart was with the s.h.i.+pping though he could do nothing but look at them, poor boy!" and drying her eyes with her ap.r.o.n she dismissed Sara, who started with a brave heart.

Up the grimy, uninteresting Bryn Street, which the bright morning sunlight scarcely improved, and soon into a wide, busy thoroughfare where hurrying footsteps and jostling crowds somewhat disconcerted her.

The gay shops, especially the fruit shops, interested her greatly, as well as the vehicles of every description, from the humble costermonger's to the handsome broughams bearing their wealthy owners to their offices for the day; the prettily-dressed children who toddled beside their busy mothers to their early shopping; and, above all, the strains of a bra.s.s band which was enlivening the morning hours with its familiar _repertoire_. Each and all were a revelation of delight to the simple peasant. Straight from the gorse and heather, a woman exceptionally endowed with the instincts of a refined nature, one whose only glimpses of the world had been gathered from the street of a small provincial town, was it to be wondered at that to her the varied sights and sounds around her seemed like the pageantry of a dream?

"'Tis a blue and gold world," she murmured, "and I'm glad I have seen it before I die, but I can't think why the people look so dull and cross."

Although she was unconscious of it, she was herself an object of interest to the hurrying pa.s.sers-by. Many of them turned round to look at the picturesque peasant woman, with her country gown and quaint headgear.

"A woman come down from the hills," said a lady to her companion, as Sara pa.s.sed them, for a moment raising her eyes to theirs.

"And what a sweet face, and what wonderful eyes, so dark and blue.

There is something touching in that smooth fringe of grey hair."

But Sara pa.s.sed on unheeding. She was now in a quieter street, and as she pa.s.sed under the high grey walls of the jail, the prison van crossed her path. The heavy iron doors opened and it pa.s.sed out of her sight; the doors closed with a soft click and a turn of the key, and Sara went on her way with a sigh.

"There are grey and black shadows in the making of it, too," she said, and hurried on.

Once or twice she stopped to ask her way of a pa.s.ser-by.

"The docks this way? Yes, go on, and turn to the left."

At the end of the road she came upon a crowd of boys who were playing some street game with loud shouts and laughter, and Sara, who had hitherto braved all dangers, shrank a little.

"h.e.l.lo, mother! where are you going? There's a penny to pay for pa.s.sing through this way," and they crowded clamorously around her.

She looked at them calmly, disregarding their begging.

"Iss one of you will show me the docks, then shall he have a penny.

You," she said, pointing to one with a round pale face, and honest black eyes.

"Yes 'll I," said the boy, and he turned down a corner, beckoning to her to follow.

"Go on, old witch!" cried the disappointed ones; "where's your broom?"

"Can't you speak Welsh?" she asked, as she came abreast with her guide.

"Yes, that can I," said the boy in his native tongue.

"Oh, very good, then. 'Tis the _Gwenllian_ I am wanting--Captain Price--can you find her?"

"Oh, yes, come on," said the boy. "I was on board of her yesterday morning, but she was about sailing for Toulon with a cargo of coal.

Most like she's gone."

Sara's heart sank, and as they came in sight of the forests of masts, the bales of goods, the piles of boards, of pig iron, of bricks and all the other impedimenta of a wharf, for the first time her heart was full of misgivings.

"Stop you there," said the boy, "and I will go and see," and he darted away, leaving Sara somewhat forlorn amongst the rough crowd of sailors and dockmen.

"Hullo, mother!" said a jolly-looking red-faced man who had nearly toppled over the little frail figure; "what you doing so far from home?

They are missing you shocking in some chapel away in the hills somewhere, I'm sure."

"Well, indeed, 'tis there I would like to go as soon as my business is ended. 'Tis Gethin Owens I am looking for, mate of the _Gwenllian_."

"Oh, ho," said the man, "you may go back to chapel at once, little woman; you won't find him, for he sailed yesterday for France."

At this moment the boy returned with the same information, and Sara turned her face sorrowfully away from the s.h.i.+pping.

"I will give you two pennies if you will take me back to Bryn Street."

"Come on," said the boy.

He did not tell her that his home lay in that identical street, and that he was already due there.

Once more the little red mantle pa.s.sed through the busy crowd. Not for years had Sara felt so sad and disappointed, the heavy air of the town probably added to her dejection.

Mrs. Jones was loud in her sympathy as Sara, faint and weary, seated herself on the settle.

"Oh, Kitty Jones fach!" she said, leaning on her stick and swaying backwards and forwards. "I am more sorry than I can say. To go back without comfort for Garthowen or my little Morva. He's gone to France, and I suppose he won't be back for a year or six months, whatever, and I have no money to stop here all that time."

"Six months!" said Mrs. Jones; "there's ignorant you are in the country. Why, he'll be back in a fortnight, perhaps a week. What's the woman talking about?"

"Yes, indeed?" said Sara, in delighted astonishment. "Yes, I am a very ignorant woman, I know, but a week or a fortnight, or even three weeks, I will stop," and the usual look of happy content once more beamed in her eyes.

Every day little Tom Jenkins, upon whom Sara's two pennies had made a favourable impression, went down to the docks to see if the _Gwenllian_ had arrived. When a week, a fortnight, and nearly three weeks had pa.s.sed away, and still she was not in port, Mrs. Jones suggested that probably she had extended her voyage to some other port, or was perhaps waiting for repairs.

At last one sunny morning Tom Jenkins came in with a whoop.

"The _Gwenllian_ is in the docks!" he cried, and Sara prepared at once for another expedition in that direction.

"Wait a bit," said Mrs. Jones. "You can write, Sara?"

"Yes, in Welsh," said the old woman.

"Well, then, send a letter, and Tom will take it for you."

Sara took her advice, and, putting on her spectacles, wrote as follows: