“Are you meaning that the Squire is dead? Speak low, lest she hear. Well, well, no need to talk about how he died. It was sudden, I see; and we must all of us die; and he’ll have to be buried. It’s well the night is near. And I should not wonder now if you’d like to travel for a bit; it would do Nest a power of good; and then—there’s many a one goes out of his own house and never comes back again; and—I trust he’s not lying in his own house—and there’s a stir for a bit, and a search, and a wonder—and, by-and-by, the heir just steps in, as quiet as can be. And that’s what you’ll do, and bring Nest to Bodowen after all. Nay, child, better stockings nor those; find the blue woollens I bought at Llanrwst fair. Only don’t lose heart. It’s done now and can’t be helped. It was the piece of work set you to do from the days of the Tudors, they say. And he deserved it. Look in yon cradle. So tell us where he is, and I’ll take heart of grace and see what can be done for him.” But Owen sat wet and haggard, looking into the peat fire as if for visions of the past, and never heeding a word Ellis said. Nor did he move when Nest brought the armful of dry clothes. “Come, rouse up, man!” said Ellis, growing impatient. But he neither spoke nor moved. “What is the matter, father?” asked Nest, bewildered. Ellis kept on watching Owen for a minute or two, till on his daughter’s repetition of the question, he said— “Ask him yourself, Nest.” “Oh, husband, what is it?” said she, kneeling down and bringing her face to a level with his. “Don’t you know?” said he, heavily. “You won’t love me when you do know. And yet it was not my doing: it was my doom.” “What does he mean, father?” asked Nest, looking up; but she caught a gesture from Ellis urging her to go on questioning her husband. “I will love you, husband, whatever has happened. Only let me know the worst.” A pause, during which Nest and Ellis hung breathless. “My father is dead, Nest.” Nest caught her breath with a sharp gasp. “God forgive him!” said she, thinking on her babe. “God forgive _me_!” said Owen. “You did not—” Nest stopped. “Yes, I did. Now you know it. It was my doom. How could I help it? The devil helped me—he placed the stone so that my father fell. I jumped into the water to save him. I did, indeed, Nest. I was nearly drowned myself. But he was dead—dead—killed by the fall!” “Then he is safe at the bottom of the sea?” said Ellis, with hungry eagerness. “No, he is not; he lies in my boat,” said Owen, shivering a little, more at the thought of his last glimpse at his father’s face than from cold. “Oh, husband, change your wet clothes!” pleaded Nest, to whom the death of the old man was simply a horror with which she had nothing to do, while her husband’s discomfort was a present trouble.