Through Welsh Doorways Part 14

Intermittently the wind whined and raced, howling like a wolf, through the Gwynen Valley; and intermittently, too, the rain doused the bridge on whose slate coping Vavasour Jones leaned. It was a night when spirits of air and earth, the racing wind, the thundering water, the slas.h.i.+ng rain, were the very soul of this chaos of noise. Still, cosy lights shone on either side of the bridge, the lights of Ty Ucha and Ty Usaf, where a good mug of beer could be had for a mere song to a man of Vavasour's means. And the lights from all the cottages, too, for it was All-Hallows' Eve, twinkled with festive brilliance upon the drenched flags of the street. Indeed, there was not one of these houses in all Gwynen whose walls and flaggings were not familiar to him, where Vavasour Jones and his wife Catherine had not been on an occasion, a knitting-night, a Christmas, a bidding, a funeral, an All-Hallows' Eve.

But to-night his eyes gazed blankly upon these preliminary signs of a merry evening within doors, and he seemed unconscious of the rain pouring upon him and the wind slapping the bridge. He moved when he saw a figure approaching.

"Hist! Eilir!"

"Aye, man, who is it?"

"It's me, it's Vavasour Jones."

"Dear me, lad, what do ye here in the dark and rain?"

Vavasour said nothing; Eilir peered more closely at him. "Are ye sick, lad?"

"Och, I'm not sick!" Vavasour's voice rang drearily, as if that were the least of ills that could befall him.

"Well, what ails ye?"

"It's All-Hallows' Eve an'----"

"Aren't ye goin' to Pally Hughes's?"

"Ow!" he moaned, "the devil! goin' to Pally Hughes's while it's drawin'

nearer an' nearer an'--Ow!"

"Tut, man," said Eilir sharply, "ye're ill; speak up, tell me what ails ye."

"Ow-w!" groaned Vavasour.

Eilir drew away; here was a case where All-Hallows' had played havoc early in the evening. What should he do? Get him home? Notify Catherine?

Have the minister? He was inclining to the last resource when Vavasour groaned again and spoke:--

"Eilir, I wisht I were dead, man."

"Dear me, lad, what is it?"

"It's the night when Catherine must go."

"When Catherine must go? What do ye mean?"

"She'll be dead the night at twelve."

"Dead at twelve?" asked Eilir, bewildered. "Does she know it?"

"No, but I do, an' to think I've been unkind to her! I've tried this year to make up for it, but it's no use, man; one year'll never make up for ten of harsh words an' unkind deeds. Ow!" groaned Vavasour, collapsing on to the slate coping once more.

"Well, ye've not been good to her," replied Eilir, mystified, "that's certain, man, but I've heard ye've been totally different the past year.

Griffiths was sayin' he never heard any more sharp words comin' from your windows, an' they used to rain like hail on the streets some days."

"Aye, but a year'll not do any good, an' she'll be dyin' at twelve to-night, Ow!"

"Well," said Eilir, catching at the only thing he could think of to say, "there's plenty in the Scriptures about a man an' his wife."

"Aye, but it'll not do, not do, not do," sobbed Vavasour Jones.

"Have ye been drinkin', lad?"

"Drinkin'!" exclaimed Jones.

"Well, no harm, but lad, about the Scriptures; there's plenty in the Scriptures concernin' a man an' his wife, an' ye've broken much of it about lovin' a wife, an' yet I cannot understand why Catherine's goin'

an' where."

"She's not goin' anywhere, Eilir; she'll be dyin' at twelve."

Whereupon Vavasour Jones rose up suddenly from the coping, took a step forward, seized Eilir by the coat-lapel, and, with eyes flickering like coals in the dark, told his story. All the little Gwynen world knew that he and his wife had not lived happily or well together; there had been no children coming and no love lost, and, as the days went on, bickering, scolding, harsh words, and even ugly actions. Aye, and it had come to such a pa.s.s that a year ago this night, on All-Hallows' Eve, he had gone down to the church-porch shortly before midnight to see whether the spirit of Catherine would be called, and whether she would live the twelve months out. And as he was leaning against the church-wall hoping, aye, man, and praying that he might see her there, he saw something coming around the corner with white over its head; it drew nearer and nearer, and when it came in full view of the church-porch it paused, it whirled around, and sped away with the wind flapping about its feet and the rain beating down on its head. But Vavasour had time to see that it was the spirit of Catherine, and he was glad because his prayer had been answered, and because, with Catherine dying the next All-Hallows', they would have to live together only the year out. So he went homeward joyfully, thinking it was the last year, and considering as it was the last year he might just as well be as kind and pleasant as possible.

When he reached home he found Catherine up waiting for him. And she spoke so pleasantly to him and he to her, and the days went on as happily as the courting days before they were married. Each day was sweeter than the one before, and they knew for the first time what it meant to be man and wife in love and kindness. But all the while he saw that white figure by the churchyard, and Catherine's face in its white hood, and he knew the days were lessening and that she must go. Here it was All-Hallows' Eve again, and but four hours to midnight, and the best year of his life was almost past. Aye, and it was all the result of his evil heart and evil wish and evil prayer.

"Think, man," groaned Vavasour, "prayin' for her callin', aye, goin'

there hopin' ye'd see her spirit, an' countin' on her death!"

"Oh, man, it's bad," replied Eilir mournfully, "aye, an' I've no word to say to ye for comfort. I recollect well the story my granny used to tell about Christmas Powell; it was somethin' the same. An' there was Betty Williams was called ten years ago, an' didn't live the year out; an'

there was Silvan Evans, the s.e.xton, an' Geffery his friend, was called two years ago, and Silvan had just time to dig Geffrey's grave an' then his own, too, by its side, an' they was buried the same day an' hour."

"Ow!" wailed Vavasour.

"Aye, man, it's bad; it'll have to be endured, an' to think ye brought it on yourself. Where's Catherine?"

"She's to Pally Hughes's for the All-Hallows' party."

"Och, she'll be taken there!"

"Aye, an' oh! Eilir, she was loth to go to Pally's, but I could not tell her the truth."

"That's so, lad; are ye not goin'?"

"I cannot go; I'm fair crazy an' I'll just be creepin' home, waitin' for them to bring her back. Ow!"

"I'm sorry, man," called Eilir, looking after him with an expression of sympathy: "I can be of no use to ye now."

Across the bridge the windows of Pally Hughes's grey-stone cottage shone with candles, and as the doors swung to and fro admitting guests, the lights from within flickered on the bra.s.s doorsill and the hum of merry words reached the street. Mrs. Morgan the baker, dressed in her new scarlet whittle and a freshly starched cap, was there; Mr. Howell the milliner, in his highlows and wonderful plum-coloured coat; Mrs.

Jenkins the tinman, with bright new ribbons to her cap and a new beaver hat which she removed carefully upon entering; and Mr. Wynn "the shop,"

whose clothes were always the envy of Gwynen village; and many others, big-eyed girls and straight young men, who crossed the bright doorsill.

Finally, Catherine Jones tapped on the door. Within, she looked vacantly at the candles on the mantelpiece and on the table, all set in festoons of evergreens and flanked by a display of painted china eggs and animals; and at the lights s.h.i.+ning steadily, while on the hearth a fire crackled. Catherine, so heavy was her heart, could scarcely manage a decent friendly greeting to old Pally Hughes, her hostess. She looked uncheered at the big centre table, whereon stood a huge blue wa.s.sail-bowl, about it little piles of raisins, buns, spices, biscuits, sugar, a large jug of ale and a small bottle tightly corked. She watched the merriment with indifference; bobbing for apples and sixpences seemed such stupid games. There was no one in whom she could confide now, and anyway it was too late; there was nothing to be done, and while they were talking lightly and singing, too, for the harp was being played, the hours were slipping away, and her one thought, her only thought, was to get home to Vavasour. "Oh," reflected Catherine, "I'm a wicked, wicked woman to be bringin' him to his death!"

The candles were blown out and the company gathered in a circle about the fire to tell stories, while a kettle of ale simmered on the crane and the apples hung roasting. Pally began the list of tales. There was the story of the corpse-candle Lewis's wife saw, and how Lewis himself died the next week; there were the goblins that of All-Hallows' Eve led Davies such a dance, and the folks had to go out after him with a lantern to fetch him in, and found him lying in fear by the sheep-wall; and there were the plates and mugs Annie turned upside down and an unseen visitor turned them right side up before her very eyes.

Then they began to throw nuts in the fire, each with a wish: if the nut burned brightly the wish would-come true. Old Pally threw on a nut, it flickered and then blazed up; Maggie tossed one into the fire, it smouldered and gave no light. Gradually the turn came nearer Catherine; there was but one wish in her heart and she trembled to take the chance.

"Now, Catherine!"