"I'll put them in my drawer to-night, and to-morrow I'll take them to the bank." When Morva returned they were still discussing the preacher's good fortune in the recovery of the loan which he had almost despaired of.
"Oh, there's glad I am!" said the girl; and Gethin put in a word of congratulation as he sauntered out to take a last look at the horses.
Long before ten the whole household had retired for the night.

Ann and Morva slept in a small room on the first landing, just beyond which, up two steps, ran a long passage, into which the other bedrooms opened.
Morva, who generally found the handmaid of sleep waiting beside her pillow, missed her to-night.

Hour after hour she lay silent and open-eyed, vainly endeavouring to follow Ann into the realms of dreamland.
Tudor, too, who usually slept quietly in his kennel, seemed disturbed and restless, and filled the air with mournful howling.
The girl was in that cruellest of all stages of sorrow, when the mind has but half grasped the meaning of its trouble.

She had no name for the deep longing which rebelled in her heart against the fate that was closing her in; for she had as yet scarcely confessed to herself that her whole being turned towards Gethin as the flower to the sun, and that in her breast, so long calm and unruffled as the pools in the boggy moor, was growing as strong a repulsion for one brother as love for the other.

And as she lay quietly on her pillow, endeavouring not to disturb her companion's rest, a tide of sorrowful regrets swept over her, even as outside, under the shifting moonlight, the bay, yesterday so calm, was torn and tossed by the rising north-west wind.