CHAPTER XVIII.
SARA For Gwenda and Will, from this time forward, all went "merry as a marriage bell." Early in the spring their wedding took place in London, and when one morning Morva brought from Pont-y-fro post office a packet for Ebben Owens containing a wedge of wedding cake and cards, he evinced some show of interest.

On the box was written in Gwenda's pretty firm writing, "With love to Garthowen, from William and Gwenda Owen." Ebben rubbed his knees with satisfaction.
"There now," he said, "in her own handwriting, too! Well, indeed! I thought she was a nice young lady that day she came here, but, caton pawb! I never thought she would marry our Will." A second piece of cake was enclosed and addressed.

"To my friends Sara and Morva of the Moor," and Morva carried it home with mingled feelings of pride and pleasure, but paramount was the joy of knowing that she was completely released from the promise which had become so galling to her.
"I knew," said Sara, "that that face would bring us a blessing," and she looked with loving inquiry into Morva's face, which was full of varying expressions.
At first, there was the pleasurable excitement of unfolding and tasting the wedding cake, but it quickly gave way to a look of pensive sadness, which somehow had fallen over the girl rather frequently of late; the haunting thought of Gethin's absence, the cloud of suspicion which had so long hung over him, (it was cleared away now, but it had left its impress upon her life), her ignorance of his whereabouts, and above all, a longing, hidden deep down in her heart, to meet him face to face once more, to tell him that she was free, that no longer behind the broom bushes need she turn away from him, or wrest her hands from his warm clasp.

All this weighed upon her mind, and cast a shadow over her path, which she could not entirely banish.
Sara saw the reflection of the sorrowful thought in the girl's tell-tale eyes, and her tender heart was troubled within her.
"A wedding cake is a beautiful thing," said Morva; "how do they make it, I wonder?
Ann said I must sleep with a bit of it under my pillow to-night, and I would dream of my sweetheart, but that is nonsense." "Yes, 'tis nonsense," said Sara, "but 'tis an old-time fable; thee canst try it, child," she added, smiling, and trying to chase away the girl's look of sadness.
"'Twould be folly indeed, for there is no sweetheart for me any more, mother, now that Will is married.

Oh! indeed, I hope that sweet young lady will be happy, and Will too." "He will be happy, child; but for thee I am grieving.