"Then I am afraid that you are too late--Mrs. Thomas will not show
people over after four o'clock. She is the housekeeper, you know."
"Ah, well, the fact is I did not come to see over the place. I came to
live there. I am Owen Davies, and the place was left to me."
Beatrice, for of course it was she, stared at him in amazement. So this
was the mysterious sailor about whom there had been so much talk in
Bryngelly.
"Oh!" she said, with embarrassing frankness. "What an odd way to come
home. Well, it is high tide, and you will have to take a boat. I will
show you where you can get one. Old Edward will row you across for
sixpence," and she led the way round a corner of the beach to where old
Edward sat, from early morn to dewy eve, upon the thwarts of his biggest
boat, seeking those whom he might row.
"Edward," said the young lady, "here is the new squire, Mr. Owen Davies,
who wants to be rowed across to the Castle." Edward, a gnarled and
twisted specimen of the sailor tribe, with small eyes and a face that
reminded the observer of one of those quaint countenances on the handle
of a walking stick, stared at her in astonishment, and then cast a look
of suspicion on the visitor.
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