temple of cleanliness and purity.

Round the walls stood shelves of the blue slaty stone of the
neighbourhood, upon which were ranged the pans of golden cream, above
them hanging the various dairy utensils of wood, polished black with
long use and rubbing.

Morva's good spirits had returned, for she hummed as she rubbed her
curds:

"Troodi! Troodi! come down from the mountain,
Troodi! Troodi! up from the dale!
Moelen and Trodwen, and Beauty and Blodwen,
I'll meet you all with my milking pail."

Meanwhile at home in the thatched cottage on the moor Sara seemed to
have caught the mantle of sadness which had fallen from the girl's
shoulders. She went about her household duties singing softly it is
true, but there was a look of disquiet in her eyes not habitual to
them, an air of restlessness very unlike her usual placid demeanour.
For sixteen years her life and Morva's had been serene and uneventful,
the limited circle which bound the plane of their existence had been
complete and undisturbed by outward influences; but latterly unrest and
anxiety had entered into their quiet lives, there was a veiling of the
sun, there was a shadow on the path, a mysterious wind was ruffling the
surface of the sea of life. No trouble had touched Sara personally,
but what mattered that to one so sympathetic? She lived in the lives
of those she loved; and as she moved about in the subdued light of the
cottage, or in the broad sunshine of the garden, a thread of
disquietude ran through the pattern of her thoughts. The cause of