"'Twas just then in Monte Video I caught a fever--the yellow fever they
call it--and I was in the hospital there for many weeks. They told me
afterwards that I had a very bad turn of it. The doctors said they'd
never seen a man so ill and yet recover. I took their word for it.
But I knew nothing about it myself, for I was as happy as a king those
weeks, roaming about Garthowen slopes, dancing in the mill, and
whistling at the plough, and Morva at my side always. Dei anwl! When
I came to myself, and saw the bare, whitewashed walls of the hospital,
the foreign nurses moving about--very kind and tender they were, too,
but 'twasn't Morva--Garthowen slopes, Morva, the mill and the moor had
all gone, and when I saw where I was, what will you think of me, Sara,
when I tell you I cried like a little child, like I did the day when I
tore myself away from little Morva long ago, when I ran away from home,
and heard her calling after me, 'Gethin! Gethin!'

"The nurse was very kind to me. She saw my tears were falling like the
rain. ''Tis weak you are, poor fellow,' says she, for she could speak
English. God bless her! I will never forget her. And she did her
best to strengthen me with good food and cheering words; and in time I
got well, but 'twas many months before I felt like myself again.

"Well, in the next bed to mine was a man, brought in when I was at my
worst, or my best, having that jolly time on Garthowen slopes with
Morva. When I came to myself, he was there, poor fellow, as yellow as
a guinea, with black shadows under his eyes, and the parched lips that
showed he was having a hard fight for his life. But singing he was all
through the long nights in that strange place, though his voice was so
weak and husky you could scarcely hear him; but the words, Sara fâch!
I almost rose up in my bed when I heard them. What d'ye think they