hands he took the oars, and pulled out into the more open sea toward
Criccaeth. He skirted along the coast till he found a shadowed cleft
in the dark rocks; to that point he rowed, and anchored his boat
close in land. Then he mounted, staggering, half longing to fall
into the dark waters and be at rest--half instinctively finding out
the surest foot-rests on that precipitous face of rock, till he was
high up, safe landed on the turfy summit. He ran off, as if pursued,
toward Penmorfa; he ran with maddened energy. Suddenly he paused,
turned, ran again with the same speed, and threw himself prone on the
summit, looking down into his boat with straining eyes to see if
there had been any movement of life--any displacement of a fold of
sail-cloth. It was all quiet deep down below, but as he gazed the
shifting light gave the appearance of a slight movement. Owen ran to
a lower part of the rock, stripped, plunged into the water, and swam
to the boat. When there, all was still--awfully still! For a minute
or two, he dared not lift up the cloth. Then reflecting that the
same terror might beset him again--of leaving his father unaided
while yet a spark of life lingered--he removed the shrouding cover.
The eyes looked into his with a dead stare! He closed the lids and
bound up the jaw. Again he looked. This time he raised himself out
of the water and kissed the brow.

"It was my doom, father! It would have been better if I had died at
my birth!"

Daylight was fading away. Precious daylight! He swam back, dressed,
and set off afresh for Penmorfa. When he opened the door of Ty Glas,
Ellis Pritchard looked at him reproachfully, from his seat in the
darkly-shadowed chimney-corner.