"I know who these will be," said Howel. "You will have company in
your homeward crossing. Here is Dunwal of Devon, and his daughter,
who have been on pilgrimage to St. Davids, for Christmastide. They
knew that Nona returned at this time, and have come hither on the
chance of a passage home in the ship which brought her. In good
time they are, after all."
Presently I met these folk, and very courteous they were. Dunwal
was a tall, very dark, man, who chose to hold that he was beholden
to myself for the passage home, when he heard why I was sailing so
soon. And his daughter was like him in many ways, being perhaps the
very darkest damsel I have ever seen, though she was handsome
withal. With them was a priest of the old Western Church, a
Cornishman, with his outlandish tonsure. He was somewhat advanced
in years, and strangely wild looking at times, though silent. He
seemed to be Dunwal's chaplain, or else was a friend who had made
the pilgrimage with him. His name was Morfed, they told me.
I do not think that I should have noted him much, but that when he
heard my Saxon name he scowled heavily, and drew away from me; and
presently, when it came to pass that Howel told Dunwal the news I
had brought, I saw his eyes fixed on me in no friendly way as he
listened. Nor did he join with his friends in the words of gladness
for Owen's return, though indeed I had some thought that theirs
might have been warmer.
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