I hastened to meet them in the
hope of obtaining information. They were both rather young, and
were probably a couple of sweethearts taking a walk or returning
from meeting. The woman was a few steps in advance of the man;
seeing that I was about to address her, she averted her head and
quickened her steps, and before I had completed the question, which
I put to her in Welsh, she had bolted past me screaming "Ah Dim
Seasneg," and was several yards distant.
I then addressed myself to the man who had stopped, asking him the
name of the bridge.
"Pont Bettws," he replied.
"And what may be the name of the river?" said I.
"Afon - something," said he.
And on my thanking him he went forward to the woman who was waiting
for him by the bridge.
"Is that man Welsh or English?" I heard her say when he had
rejoined her.
"I don't know," said the man - "he was civil enough; why were you
such a fool?"
"Oh, I thought he would speak to me in English," said the woman,
"and the thought of that horrid English puts me into such a
flutter; you know I can't speak a word of it."
They proceeded on their way and I proceeded on mine, and presently
coming to a little inn on the left side of the way, at the entrance
of a village, I went in.
A respectable-looking man and woman were seated at tea at a table
in a nice clean kitchen.
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