Testimonies: A Novel by Patrick O'Brian Page B

lay all night on the mountain, in the fern above Hir Gardd. He came for me before the light and called to me and swore he would not touch me ever, and brought me back, and he was crying. Poor fellow: he could not help it. It was a devil.
    But I hated him. I seemed to be alone with him in that house, and no one in the whole valley I could turn to.
    Q . Was it often like that again, after?
    A . It was again, but it was long, long between and I could almost forget it, it was so long; except in the back of my mind it was always there, and even when we were kind and friendly somehow I was half-watching him.
    Q . Go back to the old people. What did Emyr’s father think?
    A . He never knew anything about it at all. If I cried he thought it was just a woman crying—a headache, something—and he would talk soft and tread quietly, but he never knew anything. Nain—we began to call the old ones Nain and Taid after Gerallt was born—Nain must have told him how bad I was, but he was always kind to me.
    Q . And old Mrs. Vaughan?
    A . It went against her nature to hate me, and she was so good in all her other ways that once I almost told her. But once she had seen me hating her son, not bearing to touch him or even give him a word (I could not help it; I felt like a wild animal the next day) she turned against me with all her might. She would not have stopped to kill a man who threatened her son, I know.
    Of course she had been jealous from the beginning: she said it herself—laughing at first and said I must not mind because she would get better. But now, with poor Emyr trying to make it right (he meant every time never to do it again) and me flouting him so cruel, the old jealousy swelled up. I was afraid to show him any countenance: I did not want to, but I thought I ought to be even harder than I felt, to try and master him. She suffered for him, and she could not rest. Nothing I could do was right—it was her trying to attack me for him—and she would speak to me sharply all day long until at last Emyr flew out at her. I think it made his conscience even worse, seeing me used so, and he was very hard to her that day. Then she was different. She would do the hard work; she would not be helped, though it made my heart bleed to see her: she would say, “Bronwen says it should be like this,” or “Bronwen wants me to do that.” And it was “Bronwen’s settle” and “Bronwen’s sheets” always now, until I wished Meurig’s wife had had them all: and she spoke of their things as separate, to make me a stranger.
    I tried to keep things looking ordinary: I would have put my hand in the fire rather than spoil the old man’s home.
    There was one more thing. After Gerallt was born and before Emyr began to be like that, I was happy for a long time. My dear brother often came over to see him—I used to tell him he would not come to see me, but he would let the sheep look after themselves all day to see Gerallt. He promised me Gerallt should have our old home, because the doctors had said that Gwladys could not have a baby, and it made me wonderfully happy to think of my son in Cwm Priddlyd.
    Emyr was very kind to me then; he was so pleased with Gerallt. Gerallt was a lovely baby: no woman could have wanted a better one. Emyr brought me a lot of books about children, and we read them. Nain and Taid loved Gerallt, but they did not think anything of the books.
    The old ones were very bad when Gerallt stopped being a baby. Taid wanted him to have everything that he wanted, at once. If ever I had to correct him (and I know I was very weak in correcting him) it was as if I was a dragon. Taid said, “Never put a hurt on a child,” and he looked at me more gravely than he ever had before. And Nain said, “This is the way I brought up Emyr.”
    More and more Emyr would go over to their side and kiss and hug Gerallt when he was roaring: but I would not give up my child to them. Whenever they had Gerallt to themselves they would put a