I wondered in what way he was trying, but the path grew steeper and steeper, and the plash of water falling among the stones made it hard to hear.  We went on and on, ever upward, until the walls of the narrow glen widened, and at last we were on a barren hillside, across which the little stream found its way in a belt of green grass and fern and bog from farther heights yet, and there I looked for Evan.  The path reappeared here again, and it went slanting across the hill and over its shoulder, hardly more than a sheep track as it was.  And here lay the body of the slain man.

“Over the hill crest,” Howel said, noting my look around.  “The man ran across this track.  Did you hear what Morfed said to them?”

“No, I heard him call, of course, but his tongue is unknown to me.”

“It was the ancient British, I think.  I heard a word or two here and there, but few of those we use yet.  I heard more that are written in our oldest writings, and few enough of them.  But what he said to his men was plain enough, happily.  He bade them kill the captive to amend the wrong done.  I do not know what the wrong was.”

I knew then that Owen had had a narrow escape, and but for the fleetness of foot of Evan he would surely have been slain.  I told Howel of what had passed while he was absent, and so we came to the hilltop, and I saw a little below me the white robes of the captive, and Evan sitting by him, resting on his spear.  He rose up as we came to him.

“Has he spoken, Evan?” I said.

“Ay, Master,” he answered, with a grin that minded me of other days with him.  “He says he will take us to the place where Owen lies, if we will promise to spare his life.”

“We will promise that,” I answered.  “We will let him go his own way after we have seen all that we need.”

“Let me rise, then,” the man said quietly.  “I will shew you all.”

“Do not untie his hands, Evan, but let him walk,” I said.  “He is not to be trusted, if he is like his master.”

It was the elder of the two whom we had before us, and he seemed downcast and harmless enough as we let him rise, though he was unhurt.  He had run on while the younger turned to stay the pursuers, but Evan had caught him.  He led us along the path, which I suppose his own feet and those of Morfed had worn, unless it was old as the menhir itself, and on the way he said suddenly: 

“Let me ask one thing of you.  Has the menhir fallen?”

“Ay, with the cross graven on it,” I answered; and my words checked a laugh that was on Evan’s lips.

“I knew it.  I heard the crash,” the man said.  “That is an end therefore.”

But Howel told the whole story as he had seen it take place, from the time when Morfed flew at me, to the time when the waters were still again; and as he heard, the man clenched his hands and bowed his head and went on quickly, as if that would prevent his hearing.  After that he said nothing.