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'
The son?' Helen stared at him wide-eyed. 'But I thought he was a child.'

He looked at her in surprise for a minute, then shook his head. 'You were thinking of a boy, were you?' He leaned across and picked up the book that lay on the seat beside her, gazing at the back of the dust jacket as she herself had done earlier. 'Have you read this?' he asked.

Helen took the book from him, 'Yes,' she said. 'I think I almost know it by heart. I found it very moving, it's a wonderful story and so beautifully written. I have to confess that it was the final thing that decided me to take the job, to come all this way—my curiosity about the man that wrote the book.'

‘It is good,' Owen Neath conceded, 'and I think you could say that earthy was a fair description of parts of it, couldn't you?'

‘Perhaps,' she admitted, 'but it was so well done that it gave no offence.' She looked at the book cover again, 'I had no idea that I would ever meet the man.' The cover front showed a sombre picture in sepia and black of wind-torn trees and a stark grim mountainside with a small figure of a man, or it could as easily have been a woman, walking along at the foot of the mountain. Across the top of the picture in gold script sprawled the words ‘The Wild Hills' and lower down in slightly smaller lettering, ‘by Evan Davies'. She turned it in her hands again, to the back of the cover and the photograph that held such a fascination for her and she felt her companion watching her curiously. 'I hadn't thought of him as an older man, somehow,' she said, half to herself, 'though I can't think why. This must be an old picture of him, he looks very young.'

‘No, I should say it's quite a recent one,' Owen Neath said, as if he suspected what was going on in her mind. 'He's only about thirty-seven, I know, not so much older than me.'

Helen blinked her surprise. 'But the boy, the son?' He shook his head and after a hasty glance at the newspaper in the corner moved across to sit beside her. 'Didn't Uncle David tell you anything about them?' ne asked, and she shook her head. 'Well, no doubt he will in his own good time, but you've read the book, that jives you as good an explanation as any. We're an impulsive race you know, and a bit hot-headed at times; I remember when Emlyn was born, at least that's not strictly true, but I was staying with Uncle David at the time and I do remember a lot of kerfuffle going on one day and a lot of talk afterwards among the women. My uncle was called out to Glyntarrach one
day in
the middle of playing with
me and I
took
a very dim
view
of
it,
I
was only nine years old at
the
time,
but I
do remember all the ensuing fuss, as
I
say, and little pitchers have big ears.' He grinned at her a little ruefully, as if he doubted the wisdom of saying so much to a stranger, however enchanting she may have been, but the Welsh are impulsive, as he himself had said, and Owen Neath was no exception, especially when in the company of a good listener like
Helen
Gaynor.

'They have remarkably retentive memories too.' she smiled, guessing something of his second thoughts, and he made a face which added to his already boyish looks.

'I
suppose I shouldn't really be telling you all this,' he said, 'especially as you're going to work for the Davies, but it's common knowledge in the village, so it won't do any damage.'

'
You can depend it won't go any further from me,' she assured him. ‘And as you say your uncle will probably tell me all I need to know in his own time, but I do wish he had been more specific about the patient's age.'

'He's twenty-one, I know that,' he said. ‘He was twenty-one a few weeks before he had this accident.' He glanced at his wristwatch.
‘
It won't be long now before Uncle David explains everything. Is he meeting you?'

Helen nodded. 'Yes, he said he would. We're due at Glyneath at half past nine—it's rather early, but apparently this is the best train, or so Doctor Neath told me.'

'It is,' he agreed. 'It's a lot less crowded than the later ones.'

The early rising had not worried Helen in the least, as she was accustomed to it, but train travel always made her feel drowsy and she could feel it even now with Owen Neath for company. 'I'm sorry,' she apologized, smothering a yawn. 'It has nothing to do with the company nor with the early start, it's just that train journeys make me sleepy, I don't know why.'

He grinned his sympathy. 'It's a form of hypnotism,' he said. ‘The sound of the wheels combined with the movement; and please don't stay awake on my account,
you're
very
welcome to rest your head on my shoulder if you'd like to.'

'No, thank you,' she told him, a smile taking the sting out of the words. ‘I think I'll stay awake and watch the countryside. It's very pretty and I miss so much by sleeping always.'

'Just as you like,' he smiled, 'but the offer is there at any time you'd like to take advantage of it.'

'
Thank you,' she said solemnly. ‘I'll remember.'

It really was a shame to sleep and miss the lovely scenery they passed, it constantly changed as they rocked and swayed along; little farms peeped from behind high trees briefly and were gone. Red and white and black cattle left no more than a fleeting impression of suspended movement and passed along in a moving panorama. Curlews on reconnaissance, flights over the rich fields swirled and dipped and she could imagine their plaintive cries disturbing the still, warm air. There was so much to see that she realized once again how much her customary sleepiness cost her.

Her companion seemed to have succumbed to sleepiness, too, for his eyes were closed and his head, turned towards her, lolling slightly with the movement of the train. She took advantage of his unconsciousness to study his reflection while they passed through a short tunnel. He was quite good-looking, with a square intelligent face and grey eyes, now hidden by the closed lids; a good head of thick brown hair had a tendency to fall forward over his broad forehead. There was, she could see, a family likeness between him and his uncle, although the old man was now completely white-haired and rather corpulent in build.

She averted her eyes hastily when he opened his at almost the exact moment that his reflection disappeared and they left the tunnel and roared once more into the open. He smiled at her as if he suspected what she had been doing and was not in the least averse to the inspection.

Their companion left them at the next station in a rustle of hastily folded newspaper, leaving the two of them in sole occupation, for there were no other passengers to join them. 'I shall be leaving you when we stop again,' he said, and sounded flatteringly regretful about it, 'but I shall make a point of coming to Glyneath to see Uncle David. At least,' he amended with a twinkle of mischief, ‘Uncle David will think he's the prime objective. You
will
see me again, won't you, Miss Gaynor?'

Helen smiled agreement. 'Of course, I'd love to,' she said. ‘You're going to be my guide, remember? Besides, judging by the Davies family, I shall be glad of some congenial company.'

'
Oh, dear,' he said ruefully, 'I do hope I haven't gone too far and made you regret your decision to come even before you arrive. I'm sorry if I have, please try to forget what I've said and form your own opinion when you meet them. Actually my uncle and Evan Davies are quite close friends. He's known him all his life, you see,' Helen smiled reassuringly. 'Don't worry about it, Mr Neath. I always form my own opinions, but I'm glad you have warned me about the possible drawbacks.'

'Oh, I'm sure you'll be all right there,' he said, as much to console himself as her, she suspected. 'My uncle would never have asked you to come if he had any doubts at all.' Helen felt sure this was right, for at least she could rely on a welcome from the old doctor and he would surely not have found her employment in a house where she would be unhappy, he was far too considerate for that.

Owen Neath left her at the next station, as he had said, and before he left he renewed his promise of a further meeting, something to which Helen looked forward. It was some time since she had given much time to social activities with people of her own age and Owen Neath was as charming and friendly as anyone she had ever met. It would be something to look forward to. In the meantime she had to contend with the idea of starting a new life for herself in a strange place and with strange people who might not be as agreeable as she had hoped. She found the passing countryside something of a balm to her uncertainty and tried to concentrate on it to the exclusion of more uneasy thoughts. They were running now into the undulating greeny-greyness of the Welsh hills and the sight of them towering upwards reminded her of the book she had bought so impulsively at the station. ‘The Wild Hills.' She gazed out at the country that until now had been only a description in a book, a vivid and moving description, that had inspired her to want to see it for herself. She had never travelled much, even holidays had been taken at resorts on the south coast, and so the beauties of the rest of the British Isles were strangers to her.

It had a beauty of its own, this country, she thought, and felt herself relax a little as they sped along, with the landscape changing with every minute. The grey and green of the mountains and hills moulded swiftly to become valleys that in turn flattened out to become fields of rich, almost ripe com and barley, the nearer ones dappled with the shadow of the train as it passed. There were high white clouds that gave the scene a peaceful look as they hovered round the tops of the hills, and somehow there was a look of sadness about it too. Without realizing at first from where they came, words sprang into her mind. 'Nothing is so beautiful until it has known the touch of sadness; sorrow is the heart of real beauty.' For a moment she sought the origin of the words and then the book on the seat beside her caught her eye and she smiled to herself. They were a quotation from the 'Wild Hills' and presumably part of Evan Davies' philosophy.

She glanced at her wristwatch; in a few moments now she would be in Glyneath if the train was on time, and even as the thought came into her head they ran into a small, rather neglected-looking station whose nameboard proclaimed it to be Glyneath. It was just half past nine. As she looked out, getting to her feet and lifting down her suitcases from the rack, she felt her heart thumping rapidly against her ribs with the excitement of the moment. She was never very happy with new places and new people, but at least there would be a familiar face to greet her.

She straightened her dress as she waited to open the door and wished she had worn something that creased less, but perhaps she would have the opportunity to make herself more presentable before she met her new employer.

She saw the cheerful and friendly face of Doctor Neath as she stepped down from the train and his hug of welcome made her previous fears seem rather silly and unnecessary. He eyed her speculatively after the first greeting, his old face wearing the trace of a frown as he noted her pale cheeks. 'You need some country roses in your cheeks,’ he told her, 'but we'll soon put that right for you.’ Taking her cases from her, he' led the way past the ticket collector, who gave her a long and curious look as if strangers were something to be noted in Glyneath, and out into the yard at the back.

'
I
have
come to work,’ Helen reminded him, 'not for a holiday, and I really am fine. I never felt better.’

He led her to a dilapidated old car that stood in solitary state in the station yard. 'Our good Welsh air will do you good,’ he told her, not to be deprived of worrying about her.

Helen smiled. 'I met your nephew on the train, Doctor Neath, and we travelled most of the way down together.’

The old man chuckled. 'I have six nephews,’ he said, obviously happy with the fact. 'Which one did you meet? Owen, I’ll bet, he’s the most likely one, since he lives in Gllanmerran. Was it Owen?’

'
Yes, it was,’ Helen agreed, 'and he said he’d be coming to see you before very long.’

Again the old man chuckled his pleasure. 'I’ll bet he will,’ he said. 'Encouraged no doubt by the fact that Nurse Helen Gaynor will be at Glyntarrach.’ Helen stayed discreetly silent as they climbed into the ancient car, but her smile was comment enough. 'Owen always had an eye for a pretty girl,’ the old man went on, 'but he’s never settled down yet and I’ll be glad when he does. He could find himself a nice girl and marry her,
but he
never seems to get around to it.’

His
remarks, Helen knew from experience, were aimed as
much at her
as at his nephew and she laughed at
his
expression of innocence.
'
Perhaps he’s like me,’
she ventured, '
always been too busy to think about it.’

The
old man cast her a sharp look as if he suspected
that
she had seen through his tactics. ‘Nonsense,’ he said, 'you’re far too lovely a girl to be single.’ He caught her eye and grinned sheepishly. 'All right,’ he admitted, 'I’m trying to kill two birds with one stone, and there’s no harm in trying, is there?’

'
Just as long as you don’t overdo it,’ Helen said as he started the engine. 'Are we going straight to the house? Glyntarrach, isn’t it?’

'
That's right,’ he agreed, 'and it’s some way out too, Evan will think we’ve been lost en route, he’s not the most patient of men, but we must take it easy for the sake of our bones and the car’s springs. Hold on, Helen my dear, we’re off.’

Glyneath was no different in appearance from almost any other of the small Welsh villages tucked away between the sweep of the hills in almost feudal isolation. Admittedly in later years they had been increasingly encroached upon with the advent of better roads, but even so, it was a brave traveller who tackled the road to Glyneath, for it was perhaps one of the worst in the country, though the inhabitants made few complaints. They liked their village quiet, as it had always been.