I had come from England to visit the little Welsh village of Pont Oddaith. wanted to write a story about Wales. One day Tomkins, the village innkeeper, suggested I walk up the mountain. The view was magnificent, he said I took Tomkins's suggestion. As I stood looking down from the mountaintop, I caught sight of a house at the head of the valley. It was the loneliest dwelling have ever seen. Not far from it stood a young girl I walked through the heather toward her. She was just the girl had pictured t myself as the heroine of my story. I had pencil sketches of her in my desk at home the same face, the same stormy eyes. Coming up, asked her the name of the place "Blaen-y-cwm," she said at last Do you live here asked She nodded "What's your name?" She drew a wild breath, then turned and ran. I went after her. As approached the house, a man came "Good morning," said out to meet me "Are you the father of the young lady I just spoke to? The man stared at me. "Did Mair speak to you?" "She did Why? Is that strange?" "It's unbelievable. She never goes near strangers. Come in," said the man We talked for a while. As I left, I met the girl again "I know you've come," she said. "But you never get me. Don't try to take me away again." She darted off l followed. What did she mean? She must have misunderstood. Perhaps she had taken me for someone else. I called. But she kept on running. Suddenly Ilost sight of her in a hollow. Dazed, I walked back down to the village Blaen-y-cwm' said Tomkins that night. "There's no place of that name in this area." The other men in the inn agreed with him. Just a minute said one old man at last. "Seems to me there used to be a Blaen- y-cwm. But it's been a ruin for years."
hardly slept that night. Mair was on my mind. I had never believed in love at first sight. But l was beginning to change my mind. The next morning took Tomkins with me to see Blaen-y-cwm. When we reached the place, pointed. "There it is, where I began. The house was nowhere to be seen. Where? asked Tomkins. didn't reply. Suddenly we heard a whistle. Iturned. There, leaning on a shepherd's crook, stood an old man. "Blaen-y-cwm?" said the shepherd. He pointed to a heap of stones. "That's where it was, years ago. My father used to tell an odd tale about it. A couple once lived there. They had one daughter. Now, what was her name...?" "Mair?" I said. "How did you know?" "Never mind," l answered. "A shy girl she was. Wild. Some English man came here and lost his head over her. He took her to London and married her. But the girl left him. She came all the way back home. The gentleman came after her. So the girl ran off across the heather, Away toward that hollow she ran. And there she vanished. She was never seen again. That must have been a hundred years A strange feeling crept over me.