He stepped over the low wall which divided it from the coarse grass of
the cliffs, and immediately found himself in a sunny corner. The
little grassy mounds were numerous, few had headstones; but one, marked
by a little white cross, had evidently received much care and
attention. The grass was soft and fine as velvet. Cardo approached it
with sorrowful reverence; he stooped to read the inscription.
"In memory of Robert Powell ----. Born, June 30th. Died, August 30th."
The blank space puzzled him for a moment, but, as he stood with folded
arms looking down at the little mound, a sudden revelation seemed to
flood his mind and enlighten him more thoroughly than all that he had
hitherto heard and done. She had kept faithfully--ah, too
faithfully--her promise to hide the secret of their marriage until he
should come himself to reveal it. How selfish, how thoughtless he had
been. Was it possible that his first letter to her, as well as his
last, might have miscarried? What had she not suffered? Alone,
friendless, disgraced in the eyes of the world. Motherhood, death, the
bitterness of feeling herself deserted--all--all had been tasted by her
for whom he would willingly have laid down his life; and he registered
a solemn vow that the devotion and love of his whole life should
henceforth shield her and guard her from every sorrow as far as in him
lay.
He turned away from the little grave with a curious yearning in his
heart. His own and Valmai's child! Strange and new feelings awoke
within him as he crossed the rocky ridge running through the island,
and began his way down to the other side to the scattered fishing
village, where Jack Harris met him and quickly rowed him across to
Abersethin.
Here his first visit was to the stone-cutter's.
Morris Jones received him with the usual exclamations.
"Howyr bâch! well, well! there's glad I am to see you, sir!" And he
shook Cardo's hand vigorously. "And, oh, dear, dear; there's sorry I
am you didn't come sooner, sir, before the poor young leddy went away.
She was broke her heart too much to stop after her small child was
buried--and a beautiful boy he was too, sir, the very picture of you."
"You cut that inscription on the little cross, Morris?"
"Iss, sir, I did; with my own hands, and I don't think you get it
better done--no, not in Paddington itself."
"No--it is excellent. But the gap after 'Robert Powell'; you must add
'Wynne' to it at once."
"That's it, sir, that's it! before next Sunday it shall be done. I
hope you will find the young leddy, sir."
"My wife, Morris."
"Iss, iss, sir; there's glad I was to hear that."
And, as Cardo left, and passed through the rest of the village, the
same warm wish followed him from many a cottage window, and from every
group of fishermen whom he passed on the way.