It was late on the evening of the next day when Cardo reached Caer

Madoc, and, hiring a carriage from there, was driven over the old

familiar road to Abersethin. The wind blue keenly over the brown, bare

hills, the grey clouds hurried from the north over the pale evening

sky, one brilliant star shone out like a golden gem before him. Once

he would have admired its beauty, now the sight of it only awoke more

poignantly the memory of his meeting with Valmai in the "Velvet Walk,"

and with a frown he withdrew his gaze from it. Here was the spot where

he had first seen her! here was the bridge upon which they had shared

their ginger-bread! and oh! cruellest of all sounds, there was the

Berwen gurgling and lisping below, as though there were no breaking

hearts in the world!

On the brow of the hill they saw the lights of Brynderyn.

"I will get out here," he said; "you need not drive down these rough

roads; I shall enjoy the walk." And as he paid his fare, the driver

wondered "what had come to Mr. Cardo Wynne, who was used to be such a

jolly young man! That voyage to Owstrallia done him no good whatever!"

And as he turned his carriage round, he muttered to himself, with a

shake of his head, "I heard some odd story about him and that purty

young niece of Essec Powell's the preacher."

Arrived at Brynderyn, Cardo found his father and uncle and aunt seated

round a blazing fire in the old parlour, which had not looked so

cheerful for years. They had been recalling old memories and events of

the past, and when Cardo's footsteps were heard in the passage, they

turned with expectant eyes towards the door. When he entered the room,

pushing his fingers through his hair as was his habit, he was silent

and grave.

"Well, well!" said the whole party at once, "have you found Valmai?"

"Yes, father, I have found my wife," he answered, in measured and

serious tones; "but she is unforgiving, and refuses to have anything

more to say to me. In fact, I have heard from her own lips that she no

longer loves me! There is nothing more to be said. I have come back

to my old home, to work again on the farm, to try to pick up the

threads of my past life, and to make your life happier for my presence."

"Cardo, my dear boy," said the old man, rising as if in reverence for

his son's grief, "is this possible? I do indeed feel for you."

"Oh, nonsense," said Lewis Wynne, "it is only a lover's quarrel; you

will make it up before long. I will go to the girl, and make it all

right for you."




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