By Berwen Banks

"Oh! there's lovely it will be, uncle, to have you to run to whenever

anything vexes me, but nothing ever will vex me then."

"No, no; of course, may dear, we'll all be jolly together. Good-bay,

good-bay." And the train moved out of the station.

Two months afterwards we find Valmai at Dinas, and reading to her Uncle

Essec as usual. She busied herself with the preparations for tea,

lighting the lamp and placing the buttered toast in front of the fire

until he should awake from his dreams, and descend to real life. While

the tea was "brewing," she sank back into her chair and fell into a

deep reverie. She was as fair as ever, the golden hair drawn back from

the white, broad brows, but the eyes were full of anxious thought, and

there was a little wistful sadness about the lines of the mouth. She

was paler, and did not move about her duties with the same lightness

and grace which belonged to her when we last saw her. She seemed in no

hurry to disturb her uncle's dozing dreams, until at last Gwen came

hastily in.

"Well, indeed! What are you two doing here? There's quiet you are!"

Valmai started, rousing herself and her uncle.

"Yes. Come to tea, uncle. I was thinking, Gwen."

"Oh, yes; thinking, thinking," said Gwen, with an insolent sneer. "You

may think and think--you are always thinking now; and what about, I

should like to know?" and, with a shrewd shake of her head, she left

the room.

A crimson tide overspread Valmai's face and neck, and, fading away,

left her paler than before. She stood for a moment with her hands

clasped, and pressed on her bosom, looking at the door through which

Gwen had just passed, and then seating herself at the table, her eyes

suffused with tears, she began to pour out her uncle's tea.

"That's a fine piece, Valmai," he said, "how Clwyn went away and never

came back again, till the sea washed him one day at Riana's feet."

"Yes," said the girl, in a low voice. "Won't you eat your toast,

uncle?"

"Oh, yes, to be sure," said the old man, beginning on the buttered

toast which she placed before him.

When tea was over, the "Mabinogion" were brought out again and Valmai

continued to read till her uncle fell asleep. Then leaving him to

Gwen's care, she gladly retired for the night into her own little

bedroom. Here she might think as much as she liked, and well she

availed herself of that privilege. Here she would sit alone for hours

every day, with her head bent over some bit of work, her busy fingers

pleating and stitching, while her thoughts took wing over the leaden

wintry sea before her. Away and away, in search of Cardo. Where was

he? Why did he not write to her? Would he ever come? Would he ever

write? And with weary reiteration she sought out every imaginary

reason for his long silence.