By Berwen Banks

"Oh, I never did," said Valmai; "I never thought of such a thing!

Dear, dear Uncle John! I didn't want his money, I only wanted his

love."

"What is the matter?" said Gwen, coming in.

"Matter enough," said her master, in angry, stammering tones. "John,

my brother, has left all his money to this Judas of a girl! A hundred

and fifty pounds a year, if you please! and only a paltry 100 pounds to

me, and the same to Jim Harris, the sailor. Ach y fi! the greediness

of people is enough to turn on me."

Between Gwen's exclamations and Essec Powell's angry harping on the

same string, the evening was made miserable to Valmai, and she was glad

enough to escape to her bedroom.

The next day she awoke with a throbbing headache.

"You are not going to chapel to-day, I suppose?" said Gwen.

"No, my head aches too badly. I have never missed before, but to-day I

think I will rest at home."

"Yes, rest at home, certainly," said Gwen. "You ought to have stopped

at home long ago; in my opinion, it would be more decent."

Her meaning was too plain, and Valmai's head drooped as she answered: "Perhaps it would have been wiser, considering all things."

"Considering all things, indeed!" sneered Gwen. "Yes, they will turn

you out of the 'Sciet, because when the calf won't go through the

scibor door he has to be pushed out!" And with a toss of her head she

carried the tray away.

It was a miserable day for Valmai, and not even after events of more

bitterness were able to efface it from her memory.

She roamed about the house restlessly, and round the garden, which was

beginning to show signs of the budding life which had slept through the

storms and snows of winter. Already in a sheltered corner she detected

the scent of violets, an early daffodil nodded at her, a bee hummed

noisily, and a sweet spring breeze swept over the garden. What

memories it awoke within her! How long ago it seemed since she and

Cardo had roamed together by the Berwen! Years and years ago, surely!

Her reverie was disturbed by Shoni, who, coming back early from chapel,

had found his way into the garden.

"You wass quite right not to go to chapel this morning," he said.

"Don't go to-night again, neither!"

"No," said Valmai, "I won't. But why, Shoni?"

"Why?" he said, "because you better not. John Jones and William

Hughes, the deacons, is bin speaking to master about you, and next week

is the 'Sciet, and you will be turn out."

Valmai turned a shade paler; she knew the disgrace this excommunication

implied; but she only turned with a sigh towards the house, Shoni

marching before her with the air of a man who felt he had performed a

disagreeable duty. Essec Powell had stopped to dine with a farmer

living near the chapel, and did not return home until near tea-time.

Then burst upon the girl the storm she had so long dreaded; her uncle's

anger had already been roused by his brother's "will," and his feelings

of greed and spite had been augmented by the information imparted to

him by his deacons.