By Berwen Banks

The morning hours passed on, and noontide drew near.

The "Vicare du" emerged from the church porch, pale and calm as usual.

He looked at his watch as he came out into the sunshine, and followed

the same path over which Valmai had sped an hour before. He had

replaced the old registry book in the rusty, iron chest, had closed the

door methodically, and when he had disappeared through the trees the

white owl had flapped back into the tower, and the dimly-lighted church

which had been the scene of such stormy human feelings was once more

silent and deserted.

At noontide, too, Valmai had regained her composure, and had risen from

her attitude of despair with a pale face and eyes which still showed

traces of their storm of tears.

Next day she bade her faithful Nance good-bye, leaving with her a

promise to write as soon as she was settled in some place that she

could call "home," and to return for a few days in the spring.

Arrived at Caer Madoc, she took her place in the coach in which she had

journeyed a year before; and reaching the station at Blaennôs, soon

arrived at Fordsea. Leaving her luggage at the station, she made her

way into the well-remembered town. There was the white-flashing

harbour, here was the crooked Reuben Street, and here the dear little

house once occupied by her uncle, where she and Cardo had spent their

happy honeymoon. Yes, she remembered it all; but she held her head up

bravely, and crushed down every tender memory, hardening her heart, and

setting herself to attend to the business of the hour.

In the broad High Street she easily found the shining brass plate which

bore the words, "Mr. William Lloyd, Solicitor," and she entered the

office with as business-like an air as she could assume.

"Can I see Mr. William Lloyd himself?"

"You see him, madam; I am he," said a middle-aged, pleasant-faced man,

who met her in the doorway. "I was just going out, but if your

business is not likely to keep us long--"

"I don't think so," said Valmai. "I am the niece of Captain Powell,

who used to live in Reuben Street. He once told me you were his

lawyer, and I have heard that in his will he has left me some money."

"Bless me! You are his niece Valmai! Of course. I have been

wondering when you would turn up, and was really beginning to think I

must advertise for you. I have written to your uncle at Abersethin,

but have had no reply."

"He never writes if he can help it. I am very ignorant of money

matters and business ways," said Valmai, as Mr. Lloyd handed her a

chair, "but would like to know in plain words how much my dear uncle

has left me, as I am leaving this part of the country to-morrow."