By Berwen Banks

"Well, well! how can he post it when nobody knows where Mrs. Caradoc

Wynne is?"

"Mrs. Caradoc Wynne, indeed! Phrutt!"

* * * * * * Early in the New Year, when the bare, brown hills had thrown off their

mantle of snow, and the blue waters of the bay were glinting in the

sunshine, and the starry, golden celandines looked up fearlessly from

every bank and hedge, a heavily-laden carriage, drawn by a pair of

strong horses, rolled along the dry, hard road from Caer Madoc towards

Abersethin. Its occupants looked at every scene with interest,

recalling reminiscences of former days at every turn of the road, and

looking out eagerly for the chimneys of the village, which lay at the

bottom of the valley.

The travellers were Cardo and Mr. and Mrs. Lewis Wynne. As the

carriage left the firm, high road, and began to descend one of the

stony lanes which led to the shores below, Cardo became silent and

thoughtful; he had hitherto been the life of the party. Returning home

in perfect health and spirits, he had given the rein to his fancy, and

was full of buoyant hopes and joyful anticipations.

The Vicar, apprised of their coming, was watching at the gate--indeed,

had been there more or less since breakfast, and it was now nearly noon.

Betto flew about with amazing agility, considering her size and weight,

dusting a chair, smoothing her apron, shading her eyes with her hand,

and peering towards the brow of the hill for some signs of their coming.

At last they arrived, and it would be useless to try to describe that

happy meeting. The Vicar seemed overwhelmed with joy, not only to

receive once more his beloved son, but also to clasp the hand of the

brother whom he thought had been estranged from him for ever!

It was quite an hour or two before they had all calmed down.

"We sha'n't keep this fellow long with us," said Lewis Wynne,

indicating Cardo with a jerk of his thumb; "he can scarcely take his

eyes off that ramshackle old house up there on the cliff; naturally he

is longing to see his wife. You must make no objection, Meurig."

"None. I have no wish to do so."

"Nellie and I," continued his brother, "are quite looking forward to

see our niece--of course we make all allowance for the rhapsodies of a

lover; but discounting all that, I really think, Meurig, he has found a

pearl in that old, rough oyster-shell of a house."

"Wait a moment, Cardo," said his father, as he saw his son hunting

about for his hat. "I am afraid I have a disappointment in store for

you," and from his breast-pocket he drew out, and handed to Cardo, his

own letter to Valmai.