By Berwen Banks

Cardo sat listening, with his hands shading his eyes.

"And now, here's the directions, sir," she said, as Peggi Bullet

returned from the well. "Here you, Peggi fâch, you are so nimble, you

climb up the ladder and bring the old teapot down."

And the nimble woman of seventy soon laid before them the old cracked

teapot, out of which Nance drew the same faded address which she had

once shown to Valmai.

"It is horribly faint," said Cardo, a fresh tremor rising in his heart.

"Here it is now," said Nance, placing her shrivelled finger on the

paper. "This is where she went from here, when all this trouble came

upon her, and everybody pointed the finger of scorn at her; and when

she had given up the hope that you would ever come back, sir, she

turned to her sister, dear child!"

"I never knew she had a sister!"

"No, nor she didn't know much about her; but I knew, and I told her.

Born the same time they were, and a grand lady, who was lodging at

Essec Powell's at the time, took the sister away with her, and brought

her up as her own daughter, and we have never heard of her since. 'But

I will find her, Nance,' she said. 'I will find her! I know I

will!'"

"But have you never heard from her?"

"Well, indeed, there was a letter," said Nance, "came soon after she

left. Dr. Francis read it to me, and I think I put it in that teapot,

but I am not sure; indeed, perhaps Peggie has thrown it away."

"And what did she say?"

"'Oh!' she said, 'I have found my sister, Nance, and you must not be

unhappy about me, everybody is so kind to me. If anyone comes to ask

for me, say I am here,' but she didn't say where!"

"But the address was at the top of the letter," said Cardo.

"Oh, anwl! I daresay it was. I never thought of that! There's a pity

now; but try again to read that--she read it."

"Well, let me see," said Cardo, taking the faded paper to the window.

"Mrs. Besborough Power?"

"That's it!" said Nance.

"Carew?"

"No; that's not right."

"Carne?"

"Yes; that's what she called it."

"Montgomeryshire?"

"No; she wrote there and the letter was sent back."

"Then it must be Monmouthshire!"

And with this scant information, and a very heavy heart, Cardo left the

cottage, and, telling Jack Harris to meet him at the other side of the

island, he made his way up the path which led to the little

burying-ground behind the Rock Church.

"Poor fellow!" said Peggi Bullet, looking after him, "you can't measure

sorrow by the length of a man."