By Berwen Banks

Meanwhile Cardo, who had driven in to the market with Dr. Hughes in the

morning, had started on his homeward journey just as Valmai was leaving

the town behind her. It had been a lovely day, he had had pleasant

company, and had transacted his business satisfactorily; but a deep and

settled gloom seemed to have fallen upon him, which he was powerless to

shake off. Through the whole tenor of his life ran the distracting

memory of Valmai's unrelenting anger in the Velvet Walk, and of the

bitterness of the subsequent meeting at Colonel Meredith's. As he

stepped along through the summer twilight, and saw the silver moon

which hung above him, his thoughts flew back to the first evening of

his acquaintance with her. Ah! how long ago it seemed, and yet how

everything pertaining to that evening seemed to repeat itself. There

were the strains of the militia band throbbing on the quiet evening

air, just as they did on that eventful evening; and there was even a

grey female figure hurrying before him as before, and Cardo smiled

bitterly as he thought how different everything was, in spite of the

curious "harking back" of all the small circumstances. Awaking from a

reverie, he missed the grey figure; but forgetting her at once, and

again absorbed in thought, he had passed the hollow in the bank, when a

soft voice followed him on the breeze.

"Cardo!"

Instantly he turned, and standing still as a statue, watched with

eagerness a grey form which seemed to rise from the hedge. He heard

his own heart beat loudly, and in the still night air he heard the

sough of the sea, and the harsh call of the corncrake. Again the voice

said, "Cardo!" very low and trembling. With one bound he was beside

the speaker, and in the light of the moon Valmai stood plainly

revealed. The sweet eyes glistened as of old, and the night breeze

played with the little curls of gold which escaped from their

restraining coiffure. She held out her hands, and in a moment Cardo's

strong arms were around her.

"My wild sea-bird," he said, in a passionate whisper, "have you flown

back to me? Valmai, my darling, what does it mean? Have you forgiven

me? Have you repented of those cruel words, dearest? Oh, say it was

not my Valmai who called me 'base and dishonourable.' Speak dearest,"

he said, while he showered kisses upon the uncovered head which leant

upon his breast.

"It was not your Valmai, Cardo. How could you think it possible? It

was not I whom you saw in the Moss Walk. I did not know till to-day,

this very day, that those cruel words were spoken."

"Let us sit here, my beloved; give me your hand; let me try to realise

this bewildering joy." And hand in hand they sat on the grassy bank,

while the corn-crake called, and the sea heaved and whispered behind

them.