By Berwen Banks

"Nothing, nothing," answered Valmai, in words which lost none of their

depth of feeling from being spoken in soft, low tones.

In silence, which was more eloquent than words, they pursued their way

till they reached the bridge over the Berwen; and as they leant over

its side, and looked into the depths of the woods beneath them, they

recalled all the circumstances of their first meeting.

"I wish I had bought some gingerbread in the Mwntroyd, Cardo, so that

we might eat it here together. Ah! how it all comes back to me!"

And as they leant over the bridge he held her hand in his, and with

eyes which sought each other's in the moonlight, they let the time slip

by unheeded. The only sound that rose upon the still night air was the

babbling of the Berwen.

When at last both had told their story, and every question and answer

had again and again been renewed, and all its side bearings and

suggestions had been satisfactorily explained, the sweet, lisping

sounds of the river flooded their souls with its music.

"Oh, Cardo! to think we can once more sing together. How different to

that miserable evening at Colonel Meredith's, when you stood aloof, and

Gwen sang the dear old song. I thought it would kill me."

"And I, darling, when I carried you up in my arms, what did I feel?"

"Well, indeed, I don't know; but we have had a dreadful experience,

whatever." And presently Valmai began to hum "By Berwen Banks," Cardo

irresistibly joining in with his musical bass, and once again the old

ballad floated down the valley and filled the night with melody.

"We ought to be going now, or we shall be shut out. I know Nance will

be gone to bed already, but, certainly, there is not much distance

between her bed and the door."

"Nance!" said Cardo. "No, indeed, my wild sea-bird. I have caught you

now, and never again will I part with you. Home to Brynderyn, dearest,

with me, where my father is longing to fold you in his arms."

"Anywhere with you, Cardo." And down by the Berwen they took their

way, by the old church, where the white owl hooted at them as they

passed, and down to the shore, where the waves whispered their happy

greetings.

The "Vicare du," as he sat by his study fire that night, was lost in

thought. A wonderful change had come over his countenance, the gloom

and sternness had disappeared, and a softened and even gentle look had

taken their place. A smile of eager interest crossed his face as he

heard the crunching of the gravel, which announced his son's return.

Betto was already opening the door, and a cry of surprise and gladness

woke an echo in the old man's heart as he hurried along the stone

passage into the parlour. Cardo came in to meet him, leading Valmai,

who hung back a little timidly, looking nervously into the Vicar's pale

face. But the look she saw there banished all her fears, and in

another moment she was clasped in his arms, and in all Wales no happier

family drew round their evening meal that night than the Wynnes of

Brynderyn.