By Berwen Banks

Presently she heard the rumbling of wheels, and in a cloud of dust saw

the Vicar of the next parish drive by with his two pretty daughters.

Just as they reached the bridge they were overtaken by a young man, who

reined in his spirited, well-groomed horse and addressed the party. At

once Valmai recognised the voice, and peeping through the greenery, saw

it was Cardo, stalwart and strong, with his rough freize coat and

buttoned gaiters, looking every inch a gentleman-farmer.

There was a bluff and hearty greeting from the clergyman as Cardo took

off his hat to the two young ladies, who simpered and blushed

becomingly, for Cardo Wynne was the catch of the neighbourhood; his

good looks, his father's reputed wealth, and the slight air of mystery

hanging over the silent "Vicare du" making quite a halo of romance

around his son's personality.

"Good-bye," said Mr. Hughes; "we shall see you at the fair, I suppose?"

"Yes," said Cardo, "good-bye," and he reined in his horse for a moment

so as to avoid riding in the cloud of dust raised by the Vicar's

carriage wheels.

Valmai's heart thumped loudly, for Cardo was looking at the stile, he

was dismounting, and now he was leaning on the bridge lost in thought,

and looking down into the green depths of the valley. There was a

pleased look on his face and a gleam in his black eyes, which Valmai

saw, and which made her heart beat faster and her cheek flush a more

rosy red, but she shrank further back into the shade of the hazel bush,

and only peeped out again when she heard by the horse's hoofs that his

rider was remounting; then she ventured over the stile and looked at

the retreating figure, with his broad shoulders, his firm seat, and his

steady hand on his bridle as he galloped out of sight. A flood of

happiness filled her heart as she re-crossed the stile and began her

way again down the shady path.

What mattered it that at every moment the wind rose higher, and the

branches creaked and groaned above her? What mattered it that the

birds were silent, and that the roar of the sea reached further than

usual into the nut wood? She would go home and eat her frugal dinner

of brown bread and bwdran, and then she would set off to Ynysoer to

spend a few hours with Nance Owen, who had nursed her as a baby before

her parents had left Wales. In spite of the increasing storm she

reached the beach, and turned her face towards Ynysoer, a small island

or rather a promontory, which stretched out from the shore. At low

tide a reef of rocks, generally known as the Rock Bridge, connected it

with the mainland, but at high tide the reef was completely under

water, the sea rushing in foaming breakers over it as if chafing at the

restraint to its wild freedom.