By Berwen Banks

"Well, go on, Nance," said Valmai, as the old woman stopped to rake the

peat embers together.

"Well! then, we all thought it was a very good thing, and no doubt the

Almighty had His plans about it, for how could your poor mother take

two babies with her to that far-off land where your father went a

missionary? Well! there was a message come to fetch the lady to the

death-bed of her mother, and she only waited at Dinas long enough to

see you both christened together, Valmai and Gwladys. The next day she

went away, and took your little sister with her. Oh! there's crying

your mother was at losing one of her little ones; but your father

persuaded her it was for the best."

"And what was the English lady's name?" asked Valmai.

"Oh! my dear, ask it not; the hardest word you ever heard, and the

longest; I could never twist my tongue round it. It is with me

somewhere written out on paper, and her directions, and if she ever

moved to another place she would write and tell us, she said; but that

was not likely to be, because she went to her father's and

grandfather's old home, and she has never written to anyone since, as

far as I know."

"Well, indeed," said Valmai, looking thoughtfully into the glowing

embers, "I should like to see my sister, whatever."

"Twt, twt," said the old woman, "there's no need for you to trouble

your head about her; she has never troubled to seek you."

"Does she know about me, do you think?"

"That I can't tell, of course," said Nance, going to the door to have

another look at the storm. "Ach y fi! it's like a boiling pot," she

said; "you can never go home to-night, my child."

"Oh, yes, indeed I must; I would not be away from home in my uncle's

absence for the world," said Valmai, joining the old woman at the door,

and looking out rather anxiously at the angry sea. "Oh, when the tide

goes down at nine o'clock the moon will be up, and perhaps the storm

will be over."

They sat chatting over the fire until the evening shadows fell, and the

moon shone fitfully between the scudding clouds.

Meanwhile Cardo had ridden in to Llanython. A fair had generally much

attraction for him--the merry laughter, the sociable meetings, the

sound of music on the air, and the altogether festive character of the

day; but on this occasion its pleasures seemed to pall, and quickly

dispatching the business which had brought him there, he returned to

the inn, and, mounting his horse, rode home early in the afternoon.

Why he thus hurried away he never could explain. Ever since he had

leant on the bridge over the Berwen in the morning he had been haunted

by a feeling of Valmai's presence. Little had he guessed that she had

been so near him while he looked down through the interlacing scenery

which hid the river from his sight. It was nearly four o'clock in the

afternoon as he reached that part of the high road from which the beach

was visible, and here he stopped a moment to look and wonder at the

storm, which had so suddenly increased in violence.