By Berwen Banks

The thought would come, the fear would haunt him. He was surprised

to find himself overtaken by a woman.

"Dir, dir, what a storm," she remarked as she passed, hurried on her

way by the driving wind.

One or two of Cardo's long steps brought him up with her.

"Don't you come from Ynysoer?" he said. "I think I know your face."

"Yes, gwae fi! that I had got safe back again, but my mother is

ill," she shouted, as the wind carried her words away, "and I must stay

with her till tomorrow, no one could go back over the Rock Bridge

to-night; though, indeed, I met a young girl crossing--"

"Had she a red cloak?" asked Cardo.

"Yes. She was Essec Powell's niece, and if she tries to come back

to-night I wouldn't give much for her life."

"Here we part--good-bye," said Cardo.

"Nos da, Ser," said the woman, but her voice was drowned by the roar of

the wind.

"It was Valmai! I knew it was! Why did I not take my boat at once?

Now it is too late; and yet," he thought, "she cannot come till the

tide is low. I may get there in time. Surely she would not attempt to

cross the bridge yet?"

For the rest of the evening Cardo paced restlessly over the beach,

buffeted by the strong wind, wetted by the spray, but still watching

narrowly the bridge of rocks, which connected the island with the

mainland. He knew for a certainty that Valmai was there, and he

watched with intense interest the darkening island, over which the

storm gathered with increasing fury. His plan was to wait until the

tide went down, and then to cross the bridge himself, so as to help

Valmai, or to prevent her attempting to return.

After several hours' waiting in the shelter of the cliff, he saw by his

watch, which he was able to decipher by occasional gleams of moonlight,

that it was near upon nine o'clock. The moon was hidden at intervals

by heavy storm-clouds, which were hurrying before the wind; but when

her light shone out fitfully, it disclosed a scene of wild confusion;

the horizon was as black as ink, the seething sea beneath was white as

snow, and the sound of the wind and waves was deafening.

Over the Rock Bridge the sea rushed like a mill race one moment leaving

it bare and black, the next covering it again with strong rushing

billows of foam.

"She will not dare to return to-night," he thought, as he watched a

tossing, foaming tower of spray, which rose in the centre of the

bridge, where two streams of the seething waters met, and rose high in

the air together.

The moon had again hidden her face, and in the darkness Cardo was

seized with a trembling fear. With bent and bare head (for he had long

before lost his hat) he made a blind rush over the bridge. For the

first few yards he got on safely, as each end was sheltered by high

rocks, which stood as sentinels looking across at each other.