By Berwen Banks

"Yes," said Cardo, "I always thought it was a thicket, though I often

roamed the other side of the stream. And now the dear little dell is

haunted by a sweet fairy, who weaves her spells and draws me here. Oh,

Valmai, what a summer it is!"

"Yes," she said, bending her head over a moon-daisy, from which she

drew the petals one by one. "Loves me not," she said, as she held the

last up for Cardo's inspection with a mischievous smile.

"It's a false daisy, love," he said, drawing her nearer to him, "for if

my heart is not wholly and entirely yours, then such a thing as love

never existed. Look once more into my eyes, cariad anwl, and tell

me you too feel the same."

"Oh, Cardo, what for will I say the same thing many times?"

"Because I love to hear you."

The girl leant her cheek confidingly on his breast, but when he

endeavoured to draw her closer and press a kiss upon the sweet mouth,

she slipped away from his arms, and, shaking her finger at him

playfully, said, "No, no, one kiss is enough in a week,

whatever--indeed, indeed, you shan't have more," and she eluded his

grasp by slipping into the hazel copse, and looking laughingly at him

through its branches. "Oh, the cross man," she said, "and the

dissatisfied. Smile, then, or I won't come out again."

"Come, Valmai, darling, you tantalise me, and I begin to think you are

after all a fairy or a wood nymph, or something intangible of that

kind."

"Intangible, what is that?" she said, returning to his side with a

little pucker on her brow. "Oh, if you begin to call me names, I must

come back; but you must be good," as Cardo grasped her hand, "do you

hear, and not ask for kisses and things."

"Well, I won't ask for kisses and things," said Cardo, laughing,

"until--next time."

And thus, while Essec Powell was lost in dreams of the old bards and

druids, and the Vicar counted his well-garnered hayricks, these two

walked and sang in the mazes of the greenwood, the soft evening sky

above them, the sweet sea-breezes around them, and talked the old

foolish delicious words of love and happiness.

What wonder was it that, as alone under the stars, they returned to the

haunts of men, the links of the love that bound them to each other grew

stronger and stronger; and that to Valmai, as they parted on the shore,

all of earthly delight seemed bound up in Cardo; and to him, as he

watched the lithe, graceful figure climbing up the rugged path to the

cliffs, all the charm and beauty of life seemed to go with her.

After supper, at which the Vicar had been more silent than usual, he

rose, and for a moment stood still, and, looking at his son, seemed

about to speak, but appearing to change his mind, after a curt

good-night, he walked away through the long stone passage with his

usual firm step. He was so regular and fixed in his habits that even

this little hesitation in his manner surprised Cardo, but he had not

much time for conjecture, as his father's voice was heard at the study

door.