By Berwen Banks

"'Meurig,' she said, and she put out her hand, which I took in mine.

Even while I held her hand I noticed on her bed a bunch of sweet

violets which I had seen Lewis gather in the morning.--'Meurig, why

have you been cold to me?' she asked, while her hand still lay in mine.

'If I have ever done anything to displease you, will you not forgive

me, and kiss your little child?' and she looked down at your little

head lying on her arm beside her. Oh, Caradoc, God alone knows the

tumult of feelings which overwhelmed me. I cannot describe them! I

stooped and kissed your little black head, and more, I stooped and

kissed her pale forehead.

"'I forgive you,' I said.

"'Is that all?' she said.

"And as I hesitated, the old haughty flush rose to her forehead, and

turning her head on her pillow, she said, 'I am tired now, and want to

sleep.' "So I turned away and closed the door gently, and I never saw her alive

again, for that night she died suddenly. Swiftly the Angel of Death

came, at her call. I believe it, Caradoc, for Dr. Hughes who was

sent for hurriedly, declared he knew of no reason why she should not

have lived.

"'I think she would have recovered, Wynne,' he said, 'had she wished

to; but where there is no wish to live sometimes the powers of life

fail, and the patient dies. Why she did not wish to live I do not

know--perhaps you do,' and my old friend turned from me with a

coldness in his manner, which has remained there ever since."

The Vicar sank into his chair again, as if the memory of his early

trials had fatigued him, and Cardo, rising and approaching him, drew

his hand gently over his black hair besprinkled with white. His son's

tenderness seemed to reach the old man's heart.

Burying his face in his hands he gulped down a sob before he continued: "Wait a minute, Cardo, you will not pity me when you have heard all my

story. With the earliest dawn I rushed out of the house, which seemed

to stifle me. I longed for the cool morning breezes, and God forgive

me, if I thought too with longing of the cool sandy reaches that lay

under the rippling waters of the bay! On the brow of the hill I met

Essec Powell, who was out early to see a sick cow, and there, while my

heart was sore to agony, and my brain was tortured to distraction, that

man reproached me and insolently dared to call me to account for 'my

inhuman conduct to my wife!' "'Ach y fi! What are you? he said, with his strong Welsh accent, 'are

you man or devil?' and he tore open the wounds which were already

galling me unbearably. 'You bring a young girl from a happy home,

where she was indulged and petted, and in a year's time you have broken

her spirit, and you will break her heart. Because her brute of an

uncle forbids his own daughter to go near her--my sister, her old

schoolfellow, goes to see her in her trouble, and you turn her out of

your house. I have longed for the opportunity of telling you what I

thought of you, and of what all the world thinks of you.' "I was a strong man, and he was a weak and shrivelled creature; I could

have tossed him over the rocks into the sea below. It required a very

strong effort to control my fury, but I did do so, and I turned away

without answering him, except by a cold, haughty look. I hated him,

Caradoc, and I have hated him ever since. He had not then heard of

Agnes's death, but the news flew fast through the neighbourhood, and I

knew I was everywhere looked upon as her murderer!