By Berwen Banks

The summer had passed, with all its charms of June roses and soft July

showers, with its sweet, long days of sunshine, and its soft, west

winds brine-laden, its flights of happy birds, and its full promise in

orchard and corn-field.

Cardo and Valmai still haunted the woods by the Berwen, and walked

along its banks, or sat listening to its trickling music as it hastened

down to the sea; but there was a sadder look on both their faces.

Cardo had new lines about his mouth, and Valmai had a wistful look in

her blue eyes; both had an unaccountable premonition of something

sorrowful to come.

"Oh, I am afraid of something," the girl had said one day, as she sat

beside her lover, throwing pebbles into the brook, "something worse

even than this terrible parting, which must come next month. What is

it, Cardo? What is hanging over us? Something that darkens the

sunlight and dims the moonlight to me? Are we parting for ever, do you

think?"

"Nonsense, dearest," said Cardo cheerfully, though the little pucker

between his eyes seemed to speak of the same anxiety and fear. "Isn't

the separation which we must bear enough to account for all sorts of

fears and depressing thoughts? It is that only which dims the sunshine

to me, and makes me feel as if I were losing all the light and

happiness out of my life; but let us cast our fears to the wind,

Valmai, for a year will see all our troubles over; in a year's time I

shall have returned, bringing, I hope, reconciliation and love to my

dear old father--peace for his last days, Valmai. It is worth trying

for, is it not?"

"Yes, yes; no doubt your presence will be more effectual than a letter."

"He thinks, too," said Cardo, "that a little travel by land and sea

will brighten my life which he imagines must be so monotonous on this

lonely west coast. He doesn't know of the happy hours we spend here on

the banks of the Berwen, but when I return with loving greetings from

his brother, and, who knows, perhaps bringing that brother with me in

person, then, Valmai, while his heart is softened and tender, I will

tell him of our love, I will ask his consent to our marriage, and if he

refuses, then we must take our own way and be married without his

consent. There is the thatch house just above the mill already waiting

for us--it is my own, you know; and although old Sianco and his wife

don't make much of it, think how lovely you and I would make it. Think

of me sitting in the thatched porch behind those roses smoking, and you

looking out through those pretty little lattice windows under the

eaves."