Valmai sighed and blushed. "Oh, what dreams, Cardo; I cannot reach so
far. My thoughts stop short at the long winter, when that glistening
sea will be tossing and frothing under the fierce north-west wind. Oh,
I know how it looks in the winter; and then to think that all that lies
between me and you. What a trouble has come upon us when all seemed so
bright and glorious."
"Yes, I have brought sorrow and unrest into your peaceful life. Will
you give me up; will you break the bonds that are between us; and once
more be free and happy?"
"Cardo," was all her answer, in a pained tone, as she placed her hand
in his, "what are you talking about?"
"Nonsense, love, foolish nonsense. I know too well that nothing on
earth or heaven can break the bonds that bind us to each other. And
this terrible parting. I could bear it far more easily if you were
mine, my very own, my wife, Valmai. Then I should feel that nothing
could really part us. Can it not be? Can we not be married here
quietly in the old church, with none but the sea-breezes and the
brawling Berwen for company?"
"And the old white owl to marry us, I suppose. Oh, Cardo, another
dream. No, no; wait until you return from that dreadful Australia, and
then--"
"And then," said Cardo, "you will not say no."
"No," said the girl, looking frankly into his eager face, "I will not
say no. But I must go; I am late. Shoni begins to ask me
suspiciously, 'Wherr you going again, Valmai?' I am sure we could not
go on much longer meeting here without his interference."
"How dreadful to have Shoni's red hair and gaitered legs dogging our
footsteps in this fairy dell."
"To whom does this sweet valley belong, Cardo? To you?"
"To my father. If it ever comes into my possession, it will be so
guarded that no stray foot shall desecrate its paths."
Cardo was not without hope of being able to overcome Valmai's
reluctance to be married before he left the country, and as he and
Gwynne Ellis returned one day from a sail he broached the subject to
his friend.
"To-morrow will be the first of September," he said, as he watched the
bulging sail and the fluttering pennon against the blue sky.
"Yes," answered Ellis, "I am sorry my holiday is coming to a close."
"I don't see why you should leave, although I am obliged to go."
"Oh, it will be quite time for me; everything jolly comes to an end
some time or other."
"True," said Cardo, with a sigh.
"Well, you heave a sigh, and you look as grave and solemn as any of
Essec Powell's congregation, and, upon my word, I don't see what you've
got to look so glum about. Here you are, engaged to the prettiest girl
in Wales; just going out for a year's travel and enjoyment before you
settle down as a married man in that idyllic thatched cottage up the
valley--a year to see the world in--and a devoted father (for he is
that, Cardo, in spite of his cold ways) waiting to greet you when you
come back. And Valmai Powell following every step you take with her
loving and longing thoughts. No, no, Cardo; you have nothing to pull
such a long face about. On the contrary, as I have said before, you
are a lucky dog." (Cardo grunted.) "Besides, you are not obliged to
go. It seems to me rather a quixotic affair altogether, and yet, by
Jove! there is something in it that appeals to the poetic side of my
nature. You will earn your father's undying gratitude, and in the
first gush of his happiness you will gain his consent to your marriage
with Valmai. Not a bad--rather a clever little programme."