By Berwen Banks

For a moment she continued to look steadily up at the clouds and beyond

them into the depths of blue sky which showed here and there between

the storm rifts, then she quietly put on her hat and returned down the

well-known path to the river, and with steady, set face and firm step

made her way homeward.

When her uncle appeared at the tea-table, he carried two large books

under his arm, and when the meal was over the lamp was lighted and the

red curtains drawn. Up here on the cliffs the wind was already blowing

furiously; it roared in the chimneys, and found its way in through

every chink in the badly-fitting windows.

"Now, let me see--chap. xii.--Valmai, have you found it? St. Antwn's

sermon to the fishes," and he settled himself in his usual position,

with legs crossed, head thrown back, listening with evident pleasure,

while Valmai read and read, her thoughts defying control, and for ever

following Cardo on his journey.

"Oh, how the wind is shrieking, uncle; it is like a human creature in

pain!"

"Wind?" said the old man, looking with dreamy eyes at the girl so full

of hopes and fears--"storm? Well, it does blow a little, but it's

nothing. Go on, Valmai, you are not reading so good as usual," and

once more she applied herself to the page, and endeavoured to keep her

thoughts from roaming.