By Berwen Banks

All night the storm increased in violence, blowing straight from the

north-west with an incessant fury which tossed and tore the waters of

the bay. Against the black cliffs the foaming waves hurled themselves

like fierce animals leaping up to reach their prey, but the adamant

rocks, which had defied their rage for centuries, still stood firm, and

flung them back panting and foaming into the swirling depths below, to

rise again with ever-increasing strength, until the showers of spray

reached up even to the grassy slopes on which the sheep huddled

together.

Valmai had lain with wide-open eyes through the long hours of the

night, listening with a shrinking fear to every fresh gust which

threatened to sweep the old house away. No raging storm or shrieking

wind had ever before done more than rouse her for a moment from the

sound sleep of youth, to turn on her pillow and fall asleep again; but

to-night she could not rest, she was unnerved by the strain and

excitement of the day, and felt like some wandering, shivering creature

whose every nerve was exposed to the anger of the elements. When at

last it was time to rise and prepare her uncle's breakfast, she felt

beaten and weary, and looked so pale and hollow-eyed, that Shoni, who

was fighting his way in at the back door as she appeared, exclaimed in

astonishment.

"What's the matter with you, Valmai? You bin out in the storm all

night?"

"Almost as bad, indeed, Shoni; there's a dreadful wind it is."

"Oh, 'tis not come to the worst yet," said Shoni.

The doors continued to bang and the windows to rattle all through that

day and the greater part of the next, and it was not till the evening

of the third day that Valmai ventured to put on her cloak and pay a

visit to Nance's cottage. The tide was low as she crossed the Rock

Bridge, and there was no danger, therefore, from the waves. On her

return she recalled the events of the last storm, when Cardo's strong

arm had saved her from death.

Her eyes filled with tears and her lips quivered a little as she

remembered that night; but she set herself bravely to struggle with her

sorrow, and to look forward with hope and joy to the future.

When she entered the little parlour, which her neat fingers had

transformed into a nest of cosy comfort, she found her uncle standing

at the table, looking dazed and helpless.

"Oh, Valmai!" he said, "here's a letter from John, my brother, and

indeed I don't know what am I to do."

"What is the matter, uncle? Is he ill?"

"Yes, he is very ill. He has broke his leg, and he got no one to look

after his house; and he is asking will you go down to take care of him.

Will you go, Valmai? He got lot of money. I will drive you down to

Caer Madoc to the coach. That will take you to the station to meet the

train, and you will be in Fordsea by four o'clock to-morrow."