By Berwen Banks

Fordsea! What visions crowded round the name. Cardo had been there so

lately, and now where was he? Out on that stormy sea, every moment

increasing the distance between them.

"I will go if you like, uncle, and nurse him until he gets well."

"There's a good gel, indeed; and you will kom back to me again, 'cos I

am used to you now, and you are reading very nice to me, and saving a

great deal of my old eyes. He got a servant," he added, "but she is

only an ole ooman, coming in in the morning and going home in the

evening."

"Oh, yes, I will manage very well," said Valmai.

She grasped at the idea of change of scene and life, hoping it would

help her to regain her peace of mind. So the next day saw her on her

way to Caer Madoc, driven by her uncle in the rickety old gig which had

carried him on his preaching expeditions for years. Along the high

road Malen bore them at a steady trot, and when Valmai took her place

in the coach, and bid her uncle good-bye, she called to mind that only

two days ago Cardo had been its occupant, and her heart was full of

wistful longings. Yes, she felt she was a foolish girl, but she was

always intending to grow into a sensible and useful wife; and, with

this virtuous intention in her mind, she tried to banish all vain

regrets, and a serious, composed little look came over her mouth.

Arrived at Fordsea, she sought for her uncle's house, it was in Reuben

Street, she knew, and not far from the docks. Reaching the roadway,

she caught sight of the foaming white waves in the harbour, and

wondered how far the Burrawalla had already got on her way towards

the Antipodes.

"Captain Powell of The Thisbe?" said a lounging sailor who was

passing, with his hands in his pockets and his cap very much at the

back of his head. "Yes, miss, Aye knows him well. It's not far from

here, and Ay'll be passing his door. Will Aye carry your bag?"

And, not waiting for an answer, he hoisted it on his shoulder, and

signed to her to follow him. He was right; she had not far to go

before she reached the little, uneven row of houses called Reuben

Street, at one of which an old woman, with bucket and cloth, was

preparing to wash the doorstep.

"Here's the young leddy come," said the sailor, pushing the portmanteau

into the passage.

"Will I pay you something?" said Valmai, nervously fingering her purse.

"Aw naw, nawthin' at all," said the sailor, hurrying away, with a flush

on his face that showed her her hesitation had not been unwarranted.