"Little did I think, Valmai, it was you who had made everything look so
cosy and sweet for me--these flowers on the table and all those pretty
fal-lals on my dressing-table. Little did I think it was my little
wife who had prepared them all for me. But as I entered the front door
a strange feeling of happiness and brightness came over me."
"And I knew the first tone of your voice, Cardo. Oh, I would know it
anywhere--among a thousand."
There were innumerable questions for the one to ask and the other to
answer as they sat in the glowing firelight. First, there was the
description of the repairs required by Captain Owen's ship--"Blessed
repairs, Valmai!"--and the extraordinary special Providence which had
caused the ss. Ariadne to collide at midships with the Burrawalla,
and, moreover, so to damage her that Cardo's berth and those of the
three other inmates of his cabin would alone be disturbed by the
necessary repairs.
"Captain Owen thinks we shall be ready to sail in three days, so it is
not worth while writing to my father," said Cardo. "The thick fog
which looked so dismal as I drove into Caer Madoc with him--how little
I guessed it would culminate in the darkness which brought about the
collision, and so unite me with my beloved wife. Valmai, if Providence
ever arranged a marriage, it was yours and mine, dearest."
"But, Cardo--"
"'But me no buts,' my lovely white sea-bird. Nothing can alter the
fact that you are my own little wife."
"Yes, I know," said Valmai, "but if you love me as much as you say you
do, grant me one request, Cardo."
"A hundred, dearest; what is it?"
"Well, we have had to be deceitful and secret--more so than I have ever
been in my life. We could not help it; but now, here, let us be open.
Give me leave to tell my uncle the truth."
"Valmai! he will write at once to his brother, and the news will reach
my father, and it will break his heart to find I have deceived him.
No, let me be the first to tell him. I shall have no hesitation in
doing so when I return this time next year."
"But, Cardo, dear old Uncle John is quite a different sort of man to my
Uncle Essec or to your father. I know he would never, never divulge
our secret; he is kindness itself, and would, I know, feel for us. And
it would be such a comfort to me to know that we had been open and
above-board where it was possible to be so. Cardo, say yes."
"Yes, yes, yes, dearest, I know, I feel you are right, so tell him the
whole truth. Oh, how proud I should be to tell the whole world were it
possible, and how proud I shall be when I return, to publish abroad
my happiness. But until then, Valmai, you will keep to your promise of
perfect secrecy? for I would not for all the world that my father
should hear of my marriage from any lips but my own. You promise,
dearest?"