By Berwen Banks

"No, no, not without a friend. Ay'll stick to her. But, look here,

keep it all dark from old Finch!" And he seemed bursting with the

importance and pleasure of his secret. "You go down to your tea, may

dears; Ay ain't going to be a selfish old uncle. No, no, go along with

you, both of you, and send old Finch up to me. But look here!" he

called after them, in a hoarse whisper, "mum's the word!"

The sun shone brilliantly, and the weather seemed to repent of its late

burst of temper. Never had there been such a lovely September! Never

had the harbour glistened so brightly in the sunshine, and never since

he had broken his leg had the captain laughed so heartily or enjoyed

himself so thoroughly as he did during the fortnight which followed,

when Cardo read to him out of the newspaper and Valmai sang at her work

about the house.

Captain Owen came in every day with news of the repairs.

"Well, Mr. Wynne," he said one morning, "I am happy to tell you we

shall sail to-morrow afternoon."

Cardo's heart sank, and Valmai turned very pale.

"Your cabin is being refitted to-day, and I shall be glad if you can

come on board by four o'clock to-morrow afternoon. There's every

promise of fine weather. No more fogs, no more collisions, I hope."

"I'll take care to be on board in good time," Cardo said.

"Tarnished if Ay won't be awful dull without you!" said Captain Powell.

"He's been as jolly, and as much at home here as you would yourself,

Owen! He's read to me and he's brought me cigars, and always with a

smile on his face; and Ay hope he's bin comfortable here."

"Thoroughly, indeed," said Cardo. "I shall never forget the fortnight

I have passed under your roof."

"The lil gel has done her best, Ay know," said his host.

"A year I think you said you were going out for," said Captain Owen.

"Well, I hope to be away only eight or nine months; certainly not

longer than a year," said Cardo.

And while the two old sea captains bade their last good-byes and good

wishes to each other, Cardo slipped out to find Valmai, who had quietly

disappeared.

She was sitting on the old red sofa in the little back parlour in an

abandonment of grief.

"Oh! Cardo, Cardo, it has come! Now in reality it has come!"

Cardo drew her towards him.

"Cheer up, darling," he said. "You'll be brave for my sake, won't you?"

"Yes," she said, trying to check her sobs, "this is the last time I am

going to be weak and childish. To-morrow I will be strong and brave

and womanly. You will see, Cardo, a bright, courageous wife to cheer

her husband at parting, and to bid him look forward with hope to

meeting again. Oh! I know quite well what I ought to be."