"Yes, miss fâch, and Jackie will drive you safe; but, indeed, there's
long time since we saw you! You never come to see us now, and there's
many warm hearts on this side the Rock Bridge as on the island, I can
tell you."
"Yes, indeed, I know, and I thank you all," said Valmai, as she went
out again into the sunshine.
The sailors were gone now, and she was free to make her way over the
golden sands so often trodden by her and Cardo.
Every boulder, every sandy nook, every wave that broke, brought its own
sad memories.
She turned up the path by the Berwen, which led to the old church,
carefully avoiding even a glance at the tangled path on the other side
of the river, which she and Cardo had made their own.
Pale and dry-eyed, she pressed her hands on her bosom as if to still
the aching throbbing within. Every step that brought her nearer to the
old church increased the dull aching that weighed her down; but still
she pressed on, longing, yet dreading, to see the spot on which she and
Cardo had made their vows together on that sunny morning which seemed
so long ago.
As she entered the porch, she disturbed the white owl, who emerged from
the ivy with a flap of her great wings, and sailed across the Berwen.
The worm-eaten door of the church stood wide open. Entering the aisle
with light footsteps, she approached the altar rails. The light was
very dim in the chancel, as every year the ivy grew thicker over the
windows. Surely in that dark corner within the rails some black object
stood, something blacker and darker than the shadow itself, and she
stood still for a moment, startled. Yes, there was a sound of heavy
breathing and the rustling of paper. She drew nearer, even close to
the altar rails, and, as her eyes became accustomed to the dim light,
she saw a man, who stooped over a musty, tattered book.
The sound of her footstep attracted his attention, and as he rose from
his stooping position, Valmai recognised the marble face and the black
eyebrows of the "Vicar du."
He was looking at one of the leaves in the old registry book, and for a
moment as he raised his eyes to the silent, white figure before the
altar, he took her for a ghostly visitant; but Valmai, with a sudden
inrush of recognition, clasped her hands, a faint exclamation escaped
her lips, and the "Vicare du" knew it was no spirit who stood trembling
before him. For a moment both were speechless--then pointing to the
page before him, he asked in a husky voice, "What is the meaning of
this?" and from beginning to end he read, with this strange hoarseness
in his voice, the entry of his son's marriage to Valmai. Not a word
escaped him, not even the date, nor the names of the witnesses. Then
he turned his black eyes upon her once more, and repeated his question.