There was quite a chorus of regrets and good-byes in the quiet little
country station from which Valmai started on her journey to
Cardiganshire.
"Good-bye, Miss Powell," said Colonel Meredith, who had driven her down
to meet the train, accompanied by his whole family. "No one will
lament your absence or rejoice at your return more than I shall, not
excepting this sentimental young man," and he pointed to Cecil, who was
putting on an air of even greater dejection than usual.
He did not deign to answer his father except by a look of indignation
that set Gwen and Winifred laughing; but when the train was absolutely
moving, he managed to secure the last hand-clasp, and leave a bunch of
forget-me-nots in Valmai's hand.
"Good-bye, Beauty, darling," shouted Gwen; while all the others joined
in a chorus of "Write soon!"
Valmai placed the flowers in her waistband with an amused smile. "Poor
boy," she thought. "What a good thing it rained last night; there will
be splendid fishing to-day in the Ithon, and he will forget all about
me if he gets his basket full." And she settled herself down
comfortably in the corner of the carriage, and proceeded to open a
letter which she had found on her plate at breakfast, but which she had
hitherto found no time to read. It was from Gwladys, she knew, but she
was somewhat astonished at its length, and turning over the leaves once
or twice saw it was very closely written and had many words underlined.
"What can it be about?" was her thought as she read the first words,
"My own beloved sister--"
There was no one in the carriage to notice the varied expressions on
her face as she read the closely-written pages; but had anyone been
there to see the rapturous happiness which lightened up her features
and brightened her eyes as she drew towards the conclusion, they would
have wondered what joyful information could have so entranced and
delighted the girl who entered the carriage, although with a serene and
peaceful countenance, yet with a certain plaintive wistfulness in the
shadows of her blue eyes, which betokened no exemption from the
ordinary fate of mankind. But now! what unspeakable joy, what ecstatic
delight seemed to infuse fresh life and vigour to the fragile, graceful
form! For a few moments she crossed her hands on her bosom, and with
closed eyes remained silent; then, starting up and pacing backwards and
forwards in the limited space of a railway carriage, she gave the rein
to her delight and let her thoughts drop out in words of uncontrolled
expression.
"Cardo, oh, Cardo! what happiness for me at last, and for you,
dearest--it shall be for you, too! Oh, I see it all. He sought me out
and found Gwladys, and the strong, strange likeness between us deceived
him, though I cannot think how that was possible. Did he not feel the
difference? Let me see--what does she say?" And again she read
Gwladys's repentant, beseeching words. "Can you ever forgive me,
darling? I tried to look as like you as possible, and I tried to be as
harsh as I could at the same time. 'If I ever loved you,' I said, 'I
have ceased to do so, and my greatest wish is never to see you again.'"