Meanwhile Cardo, who had driven in to the market with Dr. Hughes in the
morning, had started on his homeward journey just as Valmai was leaving
the town behind her. It had been a lovely day, he had had pleasant
company, and had transacted his business satisfactorily; but a deep and
settled gloom seemed to have fallen upon him, which he was powerless to
shake off. Through the whole tenor of his life ran the distracting
memory of Valmai's unrelenting anger in the Velvet Walk, and of the
bitterness of the subsequent meeting at Colonel Meredith's. As he
stepped along through the summer twilight, and saw the silver moon
which hung above him, his thoughts flew back to the first evening of
his acquaintance with her. Ah! how long ago it seemed, and yet how
everything pertaining to that evening seemed to repeat itself. There
were the strains of the militia band throbbing on the quiet evening
air, just as they did on that eventful evening; and there was even a
grey female figure hurrying before him as before, and Cardo smiled
bitterly as he thought how different everything was, in spite of the
curious "harking back" of all the small circumstances. Awaking from a
reverie, he missed the grey figure; but forgetting her at once, and
again absorbed in thought, he had passed the hollow in the bank, when a
soft voice followed him on the breeze.
"Cardo!"
Instantly he turned, and standing still as a statue, watched with
eagerness a grey form which seemed to rise from the hedge. He heard
his own heart beat loudly, and in the still night air he heard the
sough of the sea, and the harsh call of the corncrake. Again the voice
said, "Cardo!" very low and trembling. With one bound he was beside
the speaker, and in the light of the moon Valmai stood plainly
revealed. The sweet eyes glistened as of old, and the night breeze
played with the little curls of gold which escaped from their
restraining coiffure. She held out her hands, and in a moment Cardo's
strong arms were around her.
"My wild sea-bird," he said, in a passionate whisper, "have you flown
back to me? Valmai, my darling, what does it mean? Have you forgiven
me? Have you repented of those cruel words, dearest? Oh, say it was
not my Valmai who called me 'base and dishonourable.' Speak dearest,"
he said, while he showered kisses upon the uncovered head which leant
upon his breast.
"It was not your Valmai, Cardo. How could you think it possible? It
was not I whom you saw in the Moss Walk. I did not know till to-day,
this very day, that those cruel words were spoken."
"Let us sit here, my beloved; give me your hand; let me try to realise
this bewildering joy." And hand in hand they sat on the grassy bank,
while the corn-crake called, and the sea heaved and whispered behind
them.