"Well, go on, Nance," said Valmai, as the old woman stopped to rake the
peat embers together.
"Well! then, we all thought it was a very good thing, and no doubt the
Almighty had His plans about it, for how could your poor mother take
two babies with her to that far-off land where your father went a
missionary? Well! there was a message come to fetch the lady to the
death-bed of her mother, and she only waited at Dinas long enough to
see you both christened together, Valmai and Gwladys. The next day she
went away, and took your little sister with her. Oh! there's crying
your mother was at losing one of her little ones; but your father
persuaded her it was for the best."
"And what was the English lady's name?" asked Valmai.
"Oh! my dear, ask it not; the hardest word you ever heard, and the
longest; I could never twist my tongue round it. It is with me
somewhere written out on paper, and her directions, and if she ever
moved to another place she would write and tell us, she said; but that
was not likely to be, because she went to her father's and
grandfather's old home, and she has never written to anyone since, as
far as I know."
"Well, indeed," said Valmai, looking thoughtfully into the glowing
embers, "I should like to see my sister, whatever."
"Twt, twt," said the old woman, "there's no need for you to trouble
your head about her; she has never troubled to seek you."
"Does she know about me, do you think?"
"That I can't tell, of course," said Nance, going to the door to have
another look at the storm. "Ach y fi! it's like a boiling pot," she
said; "you can never go home to-night, my child."
"Oh, yes, indeed I must; I would not be away from home in my uncle's
absence for the world," said Valmai, joining the old woman at the door,
and looking out rather anxiously at the angry sea. "Oh, when the tide
goes down at nine o'clock the moon will be up, and perhaps the storm
will be over."
They sat chatting over the fire until the evening shadows fell, and the
moon shone fitfully between the scudding clouds.
Meanwhile Cardo had ridden in to Llanython. A fair had generally much
attraction for him--the merry laughter, the sociable meetings, the
sound of music on the air, and the altogether festive character of the
day; but on this occasion its pleasures seemed to pall, and quickly
dispatching the business which had brought him there, he returned to
the inn, and, mounting his horse, rode home early in the afternoon.
Why he thus hurried away he never could explain. Ever since he had
leant on the bridge over the Berwen in the morning he had been haunted
by a feeling of Valmai's presence. Little had he guessed that she had
been so near him while he looked down through the interlacing scenery
which hid the river from his sight. It was nearly four o'clock in the
afternoon as he reached that part of the high road from which the beach
was visible, and here he stopped a moment to look and wonder at the
storm, which had so suddenly increased in violence.