For a few days, Valmai, although she had received no serious harm from
her watery adventure, still felt a little languor and indisposition,
which kept her a prisoner in the house. As she lay on the old shabby
sofa, her time was fully occupied by reading to her uncle, books of
Welsh history or the effusions of the old bards, which interested him
so much. Ever and anon, while he searched for a reference or took
notes of some special passage, she would fall into a dreamy reverie, a
happy smile on her lips and a light in her eyes which her uncle saw
not. Yes, Cardo loved her! She knew now that he did, and the world
was changed. She would make haste to get well and find him again on
the shore, on the cliffs, or on the banks of the Berwen. Her uncle had
heard from Gwen of her drenched condition on the night of the storm,
but had already forgotten the circumstance, and only recalled it when
he missed her active help in some arrangement of his heavy books.
"How did you get wet, merch i?"
"Coming over the Rock Bridge I was, uncle. I had been to see Nance,
and the storm increased so much when I was there that when I returned
the waves washed right over the bridge."
"Well, to be sure! Now on the next page you will find a splendid
description of such a storm; go on, my girl," and Valmai continued the
reading.
Meanwhile, Cardo, after a good night's rest, was no whit the worse for
his battle with the storm; but he was full of fears lest Valmai's more
delicate frame should suffer. He rose with the dawn and made his way
over the dewy grass across the valley, and into the field where Essec
Powell's cows were just awaking and clumsily rising from their night's
sleep under the quiet stars. The storm had disappeared as suddenly as
it had arisen, and all nature was rejoicing in the birth of a new day.
Gwen was already approaching with pail and milking stool as he crossed
the field through which a path led to Abersethin. She dropped a bob
curtsey and proceeded to settle her pail under "Corwen" and to seat
herself on her low stool.
"Your young mistress got very wet last night?" said Cardo, in an
inquiring tone.
"Yes, Ser, did you see her?"
"Yes--I was crossing the bridge at the same time. Is she any the worse
for her wetting?"
"Not much the matter with her," said Gwen; "'tis lying down she is, a
good deal,--miladi is a bit lazy, I think," and with this scant
information he had perforce to be content.
When he returned to Brynderyn to breakfast, he found his father looking
somewhat discomposed as he read and re-read a letter which he had just
received. He made no comment upon its contents, however, but looking
up said: "You must have found the storm very interesting, Cardo; what kept you
out so late?"