THE STORM.
A day or two later on, the weather changed, the wind blew up in angry
soughs from the south-west, and, meeting the strong flow of the spring
tide, curled the green wave-tops into those small feathers of foam,
always the fore-runners of rough weather. The sea-gulls let themselves
go before the wind calling to each other excitedly, the little
sea-crows stayed quietly at home in the safe crannies of the cliff.
Old Dan Griffiths the fisherman hauled his boat further up the strand,
and everything betokened the brewing of a storm, nevertheless Valmai
was out early. Her small household duties had been attended to. She
had skimmed the cream in the dairy, and fed the new calf; she had
scattered the grain before the flocks of fowls and pigeons in the
farm-yard; had brushed her uncle's coat, and, while helping him to
shuffle into it, had asked him:
"Are you going from home to-day, uncle?"
"Yes, merch i, didn't I tell you? I am going to a meeting at Pen
Morien, and won't be back to-night."
"Are you going to walk?"
"Why, no! ride, of course. Where's Malen?"
"I think Shoni was just putting her into the cart."
"Oh! I forgot to tell him," said the absent-minded man. "Tell him to
saddle her, and bring her here at once."
Valmai ran out, and picking her way daintily through the stubble of the
farm-yard, caught sight of Shoni fastening the last buckle of Malen's
cart harness.
"Wants her saddled?" he said, looking hot and flustered. "Dear, dear!
there never was such a man! Wasn't I settle with him yesterday to take
the two pigs to the fair to be sell? There's what it is to live in the
clouds!" and, grumbling, he unfastened the buckles, and soon led Malen
saddled and bridled to the door.
"Didn't you tell me we was to sell the pigs to-day?" he said sulkily,
as soon as his master was seated safely on the saddle.
Essec Powell, who had for some time been hopping about on one leg,
finding it difficult to mount the spirited Malen, now looked
thoughtfully at Shoni.
"Pigs," he said, "pigs? Oh, of course; yes, Shoni, quite right, you
shall take them to market tomorrow."
"To-day is the fair; you had forgotten that, I suppose."
"Well, well! next week will do," and he trotted away, Shoni looking
after him with undisguised contempt.
"There's a man, now," he said in English, for he was proud of his
proficiency in that language. "Wass you ever see such a man? I tell
you, Valmai, he would be ruined and put in gaol for debt long ago if I
wasn't keep him out of it."
"Yes, I think--indeed, Shoni, I am sure of it; but where is the fair
to-day?"
"At Llanython, of course; wasn't you hear of it? Why! you ought to be
there, pranked out in your ribbons and finery, talking and laughing
with the young men, and coming home in the evening with your
pocket-handkerchief full of gingerbread and nuts," and he looked her
over from top to toe.
It had never struck him before that there was any charm in her
appearance, but now he seemed to realise that she was worthy to be seen
at the fair.
"Yes," he said pensively, with his thumbs in the armholes of his
waistcoat; "I wouldn't wonder a bit now if you wass to pick up a
sweet'arr amongst the gentry, because you are beginning to speak
English as good as the Vicare, and you are not quite like the girls
about here, Valmai."
"Am I not?" she said laughingly.
"No," he said seriously; "and that's where you will be failing.
There's not a chap about here will take a miladi like you for a wife.
You must learn to kom over the farm-yard without picking up your
skirts, and looking at your shoes to see if they are dirty, if you want
to marry a farmer."
"Indeed, I don't wish to marry a farmer," said Valmai, "nor anyone else
who doesn't want me."
Shoni again shook his head solemnly. "Yes, yes," he said, "I see how
it is; s'not only the pigs, and the calves, and hens, but you too I
must take to markets and fairs, or we shall never marry you," and he
turned away pondering seriously over his self-imposed duties.
Valmai looked after him a little wistfully. Where should she go now?
How should she spend the long day? Gwen would see to the housework,
and would brook no interference with her management. Nobody wanted
her, and nobody thought of her, except Shoni, and to him she seemed
rather a burden; or was there one who thought of her sometimes?--who
cared a little for her? With heightened colour and quick step she
turned from the farm-yard down the steep path which led to the river's
banks, and as she made her way through the thick hazel and willow
brushwood she could not quite suppress the hope that she might meet
Cardo. But no, perfect solitude reigned over the Berwen.
Down in the valley she could not feel the wind, but she heard its roar
in the tree tops; the birds were silent, the sky was grey, and a little
sadness fell over her spirits as she continued to thread her way under
the tall bracken and brambles, onwards and upwards, until she at length
reached the stile by the bridge upon which she and Cardo had eaten
their gingerbread on the first evening of their acquaintance. The road
which had that night been so quiet and deserted was now full of busy
life, and as Valmai approached the stile and saw the many pedestrians
and vehicles she shrank back a little, and, through the branches of a
hazel bush, looked out on the passers-by, realising that all these
hurrying footsteps, and faces full of interest, were turned towards the
Fair at Llanython.
Presently she heard the rumbling of wheels, and in a cloud of dust saw
the Vicar of the next parish drive by with his two pretty daughters.
Just as they reached the bridge they were overtaken by a young man, who
reined in his spirited, well-groomed horse and addressed the party. At
once Valmai recognised the voice, and peeping through the greenery, saw
it was Cardo, stalwart and strong, with his rough freize coat and
buttoned gaiters, looking every inch a gentleman-farmer.
There was a bluff and hearty greeting from the clergyman as Cardo took
off his hat to the two young ladies, who simpered and blushed
becomingly, for Cardo Wynne was the catch of the neighbourhood; his
good looks, his father's reputed wealth, and the slight air of mystery
hanging over the silent "Vicare du" making quite a halo of romance
around his son's personality.
"Good-bye," said Mr. Hughes; "we shall see you at the fair, I suppose?"
"Yes," said Cardo, "good-bye," and he reined in his horse for a moment
so as to avoid riding in the cloud of dust raised by the Vicar's
carriage wheels.
Valmai's heart thumped loudly, for Cardo was looking at the stile, he
was dismounting, and now he was leaning on the bridge lost in thought,
and looking down into the green depths of the valley. There was a
pleased look on his face and a gleam in his black eyes, which Valmai
saw, and which made her heart beat faster and her cheek flush a more
rosy red, but she shrank further back into the shade of the hazel bush,
and only peeped out again when she heard by the horse's hoofs that his
rider was remounting; then she ventured over the stile and looked at
the retreating figure, with his broad shoulders, his firm seat, and his
steady hand on his bridle as he galloped out of sight. A flood of
happiness filled her heart as she re-crossed the stile and began her
way again down the shady path.
What mattered it that at every moment the wind rose higher, and the
branches creaked and groaned above her? What mattered it that the
birds were silent, and that the roar of the sea reached further than
usual into the nut wood? She would go home and eat her frugal dinner
of brown bread and bwdran,[1] and then she would set off to Ynysoer to
spend a few hours with Nance Owen, who had nursed her as a baby before
her parents had left Wales. In spite of the increasing storm she
reached the beach, and turned her face towards Ynysoer, a small island
or rather a promontory, which stretched out from the shore. At low
tide a reef of rocks, generally known as the Rock Bridge, connected it
with the mainland, but at high tide the reef was completely under
water, the sea rushing in foaming breakers over it as if chafing at the
restraint to its wild freedom.
Had Valmai been better acquainted with the coast, she would not have
dared to cross the bridge in the face of the storm which was every
moment increasing in violence. The tide was down, and the rocks were
bare, and the high wind helped to hurry her over the pools and craggy
points. Gathering her red cloak tightly around her she made her way
safely over to the island, which was a frequent resort of hers, as here
she found the warm love and welcome for which her heart craved, and
which was so sorely missing in her uncle's house.
Amongst the sandy dunes and tussocks were scattered a few lonely
cottages, in one of which Nance lived her uneventful life; its
smoke-browned thatch looked little different from the rushes and coarse
grass which surrounded it, for tufts of grass and moss grew on the roof
also, and Nance's goat was frequently to be seen browsing on the
house-top. At the open door stood Nance herself, looking out at the
storm. Suddenly she caught sight of Valmai, who was making a difficult
progress through the soft uneven sand, and a look of surprise and
pleasure came over her face.
"Oh, dear heart, is it you, indeed, come to see old Nance, and on such
a day? Come in, sweetheart, out of the storm."
"The storm indeed," said Valmai, in Welsh as pure as Nance's own, as
the old woman drew her in to the cottage and closed the door. "Why,
you know nothing about it on this side of the island, nothing of what
it is in the village. The boats have all been drawn up close to the
road, and the waves are dancing and prancing on the beach, I can tell
you."
Nance loosened her cloak and hat, and smoothed her hair with her horny
hands.
"There's glad I am to see you, merch fach-i, and if you have no grand
friends to keep you company and no one to look after you, you have
always got old Nance to love you."
"Yes, I know that, Nance, indeed. What do you think of my new frock?"
said the girl, holding out her skirt to the admiring gaze of the old
woman, who went into raptures of admiration.
"Oh, there's pretty. 'Tis fine and soft, but white, always white you
are wearing--"
"Yes, I like white," said Valmai.
"And didn't I dress you in your first little clothes? Well I remember
it."
"There's just what I wanted to ask you about, Nance; I love to hear the
old story."
"After tea, then, merch i, for now I must go and fetch water from the
well, and I must milk the goat."
"I will fetch the water," said Valmai; "you can go and milk."
And taking the red stone pitcher from the bench by the wall she went
out, and, sheltered by the ridge of rocks behind which the cottage
stood, made her way to the spring which dripped from a crack in the
cliffs. While she waited for the pitcher to fill, she sang, in sheer
lightness of heart, the old ballad which not only floated on the air of
Abersethin and its neighbourhood, but which she had heard her mother
sing in the far-off land of her childhood.
"By Berwen's banks my love has strayed
For many a day through sun and shade,"
and she paused to peep into the pitcher, but finding it only half full,
continued:
"And as she carolled loud and clear
The little birds flew down to hear."
"By Berwen's banks the storm rose high,"
but the pitcher was full, so, resting it on her side, she carried it
home, before Nance had caught her goat. When she returned with her
bowl of rich milk, Valmai was busy, with skirt and sleeves tucked up,
tidying and arranging the little room; the hearth had been swept and
the tea-things laid on the quaint little round table, whose black
shining surface and curved legs would have delighted the heart of a
collector of antique furniture.
"Oh, calon fâch![2] to think your little white hands have been working
for me! Now I will cut the bread and butter thin, thin--as befits a
lady like you; and sorry I am that it is barley bread. I don't forget
the beautiful white cakes and the white sugar you gave me at Dinas the
other day! And your uncle, how is he?"
"Quite well; gone to Pen Morien, and not coming home till to-morrow;
but tell me now, Nance fâch, of all that happened so long ago--when I
was born."
"Not so long ago for me, dear heart, as for you. It is a whole
life-time for you, but for me--" and the faded blue eyes filled with
tears, and the wrinkled lips trembled a little as she recalled the
past--"for me! I had lived my life before you were born. My husband
was dead, my boy drowned, and my little Mari, the last and brightest,
had suddenly withered and died before my eyes--a fever they say,
perhaps it was indeed; but the sun has never shone so brightly,
whatever, since then; the flowers are not so sweet--they remind me of
my child's grave; the sea does not look the same--it reminds me of my
boy!" and she rocked herself backwards and forwards for some time,
while Valmai stroked with tender white fingers the hard, wrinkled hand
which rested on her lap. "Well, indeed," said the old woman at last,
"there's enough of my sorrows; let us get on to the happy time when
your little life began, you and your twin sister. When you were washed
and dressed and laid sleeping together in the same cradle, no one could
tell which was which; but dir anwl! who cared for that? too much joy
was in our hearts that your dear mother was safe. No one at least,
except the grand English lady who was lodging there at your
grandfather's house. Her husband was dead, and she was very rich, but
she had no children; and when she heard your mother had twins, she
begged of us to let her have one for her very own, and she was like
thorns to us because we could not tell for sure which was the oldest."
"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.
"How far up the beach at Ynysoer those breakers run! And the Rock
Bridge!--I wouldn't like to cross that to-night; but surely that was a
woman's figure crossing it now!" A sudden fear darted through his
mind, and dismounting, he climbed to the top of the turfy bank at the
side of the road to gain a better view of the coast. "Yes, a woman--a
girl, surely, and a graceful girl, wearing a scarlet cloak. She
carried her hat in her hand--not on her head, at all events. Surely it
was not Valmai in such a storm going over by such a dangerous path?
Probably a fisherman's wife or daughter!" But he gazed long and
steadily before he once more resumed his ride. In hot haste he rode
the rest of the way to Brynderyn.
"The storm is rising," said the "Vicare du," as he joined his son at
the tea-table.
"Yes," said the latter, pausing in his attack upon the roast fowl to
gaze at the clouds which scudded before the wind, "I expect it will be
a furious gale before midnight."
As soon as the meal was over he rose, and fixing his hat firmly on his
head, said:
"I am going down to the beach to see the waves, father. If I am not
back to supper you won't be frightened?"
The old man muttered something about "folly to go out in such weather,"
as Cardo disappeared into the stone passage. Making his way down to
the beach, he found the storm raging fiercely, and, gaining the shelter
of a rock, he sat down to rest and think.
The sullen south-west wind moaned and shrieked as it rushed up the long
beach; it lurked in the hollows of the crags, and drove the sand and
foam before it. The Berwen looked yellow and muddy as it washed over
its stony bed. Above all came the roar of the breakers as they dashed
against the rocky sides of the island, which lay, a black mass, in the
seething water a few hundred yards from the shore.
He looked across the blinding spray of the waves and thought of his
boat; but no, no boat would live in such a sea; besides, what
ridiculous fear was this that haunted him?
At so great a distance as that between the road and the island it was
impossible that he could have distinguished Valmai from any other girl,
and what more natural than that one of the women living on the island
should be crossing the Rock Bridge.
"I must be a fool to have nervous fears like a silly girl. I daresay I
shall meet Valmai on the shore."
But he sought in vain for any sign of her, as she had sought him in the
morning. Indeed it was not likely that any tender girl would be out in
such a storm--and yet--"was it Valmai?"
The thought _would_ come, the fear would haunt him. He was surprised
to find himself overtaken by a woman.
"Dir, dir, what a storm," she remarked as she passed, hurried on her
way by the driving wind.
One or two of Cardo's long steps brought him up with her.
"Don't you come from Ynysoer?" he said. "I think I know your face."
"Yes, gwae fi![3] that I had got safe back again, but my mother is
ill," she shouted, as the wind carried her words away, "and I must stay
with her till tomorrow, no one could go back over the Rock Bridge
to-night; though, indeed, I met a young girl crossing--"
"Had she a red cloak?" asked Cardo.
"Yes. She was Essec Powell's niece, and if she tries to come back
to-night I wouldn't give much for her life."
"Here we part--good-bye," said Cardo.
"Nos da, Ser," said the woman, but her voice was drowned by the roar of
the wind.
"It was Valmai! I knew it was! Why did I not take my boat at once?
Now it is too late; and yet," he thought, "she cannot come till the
tide is low. I may get there in time. Surely she would not attempt to
cross the bridge yet?"
For the rest of the evening Cardo paced restlessly over the beach,
buffeted by the strong wind, wetted by the spray, but still watching
narrowly the bridge of rocks, which connected the island with the
mainland. He knew for a certainty that Valmai was there, and he
watched with intense interest the darkening island, over which the
storm gathered with increasing fury. His plan was to wait until the
tide went down, and then to cross the bridge himself, so as to help
Valmai, or to prevent her attempting to return.
After several hours' waiting in the shelter of the cliff, he saw by his
watch, which he was able to decipher by occasional gleams of moonlight,
that it was near upon nine o'clock. The moon was hidden at intervals
by heavy storm-clouds, which were hurrying before the wind; but when
her light shone out fitfully, it disclosed a scene of wild confusion;
the horizon was as black as ink, the seething sea beneath was white as
snow, and the sound of the wind and waves was deafening.
Over the Rock Bridge the sea rushed like a mill race one moment leaving
it bare and black, the next covering it again with strong rushing
billows of foam.
"She will not dare to return to-night," he thought, as he watched a
tossing, foaming tower of spray, which rose in the centre of the
bridge, where two streams of the seething waters met, and rose high in
the air together.
The moon had again hidden her face, and in the darkness Cardo was
seized with a trembling fear. With bent and bare head (for he had long
before lost his hat) he made a blind rush over the bridge. For the
first few yards he got on safely, as each end was sheltered by high
rocks, which stood as sentinels looking across at each other.
"So far, so good," thought Cardo, standing still a moment for breath;
"and now to cross this mill race!"
But he was too late. Already he saw that Valmai had begun her way
across.
On the island side the bridge was more sheltered from the storm, and
the girl was not only in a measure protected from the wind, but was
also hidden from the moonlight, and it was not until she had left the
shadow of the rocks and entered upon the open and unprotected reef that
Cardo in a sudden absence of clouds saw in the moonlight the delicate
figure wrapped in its scarlet cloak. For a moment she hesitated as she
felt the full force of the wind, and in her hesitation decided upon the
wrong course: she would run, she would reach the opposite rocks, and be
safe before the next gust of wind came.
"Good God!" said Cardo, "she is lost!" as he saw her approach with
flying hair and fluttering garments towards the centre of the bridge,
which was for a moment left bare, and in that moment Cardo realised how
completely this stranger girl, who had seemed to drop from the clouds
into his quiet, uneventful life, had taken possession of his heart.
All this flashed through his mind and opened his eyes to the true state
of his feelings.
Instantly he was making his way towards her, with strong steps and
sturdy shoulders fighting with the wind, which seemed determined to
baffle his attempts to reach Valmai before the periodical recurring
inrush of opposite streams should once more meet, and rise in towering
strife together. Thoroughly frightened and trembling, Valmai looked in
horror at the two opposing streams of water approaching her on either
side, and in her terror losing her self-command, was on the point of
giving herself up to the angry waters, which she felt herself too weak
to withstand. At this critical moment a dark form dashed through the
blinding spray--a form which she instantly recognised, and which as
quickly restored courage to her sinking heart. She felt the strong
arms clasped round her, but too late! for the next moment the
approaching waves had met, and rising high in the air in their furious
contact, had fallen with terrific force, sweeping her and her rescuer
into the boiling surf. Valmai became unconscious at once, but Cardo's
strong frame knew no sense of swooning nor faintness. His whole being
seemed concentrated in a blind struggle to reach the land--to save
Valmai, though he was fighting under terrible disadvantage.
She had relaxed her grasp, and he had now to hold her safe with one
arm, thus having only one with which to struggle against the
suffocating, swirling waters. In a very few minutes he realised that
the fight was dead against him; in spite of all his strength and his
powerful frame, he was lifted and tossed about like a straw. The only
thing in his favour was the fact that the tide had turned, and was even
now combining with the strong wind to carry him towards a sheltered
corner on the mainland. With choking breath and blinded eyes he felt
himself carried on the crest of a wave, which bore him landwards, but
only to be drawn back again by its receding swell. He felt he was
helpless, though, had he the use of his two arms, he knew he would be
able to breast the stormy waters, and gain the land in safety; but
clutched in the nervous grasp of his left arm he held what was dearer
to him than life itself, and felt that to die with Valmai was better
than to live without her! His strength was almost gone, and with
horror he felt that his grasp of the girl was more difficult to retain,
as a larger wave than usual came racing towards him with foaming,
curling crest. He gave himself up for lost--he thought of his old
father even now poring over his books--he thought of Valmai's young
life so suddenly quenched--and with one prayer for himself and her, he
felt himself carried onward, tossed, tumbled over and over, but still
keeping tight hold of his precious burden.
He was suddenly struck by a stunning blow, which for a moment seemed to
take away his senses--but only for a moment--for what was this calm?
what was this quiet sense of rest? was he sinking out of life into some
dim, unconscious state of being? had he seen the last of the clouds?
the moon--the stormy waters? Had Valmai already slipped away from him?
No; he still felt her within his grasp, and in a few moments he was
able to realise the meaning of the change in his feelings. He had been
carried like a shred of seaweed by that strong wave far up the beach on
the mainland, and in its receding flow it had swirled him into a round
cavity in the rocks, where as a boy he had often played and bathed and
fished; he knew it well, and saw in a moment that he was saved!
Clasping Valmai firmly, he ran up the beach, another combing, foaming
wave coming dangerously near his hurrying footsteps; but in spite of
the buffeting wind, he gained the shelter of the cliffs, and at last
laid his burden tenderly down on the rocks. And now the fight for life
was replaced by the terrible dread that Valmai might already be beyond
recall.
The clear, cold moon looked down between the scudding clouds upon her
straightened form, the wind roared above them, and the lashing fury of
the waves still filled the air; but Valmai lay white and still. Cardo
looked round in vain for help; no one was near, even the fishermen had
safely bolted their doors, and shut out the wild stormy night. A faint
hope awoke in his heart as he remembered that Valmai had swooned before
she was engulfed with him in the sea, and he set to work with renewed
vigour to rub her cold hands, and press the water out of her long,
drenched hair; he was soon rewarded by signs of life in the rigid
form--a little sigh came trembling from her lips, her hand moved, and
there was a tremor in her eyelids. Cardo placed his arm under her
shoulders and, lifting her into a sitting posture, rested her head upon
his breast, the movement, the change of position--something awoke her
from her long swoon; was it the sense of Cardo's presence? did his
earnest longing call her spirit back? for she had been close upon the
shadow land. She came back slowly, dimly conscious of escaping from
some deadly horror, and awakening to something pleasant, something
happy. She slowly opened her eyes, and observing Cardo's strong right
hand, which still held and chafed her own, while his left arm upheld
her drenched form, she moved a little, and murmured:
"Are you hurt?"
"No," said Cardo, trembling in every limb with the excitement which he
had controlled until now, and with the delight of seeing life and
movement return to her, "hurt? no! only thankful to find you safe; only
anxious to get you home."
Valmai's voice was weak and low, and he had to bend his head over her
to catch the words:
"You have been near death for my sake--those dreadful waves!"
"Do not think of them! I was in no danger. But I have been nearer
death since I have sat here watching your slow recovery. Now, Valmai,"
he said, realising that every moment of exposure in her cold, drenched
garments was danger to her, "be brave; give yourself up to me, and I
will carry you home."
But this adjuration was needless, for as he placed her gently down
while he rose to his feet he felt that she was limp and powerless as a
baby; he lifted her in his arms, and felt her weight no more than if he
had carried a storm-beaten bird. His own drenched condition he did not
consider--did not feel, while he climbed with careful footsteps up the
rugged path to Dinas, lighted only by the moon, whose beams were
continually obscured by the flying clouds. Pushing his way between the
furze and broom bushes, he was careful to let no stray branch catch
Valmai's face or hair, and as he reached the farm-yard in the rear of
the house, he was delighted to feel a strong and swift motion in her
frame.
"Put me down, please," she whispered, "on the bench by the door."
Cardo did so, reluctantly loosing his grasp of the tender form.
"Now knock."
And he obeyed, rapping loudly on the back door. The sound seemed to
rouse the inmates at once, for, with considerable thumping and
fumbling, somebody shuffled down the stairs.
"Go now, I am safe," said Valmai, in a whisper.
And Cardo went, but not before he had stooped down and pressed an
impassioned kiss upon the little listless hands. Neither spoke.
Valmai felt too weak and full of awakening happiness to trust her
voice, while Cardo felt the occasion was above the necessity for any
words. He waited behind the elder bushes until Gwen's full-moon face
appeared in the doorway, and her ejaculations of reproachful
astonishment (in which the Welsh language is prolific) showed that she
had seen Valmai, and fully appreciated the urgency of the situation.
"Mawredd anwl! what is the meaning of this? Where have you been? and I
thinking you were in your warm bed!"
"I have been to see Nance, and coming back over the Rock Bridge the sea
washed me away."
"Nance! Nance! all the time! What you want to go there so often?
It's no wonder if you are drowned crossing that nasty place in such a
storm, You are like a wet sea-gull. If you were a baby you wouldn't be
more trouble," etc., etc.
Cardo still waited until he saw in the kitchen the blaze of
freshly-piled logs on the culm fire, Gwen's voice still reaching him in
snappish, reproving tones through the closed door. Then he turned
away, and though he was bodily cold and saturated with the sea water,
his heart was full of warmth and a newly-awakened sense of the joy and
fulness of life.
[1] Oatmeal and water kept until fermentation has commenced, and then
boiled into a thin porridge.
[2] Dear heart.
[3] Woe is me.