INTO THE SUNSHINE,
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.'"
"Oh! how dreadful," said Valmai, "how could he bear it? and how he must
have suffered since then; but I will make it all up to him, and now I
understand his conduct the other evening. Oh, you slow old puffing
engine, make haste, and take me to Blaenos Station, then there will be
a whole hour in that crawling coach, and then comes dear Caer Madoc!
and oh! it is market day. Cardo always drives in with Dr. Hughes on
that day, and walks home in the evening. I will walk! It will be like
that dear, happy night when we first met!" And at last her excitement
calming down, she settled herself again into her corner, and while she
sat silent and immovable, she followed out from beginning to end the
incidents of the last few weeks. Although Gwladys's mistaken
interference had caused her such deep sorrow, and such a bitter
experience as that of Cardo's avoidance of her at the Merediths, she
felt nothing but pity for the sister whom she knew would have
sacrificed life itself to save her from trouble.
As the train sped onwards, between the blue hills and by the silver
streams, her thoughts outran its speed, and in fancy she saw Cardo
hurrying along the high road to meet her at Caer Madoc. And he as he
drove along beside Dr. Hughes, was full of tender longings and thoughts
of her. She seemed to fill the air around him, she seemed to press
upon his inner consciousness with such vividness, that he felt it
difficult to restrain his voice, and prevent himself from calling her
name aloud.
At last, the evening shadows began to fall over sleepy Caer Madoc, and
Valmai, alighting from the coach in the "Red Dragon" yard, looked round
hurriedly. With her, too, the impression of Cardo's presence had been
so vivid, that she almost expected to see him waiting for her; but no
Cardo was to be seen! After leaving her luggage in the ostler's
charge, she hastened out through the old archway which opened into the
High Street.
"No, I prefer walking, thank you; you can send my luggage on
to-morrow," she said to the kindly officious man, who followed her to
offer his services as driver, and she turned up the street with a heart
full of exultant hopes. Here were the last straggling houses that
reached up the hilly street, leading to the moor. Her steps were light
and springy, as she followed the familiar road, now almost deserted by
the last pedestrians returning from the market. The sun had set behind
the sea, which she already saw stretching away to the west, a soft grey
haze enfolded the hills which rose before her, and the moon was rising
to her right and blending her silver light with that of the departed
sun, which still left a golden glow over the west. Valmai walked on
steadily until she reached the first milestone, and sitting down beside
it, she rested awhile, almost hidden by its shadow. It was not one of
the modern insignificant, square-cut, stiff stones, but a solid boulder
of granite, one of the many strewn about the moor. She listened
breathlessly to the different sounds that reached her ears, sounds
which seemed to awake in the stillness, as she listened. There was a
faint and distant rumbling of wheels in the town behind her, and surely
some strains of music, which carried her back in memory to another
evening in the past! Down below the cliffs on her left she heard the
mysterious whispering of the sea; in the little coppice across the road
a wood-pigeon cooed her soft "good-night"; and away in the hay-fields,
stretching inland, she heard the corncrakes' grating call; but no human
footstep broke the silence of night. Surely Cardo would have gone to
market on such a lovely day! or, who knows? perhaps he was too sad to
care for town or market? But hark! a footstep on the hard, dry road.
She listened breathlessly as it drew nearer in the gathering grey of
the twilight. Steadily it tramped, tramped on, and peeping round the
milestone, Valmai at last saw a grey figure emerge from the haze. It
was Cardo, she felt sure, and rising at once, she hurried some distance
on the road in a sudden feeling of nervousness. The steady tramp,
tramp came ever nearer, and, looking through the increasing shadows,
she saw distinctly the well-remembered form, the broad shoulders, the
firmly-knit frame, and in a fresh access of nervousness she hurried on
again--putting off the moment of recognition which she longed for, and
endeavouring to reach a hollow in the high bank, where she might lie
hidden until she had regained courage and calmness.
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.
There, under the golden moon, with endless questions and reiteration of
answers, Valmai told her story and Cardo told his, until the moon rode
high in the sky. Again and again Cardo pressed her to his heart, and
again and again she took his brown hands in her own and laid her cheek
upon them.
"Oh, Cardo! is it true? or is it all a dream? So suddenly to leave my
sadness and sorrow behind, and to awake to this blessed reality!" And
as they rose to pursue their walk together, Cardo drew her arm through
his, as if afraid for a moment to loosen his hold of her.
"But your sister, dearest, is _not_ like you! How could I have been
deceived? How could I, for one moment, have thought my gentle darling
would say such cruel things? No, no! you are utterly unlike each
other, though so strangely alike."
"Well, indeed, Cardo bâch! when you know her you will see how sweet and
beautiful she is! how much wiser and more noble than I! It was her
great love for me, and her desire that I should be happy, that made her
act as she did; and to-morrow you must read her penitent letter, and
learn to forgive her, and to love her for my sake."
"I will--I will, love; I will forgive anybody, anything, and will love
the whole world now that I have you back again. But oh, Valmai, my
beloved, how shall I ever make up to you for all you have gone through?
I know now you never received my letter written on the _Burrawalla_,
and sent by _The Dundee_, for I have heard of her sad fate. In that,
dearest, I retracted my request that you should keep our marriage a
secret, and you would have been saved all the sorrow you have borne had
you received it. But I will make up to you, dearest, if the devotion
of a lifetime can do so."
"This is happiness enough to make up for anything," said Valmai; "and I
am glad I was able to keep my promise."
"Faithful friend, and trustful wife!" answered Cardo.
"Ah! no," continued Valmai; "I shall never regret having kept my
promise! Indeed, I never felt tempted to break it, except one day,
when, in the old church, I met your father face to face. Never shall I
forget the agonising longing I felt to throw myself at his feet and
tell him all, and mingle my tears with his."
"He has told me all about it, love, and how he thought it was an angel,
when he first saw you standing there. But let us leave all tales of
sorrow for another day; to-night is for love only, for rapturous joy!
Are we not together, love? and what does anything else matter?"
"Nothing, nothing," answered Valmai, in words which lost none of their
depth of feeling from being spoken in soft, low tones.
In silence, which was more eloquent than words, they pursued their way
till they reached the bridge over the Berwen; and as they leant over
its side, and looked into the depths of the woods beneath them, they
recalled all the circumstances of their first meeting.
"I wish I had bought some gingerbread in the Mwntroyd, Cardo, so that
we might eat it here together. Ah! how it all comes back to me!"
And as they leant over the bridge he held her hand in his, and with
eyes which sought each other's in the moonlight, they let the time slip
by unheeded. The only sound that rose upon the still night air was the
babbling of the Berwen.
When at last both had told their story, and every question and answer
had again and again been renewed, and all its side bearings and
suggestions had been satisfactorily explained, the sweet, lisping
sounds of the river flooded their souls with its music.
"Oh, Cardo! to think we can once more sing together. How different to
that miserable evening at Colonel Meredith's, when you stood aloof, and
Gwen sang the dear old song. I thought it would kill me."
"And I, darling, when I carried you up in my arms, what did I feel?"
"Well, indeed, I don't know; but we have had a dreadful experience,
whatever." And presently Valmai began to hum "By Berwen Banks," Cardo
irresistibly joining in with his musical bass, and once again the old
ballad floated down the valley and filled the night with melody.
"We ought to be going now, or we shall be shut out. I know Nance will
be gone to bed already, but, certainly, there is not much distance
between her bed and the door."
"Nance!" said Cardo. "No, indeed, my wild sea-bird. I have caught you
now, and never again will I part with you. Home to Brynderyn, dearest,
with me, where my father is longing to fold you in his arms."
"Anywhere with you, Cardo." And down by the Berwen they took their
way, by the old church, where the white owl hooted at them as they
passed, and down to the shore, where the waves whispered their happy
greetings.
The "Vicare du," as he sat by his study fire that night, was lost in
thought. A wonderful change had come over his countenance, the gloom
and sternness had disappeared, and a softened and even gentle look had
taken their place. A smile of eager interest crossed his face as he
heard the crunching of the gravel, which announced his son's return.
Betto was already opening the door, and a cry of surprise and gladness
woke an echo in the old man's heart as he hurried along the stone
passage into the parlour. Cardo came in to meet him, leading Valmai,
who hung back a little timidly, looking nervously into the Vicar's pale
face. But the look she saw there banished all her fears, and in
another moment she was clasped in his arms, and in all Wales no happier
family drew round their evening meal that night than the Wynnes of
Brynderyn.
There is nothing more to be said, except that Gwynne Ellis's letter
awaited Cardo's home-coming, and it shall speak for itself.
"DEAR WYNNE,--I write with such mixed feelings, and at the same time in
such a hurry to catch the first possible post, that probably you will
think my letter is a little 'mixed' too. You will guess what was my
astonishment, when calling upon Mrs. Power, to find--not Valmai, but
her twin-sister, Miss Gwladys Powell! My dear Wynne, I was struck dumb
by the likeness between them. I waited eagerly for Valmai's arrival,
which they were daily expecting, and it was not until I heard she was
going to Cardiganshire instead that I mentioned to Gwladys your
marriage to her sister, and the cruel manner in which she had received
you after your long absence. Then came the explanation, which, no
doubt, ere this you have received from Valmai's own lips, for I know
that to-morrow she will see you, having received her sister's letter in
the morning; and the veil will be lifted, and all your sorrow will
disperse like the baseless fabric of a dream. You will see already how
Gwladys, dreading your influence upon the sister whom she thought you
had deceived and deserted, was tempted, by your mistaking her for
Valmai, to impersonate her, and to drive you away from her presence.
Her sorrow and repentance are greater than the occasion demands, I
think, for, after all, it was her deep love for her sister which made
her act in this way; and I am sure that, when you and Valmai have been
reunited and all your joys return, you will have no room in your hearts
for anger against Gwladys. She is the most lovely girl I have ever
seen, except your wife, and her mind and heart are quite worthy of her
beautiful face; indeed, my dear Cardo, she is what I once thought was
not to be found--a second Valmai! In fact I love her, and I am not
without a faint hope that my love is returned. Remember me to Shoni,
and tell him I hope to see him again next spring. And what if I bring
Gwladys down, and we all roam by the Berwen together?--not Shoni! What
can I add more, except that I hope this delicious programme may be
carried out?
"Yours as of old,
"GWYNNE ELLIS."