By Berwen Banks | Page 9

work, and he longed to break through the elder bushes and call her attention. He was so near that he could even hear the words of her song, softly as they were sung. She was interrupted by a querulous voice.
"Valmai," it said in Welsh, "have you written that?"
"Oh! long ago, uncle. I am waiting for the next line."
"Here it is then, child, and well worth waiting for;" and, with outstretched arm marking the cadence of its rhythm, he read aloud from a book of old poems. "There's poetry for you, girl! There's a description of Nature! Where will you find such real poetry amongst modern bards? No, no! the bards are dead, Valmai!"
"Well, I don't know much about it, uncle; but isn't it a modern bard who writes:
"'Come and see the misty mountains In their grey and purple sheen, When they blush to see the sunrise Like a maiden of thirteen!'"
That seems very pretty, whatever."
"Very pretty," growled the man's voice, "very pretty; of course it is--very pretty! That's just it; but that's all, Valmai. Pwff! you have put me out with your 'blushing maiden' and your 'purple sheen.' Let us shut up Taliesin and come to 'Drych y Pryf Oesoedd.' Now, you begin at the fifth chapter."
There was a little sigh, which Cardo heard distinctly, and then the sweet voice began and continued to read until the sun sank low in the west.
"It's getting too dark, uncle. Will I go and see if the cakes are done?"
"No, no!" said the old man, "Gwen will look after the cakes; you light the candle, and come on with the book."
How Cardo longed to spring in through the lattice window, to fling the old books away, and to draw the reader out into the gold and purple sunset--out over the breezy cliffs, and down to the golden sands; but the strong bonds of circumstances held him back.
The candle was lighted, and now he could see into the room. Old Essec Powell sat beside the table with one leg thrown over the other, hands clasped, and chin in the air, lost in the deep interest of the book which his niece was reading.
"He looks good for two hours longer," thought Cardo, as he saw the old man's far-away look.
There was a little tone of weariness in her voice as, seating herself at the table by the open window, Valmai drew the candle nearer and continued to read.
Outside in the dusky twilight Cardo was gazing his fill at the face which had haunted him ever since he had seen it on the road from Caer Madoc. Yes, it was a beautiful face! even more lovely than he imagined it to be in the dim evening light. He took note of the golden wavy hair growing low on her broad, white forehead, her darker eyebrows that reminded him of the two arches of a beautiful bridge, under which gleamed two clear pools, reflecting the blue of the sky and the glint of the sunshine, the straight, well-formed nose, the pensive, mobile mouth, the complexion of a pale pink rose, and added to this the indescribable charm of grace and manner which spread through her personality.
The evening shadows darkened, the sunset glow faded, and the moon rose in a cloudless sky. The distant sound of the regular plash of the waves on the beach reached Cardo's ears. He thought of the long reaches of golden sand lying cool and grey in the moonlight, and all the romantic dreams of youth awoke within him.
Was it right that Valmai should be bending over a musty book in a dimly-lit room? while outside were the velvet turf of the cliffs, the plashing waves, and the silver moonlight.
But the reading still went on, the gentle voice growing a little weary and monotonous, and the white eyelids falling a little heavily over the blue eyes.
Long Cardo watched and gazed, and at last, turning away, he walked moodily home. He knew his father would expect him to supper at ten o'clock punctually, and hurried his steps as he approached the house. Just in time, for Betto was placing on the table an appetising supper of cawl and bread and butter, which the two men were soon discussing silently, for the Vicar was more pre-occupied than usual, and Cardo, too, was busy with his own thoughts.
Suddenly the former spoke.
"Is the long meadow finished?" he said.
"Yes; Dye is a splendid fellow to work, and Ebben and he together get through a good deal."
"To-morrow they can clear out the barn. The next day is the market at Llanilwyn; they must go there and buy a cow which Jones Pant y rych is going to sell. I have told Ebben he is not to give more than 8 pounds for her, and that is one pound more