By Berwen Banks | Page 4

laughing.
"And eating the same gingerbread," added Valmai.
"My word! There would be wrath."
"Wrath?" said the girl, looking thoughtfully up in her companion's face;
"what is that?"
"Oh, something no one could feel towards you. 'Wrath' is anger."
"My uncle is angry sometimes with me, and--too--with--with--"
"My father, I suppose?" said Cardo.
"Yes, indeed," said the girl; "that is true, whatever. Every Wednesday
evening at the prayer-meeting he is praying for the 'Vicare du,' and
Betto told me last week that the Vicare is praying for my uncle on
Tuesday evenings."
"Oh, Lord! has it come to that?" said Cardo. "Then I'm afraid we can
never hope for peace between them."
They both laughed, and the girl's rippling tones mingled musically in
Cardo's ears with the gurgle of the Berwen.
"It is getting late," she said, "we had better go on; but I must say

good-night here, because it is down by the side of the river is my way
to Dinas. You will be nearer to keep on the road till you cross the
valley."
"No, indeed," said the young man, already preparing to help his
companion over the stone stile. "I will go down by the Berwen too."
"Anwl," said Valmai, clasping her hands; "it will be a mile further for
you, whatever."
"A mile is nothing on such a night as this."
And down to the depths of the dark underwood they passed, by a steep,
narrow path, down through the tangled briers and bending ferns, until
they reached the banks of the stream. The path was but little defined,
and evidently seldom trodden; the stream gurgled and lisped under the
brushwood; the moon looked down upon it and sparkled on its ripples;
and as Valmai led the way, chatting in her broken English, a strange
feeling of happy companionship awoke in Cardo Wynne's heart.
After threading the narrow pathway for half-a-mile or so, they reached
a sudden bend of the little river, where the valley broadened out
somewhat, until there was room for a grassy, velvet meadow, at the
further corner of which stood the ruins of the old parish church, lately
discarded for the new chapel of ease built on the hillside above the
shore.
"How black the ruins look in that corner," said Cardo.
"Yes, and what is that white thing in the window?" said Valmai, in a
frightened whisper, and shrinking a little nearer to her companion.
"Only a white owl. Here she comes sailing out into the moonlight."
"Well, indeed, so it is. From here we can hear the sea, and at the
beginning of the shore I shall be turning up to Dinas."
"And I suppose I must turn in the opposite direction to get to

Brynderyn," said Cardo. "Well, I have never enjoyed a walk from Caer
Madoc so much before. Will they be waiting for you at home, do you
think?"
"Waiting for me?" laughed the girl, and her laugh was not without a
little trace of bitterness; "who is there to wait for me? No one, indeed,
since my mother is dead. Perhaps to-morrow my uncle might say,
'Where is Valmai? She has never brought me my book.' Here it is,
though," she continued, "safe under the crumbs of the gingerbread. I
bought it in the Mwntroyd. 'Tis a funny name whatever."
"Yes, a relic of the old Flemings, who settled in Caer Madoc long ago."
"Oh! I would like to hear about that! Will you tell me about it some
time again?"
"Indeed I will," said Cardo eagerly; "but when will that be? I have been
wondering all the evening how it is I have never seen you before."
They had now reached the open beach, where the Berwen, after its
chequered career, subsided quietly through the sand and pebbles into
the sea.
"Here is my path, but I will tell you," and with the sound of the
gurgling river, and the plash of the waves in his ears, Cardo listened to
her simple story. "You couldn't see me much before, because only six
weeks it is since I am here. Before that I was living far, far away. Have
you ever heard of Patagonia? Well then, my father was a missionary
there, and he took me and my mother with him when I was only a baby.
Since then I have always been living there, till this year I came to
Wales."
"Patagonia!" said Cardo. "So far away? No wonder you dropped upon
me so suddenly! But how, then, did you grow up Welsh?"
Valmai laughed merrily.
"Grow up Welsh? Well, indeed, I don't know what have I grown up!

Welsh, or English, or Spanish, or Patagonian! I am mixed of them all, I
think. Where we were living there was a large settlement of Welsh
people, and