THE WEB OF FATE.
Arrived on the door-mat of the little parlour, where Cardo Wynne was coming to an end of a repast, which showed by its small remnants that it had been thoroughly appreciated, Valmai fell into a tremor of uncertainty. Was it Cardo? Yes, she could not be mistaken in the voice; but how would he take her sudden appearance? Would he be glad? Would he be sorry? And the result of her mental conflict was a very meek, almost inaudible knock.
"Come in," shouted Cardo from within. Another pause, during which
Cardo said, "Why the deuce don't you come in?"
The door was slowly opened, and there appeared Valmai, blushing and trembling as if she had been caught in some delinquency.
For a moment Cardo was speechless with astonishment, but not for long, for, in answer to Valmai's apologetic, "Oh! Cardo, it's me; it's only me, whatever!" she was folded in his arms, and pressed so close to his heart that her breath came and went in a gasp half of fright and half of delight.
"Gracious heavens! What does it mean?" he said, holding her at arms' length. "My own little wild sea-bird! My little white dove! My darling, my wife! Where have you flown from? How are you here?"
They were interrupted by a thundering knock on the floor above them.
Cardo started. "What is that?" he said.
Valmai laughed as she somewhat regained her composure.
"It is Uncle John," she said. "Wait while I run up to him, and then I will come back and explain everything."
"Uncle John!" said Cardo in bewilderment, as he saw through the doorway the graceful white figure flit up the narrow stairs. "Uncle John! Can that be Captain Powell? Of course, old Essec's brother, no doubt. I have heard they are Pembrokeshire people."