"Speak, girl, I implore you! Tell me, is this true?" His voice trembled, and he came a step nearer to her. "Tell me that it is true, and I will forgive you and him, for I shall then have a hope that his love for you will bring him home, though he has no love for me." And completely overcome by his feeling's he dropped on his knees by the table, and, leaning his head on his arms, broke into a torrent of tears. "Oh, Cardo, Cardo, my boy!" he cried. "Come back to me."
There was no answer from Valmai, and when he raised his head again she was gone. At the words, "Oh! Cardo, Cardo," she had fled down the aisle, out into the golden sunshine, down the rugged path to the shore, where behind a huge boulder she flung herself down on the sands, crying out in a long pent-up agony of tears, "Oh Cardo, Cardo, come back!"
The morning hours passed on, and noontide drew near.
The "Vicare du" emerged from the church porch, pale and calm as usual. He looked at his watch as he came out into the sunshine, and followed the same path over which Valmai had sped an hour before. He had replaced the old registry book in the rusty, iron chest, had closed the door methodically, and when he had disappeared through the trees the white owl had flapped back into the tower, and the dimly-lighted church which had been the scene of such stormy human feelings was once more silent and deserted.
At noontide, too, Valmai had regained her composure, and had risen from her attitude of despair with a pale face and eyes which still showed traces of their storm of tears.
Next day she bade her faithful Nance good-bye, leaving with her a promise to write as soon as she was settled in some place that she could call "home," and to return for a few days in the spring.
Arrived at Caer Madoc, she took her place in the coach in which she had journeyed a year before; and reaching the station at Blaennôs, soon arrived at Fordsea. Leaving her luggage at the station, she made her way into the well-remembered town. There was the white-flashing harbour, here was the crooked Reuben Street, and here the dear little house once occupied by her uncle, where she and Cardo had spent their happy honeymoon. Yes, she remembered it all; but she held her head up bravely, and crushed down every tender memory, hardening her heart, and setting herself to attend to the business of the hour.
In the broad High Street she easily found the shining brass plate which bore the words, "Mr. William Lloyd, Solicitor," and she entered the office with as business-like an air as she could assume.
"Can I see Mr. William Lloyd himself?"
"You see him, madam; I am he," said a middle-aged, pleasant-faced man, who met her in the doorway. "I was just going out, but if your business is not likely to keep us long—"