Before that morning arrived, Cardo had won from Valmai a frightened and half-reluctant consent.
She was no longer a child, but seemed to have matured suddenly into a woman of calm and reflective character, as well as of deep and tender feeling.
To be married thus hurriedly and secretly! How different to the beautiful event which she had sometimes pictured for herself! Where was the long, white veil? Where were the white-robed bridesmaids? Where were the smiling friends to look on and to bless? There would be none of these indeed, but then—there would be Cardo! to encourage and sustain her—to call her wife! and to entrust his happiness to her. Yes, she would marry him; she would be true to him—neither life nor death should shake her constancy—no power should draw from her lips the sweet secret of their marriage, for Cardo had said, "It must be a secret between us, love, until I return and tell my father myself—can you promise that, Valmai?" and with simple earnestness she had placed her hand in his, saying, "I promise, Cardo." And well might he put his trust in her, for, having given that word of promise, no one who knew her (they were very few) could doubt that she would keep it both in the letter and in the spirit.
The morning of the fourteenth dawned bright and clear, but as Cardo threw up his window and looked over the shining waters of the bay he saw that on the horizon gray streaky clouds were rising, and spreading fan-like upwards from one point, denoting to his long-accustomed eye that a storm was brewing.
"Well! it is September," he thought, "and we must expect gales."
He dressed hurriedly though carefully, and was soon walking with springy step across the beach, and up the valley to the old church. He cast a nervous glance towards Dinas, wondering whether Valmai would remember her promise—fearing lest she might have overslept herself—that Essec Powell or Shoni might have discovered her intentions and prevented their fulfilment; perhaps even she might be shut up in one of the rooms in that gaunt, grey house! Nothing was too unreasonable or unlikely for his fears, and as he approached the church he was firmly convinced that something had happened to frustrate his hopes; nobody was in sight, the Berwen brawled on its way, the birds sang the ivy on the old church tower glistened in the sunshine, and the sea-gulls sailed overhead as usual.
It had been decided the night before that Gwynne Ellis should leave the house alone at his usual early hour, and that his friends should come by the high road from Abersethin, and down by the river-path to the church. They were not to stand outside, but to enter the church at once, to avoid any possible observation; but in spite of this prior arrangement Cardo wondered why no one appeared.
"Can Gwynne Ellis be late? or those confounded fellows from Abersethin have forgotten all about it, probably? It's the way of the world!"
As he crossed the stepping-stones to the church he felt sure there would be no wedding, and that he would have to depart at midday still a bachelor, leaving Valmai to all sorts of dangers and trials!
When he entered the porch, however, and pushed open the door of the church, in the cool green light inside, he found his three friends waiting for him.