By Berwen Banks Part 38

"Stormy day," he said, as he pa.s.sed out of the narrow doorway.

He was longing to get home, but he would not hurry his step. He stopped and looked impatiently as he heard the postman call after him.

"There is another letter from Australia, sir, but I dunno where was I to send it. Here it is, sir." And he touched his hat apologetically as he handed a second letter to him.

"Yes; my son's handwriting, I see. I will take charge of it."

He gasped for breath, though the postman saw no sign of emotion, and, as he bent his head against the wind, he read the address on the second letter.

"Mrs. Caradoc Wynne, c/o Rev. Meurig Wynne, Brynderyn, Abersethin, Cardigans.h.i.+re, Wales."

"Oh, my G.o.d, I thank Thee," were the only words that escaped the Vicar's lips while he hurried home through the brewing storm, the letters clutched in his hand and pressed against his breast; but these words were repeated several times.

At last, in the quiet of his study, he opened his son's letter and hungrily devoured every word of its contents twice over. After its perusal he took up the second letter, and, with visible emotion, poured over every line of the address, turning the envelope over and over, and pondering in deep but silent thought, from which Betto's knock, announcing dinner, startled him.

As he stood for a moment to say grace, before sitting down to his meal, Betto raised her eyes to his face, and was so startled by the changed and softened look that, with round eyes of surprise, she asked:

"Mishtir bach! what is it?"

"Mr. Cardo is coming home."

And Betto, quite overcome, plumped herself down on the sofa, throwing her ap.r.o.n over her head and shedding some surrept.i.tious tears of sympathy; while the Vicar, forgetting his dinner, recounted to her the chief incidents of his son's absence--his long illness, and subsequent loss of memory--Betto following the tale with a running accompaniment of e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns.

"And this, Betto," said her master, slowly laying the other letter on the table before her, "look at it--but I forgot you can't read English."

"Howyer bach! not I."

"Well, it is addressed to 'Mrs. Caradoc Wynne.' Did you know anything of this?"

Betto's face exhibited a succession of expressions, which followed each other like dissolving views, astonishment, indignation, fear of her master's displeasure, determination to champion Cardo in any course of combat, all ending in a broad grin of delight as she saw an unaccustomed curve on the Vicar's lips.

"Did I know it? No; if I had, I wouldn't have had words with so many people in the village. Oh! my boy, bach! didn't I always say he was a gentleman!" And her varied emotions culminated in a rain of tears.

"Twt, twt!" said the Vicar, clearing his throat, "no nonsense, Betto; bring me the potatoes."

And that meal was finished with more cheerfulness than had lightened up that dark old room for many a long year.

From that day forth the Vicar seemed to gain strength and gladness with every hour. He took long walks in his parish, and showed more tender sympathy with the ailments and troubles of his ancient congregation.

The wonderful change in the "Vicare du" was the subject of remark at many a cottage hearth, and in many a roadside conversation.

"Oh! it's his son's coming home that has brightened him up so much; and John Jones, postmaster, says he took the other letter as meek as a lamb. But what has he done with it n.o.body knows. John Jones is saying that it has never been posted again, so he must have got it still."

"Well, well! how can he post it when n.o.body knows where Mrs. Caradoc Wynne is?"

"Mrs. Caradoc Wynne, indeed! Phrutt!"

Early in the New Year, when the bare, brown hills had thrown off their mantle of snow, and the blue waters of the bay were glinting in the suns.h.i.+ne, and the starry, golden celandines looked up fearlessly from every bank and hedge, a heavily-laden carriage, drawn by a pair of strong horses, rolled along the dry, hard road from Caer Madoc towards Abersethin. Its occupants looked at every scene with interest, recalling reminiscences of former days at every turn of the road, and looking out eagerly for the chimneys of the village, which lay at the bottom of the valley.

The travellers were Cardo and Mr. and Mrs. Lewis Wynne. As the carriage left the firm, high road, and began to descend one of the stony lanes which led to the sh.o.r.es below, Cardo became silent and thoughtful; he had hitherto been the life of the party. Returning home in perfect health and spirits, he had given the rein to his fancy, and was full of buoyant hopes and joyful antic.i.p.ations.

The Vicar, apprised of their coming, was watching at the gate--indeed, had been there more or less since breakfast, and it was now nearly noon.

Betto flew about with amazing agility, considering her size and weight, dusting a chair, smoothing her ap.r.o.n, shading her eyes with her hand, and peering towards the brow of the hill for some signs of their coming.

At last they arrived, and it would be useless to try to describe that happy meeting. The Vicar seemed overwhelmed with joy, not only to receive once more his beloved son, but also to clasp the hand of the brother whom he thought had been estranged from him for ever!

It was quite an hour or two before they had all calmed down.

"We sha'n't keep this fellow long with us," said Lewis Wynne, indicating Cardo with a jerk of his thumb; "he can scarcely take his eyes off that ramshackle old house up there on the cliff; naturally he is longing to see his wife. You must make no objection, Meurig."

"None. I have no wish to do so."

"Nellie and I," continued his brother, "are quite looking forward to see our niece--of course we make all allowance for the rhapsodies of a lover; but discounting all that, I really think, Meurig, he has found a pearl in that old, rough oyster-sh.e.l.l of a house."

"Wait a moment, Cardo," said his father, as he saw his son hunting about for his hat. "I am afraid I have a disappointment in store for you," and from his breast-pocket he drew out, and handed to Cardo, his own letter to Valmai.

Cardo's face blanched, as with trembling fingers he turned the envelope round and round.

"What is the meaning of this, father?" he asked at last an angry flush rising to his pale face, "Did I count too much upon your forgiveness when I asked you to give this to Valmai?"

"No, my dear boy, I would gladly have given it to her, and I grieve for your disappointment, but she has left this neighbourhood many, many months, and n.o.body knows where she has gone."

"Gone!" was all Cardo could exclaim, as he flung himself into a chair and hid his face in his hands.

"Yes. Much has happened since you left, and you may as well know it now. There is nothing to hide from your uncle and aunt?"

"No, no, tell me at once."

"Well, much had happened before she left."

Here Cardo started up excitedly.

"Why, she has gone to her Uncle John, of course. Where else should she go, dear innocent, without another friend in the world?"

The Vicar shook his head.

"She is not there, Cardo, for he died some months ago and left all his money to his niece."

But Cardo heard not the latter information. He was stunned by the news of old Captain Powell's death; he had never thought of this possibility, and was thrown into despair by the blow. Valmai wandering about the world friendless and alone! The thought was distracting, and in desperation he rushed out of the house.

"Poor fellow," said Lewis Wynne, "this is a terrible blow to him."

"Yes, yes, indeed! Perhaps he will be able to get some clue in the village."

Cardo flew over the beach and up the well-known path to Dinas. Shoni was standing in the farm-yard.