By Berwen Banks. Allen Raine
face, she approached him quietly, her light footstep making no sound on the sand.
She was close behind him and he had not turned round, but still stood with folded arms looking out over the moonlit scene. Having reached this point, Valmai's fun suddenly deserted her. What should she do next? should she touch him? No! Should she speak to him? Yes; but what should she say? Cardo! No! and a faint blush overspread her face. A mysterious newborn shyness came over her, and it was quite a nervous, trembling voice that at last said:
"Mr. Wynne?"
Cardo turned round quickly.
"Valmai! Miss Powell!" he said, "how silently you came upon me! I was dreaming. Come and stand here. Is not that scene one to make a poet of the most prosaic man?"
"Yes, indeed," answered the girl, standing beside him with a strangely beating heart, "it is beautiful! I saw the sky through the chapel window, and I was thinking it would be very nice down here. There's bright and clear the moon is!"
They were walking now across the beach, at the edge of the surf.
"It reminds me of something I read out to uncle last night. It was out of one of his old Welsh poets—Taliesin, or Davydd ap Gwilym, or somebody. It was about the moon, but indeed I don't know if I can put it into English."
"Try," said Cardo.
"'She comes from out the fold
And leads her starry flock among the fields of night.'"
"Yes, that is beautiful," said Cardo. "Indeed, I am glad you find something interesting in those dog-eared old books."
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