By Berwen Banks. Allen Raine
for the ties of home are in the very roots of his being. Home draws him from the furthermost ends of the earth, and leaving it, adds bitterness even to death.
His mother had died at his birth, so that the sacred word "mother" had never been more than a name to him, and he had taught himself to banish the thought of her from his mind; in fact an indescribable uneasiness always leapt up within his heart when her name was mentioned, and that was very rarely, for his father never spoke of her, and old Betto, the head servant, but seldom, and then with such evident sadness and reticence, that an undefined, though none the less crushing fear, had haunted him from childhood upwards. As he stepped out so bravely this soft spring evening, the look of disquietude did not remain long on his face. At twenty-four life has not lost its rosy tints; heart, mind, and body are fresh and free to take a share in all its opening scenes, more especially if, as in Cardo's case, love, the disturber, has not yet put in an appearance.
As he reached the brow of the hill beyond the town, the white dusty road stretched like a sinuous snake over the moor before him, while on the left, the sea lay soft and grey in the twilight, and the moon rose full and bright on his right. The evening air was very still, but an occasional strain of the band he had left behind him reached his ears, and with a musical voice he hummed the old Welsh air which came fitfully on the breeze:
"By Berwen's banks my love hath strayed,
For many a day in sun and shade;
And while she carols loud and clear,
The little birds fly down to hear.
"By Berwen's banks the storm rose high,
The swollen river rushing by!
Beneath its waves my love was drowned
And on its banks my love was found!"
Suddenly he was aware of a cloaked figure walking about a hundred yards in front of him. "Who's that, I wonder?" he thought, and then, forgetting its existence, he continued his song:
"I'll ne'er forget that leafy shade!
I'll ne'er forget that winsome maid!
But there no more she carols free,
So Berwen's banks are sad to me!"
By and by, at a curve in the road, he again noticed the figure in front of him, and quickened his steps; but it did the same, and the distance between them was not lessened, so Cardo gave it up, and continued his song. When the strain came to a natural ending, he looked again with some interest at the grey figure ever moving on, and still seeming to keep at the same distance from him. Once more he quickened his steps, and again the figure did likewise. "Diwss anwl!" he said. "I am not going to run after an old woman who evidently does not want my company." And he tramped steadily on under the fast darkening sky. For quite three miles he had followed the vanishing form, and as he reached the top of the moor, he began to feel irritated by the persistent manner in which his fellow-traveller refused to shorten the distance between them. It roused within him the spirit of resistance, and he could be very dogged sometimes in spite of his easy manner. Having once determined, therefore, to come up with the mysterious pedestrian, he rapidly covered the ground with his long strides, and soon found himself abreast of a slim girl, who, after looking shyly aside at him, continued her walk at the same steady pace. The twilight had darkened much since he had left the town, but the moonlight showed him the graceful pose of the head, the light, springy tread, and the mass of golden hair which escaped from the red hood covering her head. Cardo took off his cap.
"Good-night to you," he said. "I hope I have not frightened you by so persistently trying to catch you."
"Good-night," said the girl. "Yes, indeed, you have, whatever, because I am not used to be out in the night. The rabbits have frightened me too, they are looking so large in this light."
"I am sorry. It is very brave of you to walk all the way from Caer Madoc alone."
"To Abersethin it is not so far," said the girl.
"Do you live at Abersethin?"
"Yes, not far off; round the edge of the cliffs, under Moel Hiraethog."
"Oh! I know," said Cardo; "the mill in the valley?"
"No, round the next shore, and up to the top of the cliff is our house."
"Traeth Berwen? That is where I live!"
"Well, indeed!"
"Yes, I am Caradoc Wynne, and I live at Brynderyn."
"Oh! are you Cardo Wynne? I have heard plenty about you, and about your father, the 'Vicare du.'"
"Ah! poor old dad! I daresay you have not heard much good of him; the people do not understand him."
"Well, indeed, the worst I have heard of him is that he is not very kind to you; that he is making you to work on the farm, when you ought to be a gentleman."
"That is not true," said Cardo, flushing in the darkness; "it is my wish to be a farmer; I like it better than any other work; it is my own free choice. Besides, can I not be a farmer and a gentleman too? Where could I be so happy as here at home, where my ancestors have lived for generations?"
"Ancestors?" said the girl; "what is that?"
"Oh! my grandfather and great-grandfather, and all the long dead of my family."
"Yes, indeed, I see. Ancestors," she repeated, with a sort of scheduling tone, as though making sure of the fresh information; "I do not know much English, but there's good you are speaking it! Can you speak Welsh?"
"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Cardo, and his voice woke the echoes from Moel Hiraethog, the hill which they were nearing, and which they must compass before reaching the valley of the Berwen. "Ha! ha! ha! Can I speak Welsh? Why, I am Welsh to the core, Cymro glan gloyw![1] What are you?"
"Oh! Welsh, of course. You can hear that by my talk."
"Indeed no," said Cardo. "I did not know anyone at Traeth Berwen could speak English as well as you do."
He was longing to find out who his fellow-traveller was. He saw in the dim light she was slim and fair, and had a wealth of golden hair; he saw her dress was grey and her hood was red. So much the moonlight revealed, but further than this he could not discover, and politeness forbade his asking. As if in answer to his thoughts, however, her next words enlightened him.
"I am Valmai Powell, the niece of Essec Powell, the preacher."
A long, low whistle escaped from the young man's lips.
"By Jove!" he said.
The girl was silent, but could he have seen the hot blush which spread over her face and neck, he would have known that he had roused the quick Welsh temper. He was unconscious of it, however, and strode on in silence, until they reached a rough-built, moss-grown bridge, and here they both stopped as if by mutual consent. Leaning their elbows on the mossy stone wall, they looked down to the depths below, where the little river Berwen babbled and whispered on its way to the sea.
"There's a nice noise it is making down there," said Valmai. "But why do you say a bad word when I tell you my uncle's name?"
"A bad word? In your presence? Not for the world! But I could not help thinking how shocked my father and your uncle would be to see us walking together."
"Yes, I think, indeed," said the girl, opening a little basket and spreading its contents on the low wall. "See!" she said, in almost childish tones, and turning her face straight to the moonlight.
Cardo saw, as he looked down at her, that it was a beautiful face.
"See!" she said, "gingerbread that I bought in that old street they call 'The Mwntroyd.' Here is a silver ship, and here is a gold watch, and a golden girl. Which will you have?"
"Well, indeed, I am as hungry as a hunter," said Cardo. "I will have the lassie, if you are sure you have enough for two."
"Anwl! anwl! I have a lamb and a sheep and some little pigs in my basket." And she proceeded to spread them out and divide them; and