I think. Where we were living there was a large settlement of Welsh
people, and my father preached to them. But there were, too, a great
many Spaniards, and many Spanish girls were my friends, and my nurse
was Spanish, so I learnt to speak Welsh and Spanish; but English, only
what I learnt from my father and from books. I don't know it quite
easy yet, but I am coming better every day I think. My father and
mother are dead, both of them--only a few days between them. Another
kind missionary's wife brought me home, and since then I am living with
my uncle. He is quite kind when he notices me, but he is always
reading--reading the old books about the Druids, and Owen Glendwr, and
those old times, and he is forgetting the present; only I must not go
near the church nor the church people, then he is quite kind."

"How curious!" said Cardo. "You have almost described my father and my
home! I think we ought to be friends with so much in common."

"Yes, perhaps," said the girl, looking pensively out to sea, where the
sea-horses were tossing up their white manes in the moonlight. "Well,
good-bye," she added, holding out her hand.

"Good-bye," answered Cardo, taking the proffered hand in a firm, warm
grasp. "Will we meet again soon?" he said, dropping it reluctantly.

"No, I think," said Valmai, as she began the steep path up the hill.

Cardo stood a moment looking after her, and as she turned to look back,
he called out:

"Yes, I hope."