another look at the storm. "Ach y fi! it's like a boiling pot," she
said; "you can never go home to-night, my child."

"Oh, yes, indeed I must; I would not be away from home in my uncle's
absence for the world," said Valmai, joining the old woman at the door,
and looking out rather anxiously at the angry sea. "Oh, when the tide
goes down at nine o'clock the moon will be up, and perhaps the storm
will be over."

They sat chatting over the fire until the evening shadows fell, and the
moon shone fitfully between the scudding clouds.

Meanwhile Cardo had ridden in to Llanython. A fair had generally much
attraction for him--the merry laughter, the sociable meetings, the
sound of music on the air, and the altogether festive character of the
day; but on this occasion its pleasures seemed to pall, and quickly
dispatching the business which had brought him there, he returned to
the inn, and, mounting his horse, rode home early in the afternoon.
Why he thus hurried away he never could explain. Ever since he had
leant on the bridge over the Berwen in the morning he had been haunted
by a feeling of Valmai's presence. Little had he guessed that she had
been so near him while he looked down through the interlacing scenery
which hid the river from his sight. It was nearly four o'clock in the
afternoon as he reached that part of the high road from which the beach
was visible, and here he stopped a moment to look and wonder at the
storm, which had so suddenly increased in violence.

"How far up the beach at Ynysoer those breakers run! And the Rock
Bridge!--I wouldn't like to cross that to-night; but surely that was a
woman's figure crossing it now!" A sudden fear darted through his