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And as he turned his carriage round, he muttered to himself, with a shake of his head, "I heard some odd story about him and that purty young niece of Essec Powell's the preacher." Arrived at Brynderyn, Cardo found his father and uncle and aunt seated round a blazing fire in the old parlour, which had not looked so cheerful for years.
"And I suppose I must turn in the opposite direction to get to Brynderyn," said Cardo. "Well, I have never enjoyed a walk from Caer Madoc so much before. Will they be waiting for you at home, do you think?" "Waiting for me?" laughed the girl, and her laugh was not without a little trace of bitterness; "who is there to wait for me? No one, indeed, since my mother is dead.
But the look she saw there banished all her fears, and in another moment she was clasped in his arms, and in all Wales no happier family drew round their evening meal that night than the Wynnes of Brynderyn. There is nothing more to be said, except that Gwynne Ellis's letter awaited Cardo's home-coming, and it shall speak for itself.
Hughes come with me at once?" "There's a pity, now," said Mrs. Hughes; "he is gone to Brynderyn. Mr. Wynne is not well. Grieving, they say, about his son." Valmai blushed, and Mrs. Hughes was pleased with her success. "When will he be back, d' you think?" "Not till evening, I'm afraid. But there's Mr. Francis, the assistant shall I call him? he is very clever with children. Here he is.
I consider there is no piece of land on this earth, no, nor on any other earth, better farmed than Brynderyn. Eh?" and he looked defiantly at Betto, between whom and himself there was a continual war of words. "Well, I suppose so, indeed," said Betto; "you say so often enough, whatever, and what you say must be right."
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, Cardiganshire, Wales."
"You will find your gloves in your pocket, Mr. Cardo, and your clean handkerchiefs are in the leather portmanteau; but only six are by themselves in the little black bag." Gwynne Ellis had accompanied his friends to their lodgings at Abersethin, and after breakfast returned to Brynderyn; they had all been charmed with the bride's appearance. "By Jove!
"No, indeed, my wild sea-bird. I have caught you now, and never again will I part with you. Home to Brynderyn, dearest, with me, where my father is longing to fold you in his arms." "Anywhere with you, Cardo." And down by the Berwen they took their way, by the old church, where the white owl hooted at them as they passed, and down to the shore, where the waves whispered their happy greetings.
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!
And he went satisfied to his bed, and slept the sleep of the just, or, at all events of the busy farmer! Beloved. Gwynne Ellis soon found himself quite at home at Brynderyn, and enjoyed the freedom and variety of his life in its picturesque neighbourhood.
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