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A long-drawn whistle was Gwynne Ellis's only answer, but he rubbed his hands gleefully. "Then," continued Cardo, "on this side of the valley there is my father, shut up with his books, taking no interest in anything much except his church and his farm, but with a bigoted, bitter hatred of all dissenters, especially Methodists, and most especially of the Methodist preacher.
At last she was safely over, and as he reluctantly dropped her hand he returned to the subject of conversation. "Will we hate each other?" Again there was no answer, and again Cardo looked down at Valmai as he pressed his question. She had taken off her hat, and was walking with her golden head exposed to the cool night breezes. It drooped a little as she answered his persistent questioning.
"Here is my path, but I will tell you," and with the sound of the gurgling river, and the plash of the waves in his ears, Cardo listened to her simple story. "You couldn't see me much before, because only six weeks it is since I am here. Before that I was living far, far away. Have you ever heard of Patagonia?
"Well, I only heard one, Price Merthyr I think they call him. He was " "Cardo!" said his father severely, "when I want any information on the subject I will ask for it; I want you to set Dye and Ebben on to the draining of that field to-morrow " "Parc y waun?" "Yes; Parc y waun." "Right, father," said Cardo good-naturedly.
Arrived on the door-mat of the little parlour, where Cardo Wynne was coming to an end of a repast, which showed by its small remnants that it had been thoroughly appreciated, Valmai fell into a tremor of uncertainty. Was it Cardo? Yes, she could not be mistaken in the voice; but how would he take her sudden appearance? Would he be glad? Would he be sorry?
One afternoon, a few months after the double shot which, as the newspapers said, "plunged the village of Pietranera into a state of consternation," a young man with his left arm in a sling, rode out of Bastia, toward the village of Cardo, celebrated for its spring, which in summer supplies the more fastidious inhabitants of the town with delicious water.
Can I speak Welsh? Why, I am Welsh to the core, Cymro glan gloyw! 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.
As usual after supper he followed Betto into the old kitchen, where the servants were assembled for supper, and where Shanw was again holding forth, to her own delight and Betto's disgust, on the coming glories of the Sassiwn. "To-morrow evening will be the first meeting." "Will it be in the field?" asked Cardo. "Oh, no, Ser; the first is in the chapel always, and no strangers are there.
I have no cause to love the Methodists, and I hope they are not now going to add to my reasons for disliking them by coming between me and my son. I simply wish you not to mention them to me, Cardo that is not much to ask." "I will not, father," said Cardo, pushing his plate away; "I will never mention them to you again " "Good!" replied his father.
The prospect of a voyage to the Antipodes had never been very attractive to Cardo, and latterly the idea had faded from his mind. In the glamour of that golden afternoon in spring, in Valmai's sweet companionship, the thought of parting and leaving his native country was doubly unpleasant to him. She saw the sudden embarrassment, and the flush that spread over his face.
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