"Almost as bad, indeed, Shoni; there's a dreadful wind it is."

"Oh, 'tis not come to the worst yet," said Shoni.

The doors continued to bang and the windows to rattle all through that day and the greater part of the next, and it was not till the evening of the third day that Valmai ventured to put on her cloak and pay a visit to Nance's cottage. The tide was low as she crossed the Rock Bridge, and there was no danger, therefore, from the waves. On her return she recalled the events of the last storm, when Cardo's strong arm had saved her from death.

Her eyes filled with tears and her lips quivered a little as she remembered that night; but she set herself bravely to struggle with her sorrow, and to look forward with hope and joy to the future.

When she entered the little parlour, which her neat fingers had transformed into a nest of cosy comfort, she found her uncle standing at the table, looking dazed and helpless.

"Oh, Valmai!" he said, "here's a letter from John, my brother, and indeed I don't know what am I to do."

"What is the matter, uncle? Is he ill?"

"Yes, he is very ill. He has broke his leg, and he got no one to look after his house; and he is asking will you go down to take care of him.

Will you go, Valmai? He got lot of money. I will drive you down to Caer Madoc to the coach. That will take you to the station to meet the train, and you will be in Fordsea by four o'clock to-morrow."

Fordsea! What visions crowded round the name. Cardo had been there so lately, and now where was he? Out on that stormy sea, every moment increasing the distance between them.

"I will go if you like, uncle, and nurse him until he gets well."

"There's a good gel, indeed; and you will kom back to me again, 'cos I am used to you now, and you are reading very nice to me, and saving a great deal of my old eyes. He got a servant," he added, "but she is only an ole ooman, coming in in the morning and going home in the evening."

"Oh, yes, I will manage very well," said Valmai.

She grasped at the idea of change of scene and life, hoping it would help her to regain her peace of mind. So the next day saw her on her way to Caer Madoc, driven by her uncle in the rickety old gig which had carried him on his preaching expeditions for years. Along the high road Malen bore them at a steady trot, and when Valmai took her place in the coach, and bid her uncle good-bye, she called to mind that only two days ago Cardo had been its occupant, and her heart was full of wistful longings. Yes, she felt she was a foolish girl, but she was always intending to grow into a sensible and useful _wife_; and, with this virtuous intention in her mind, she tried to banish all vain regrets, and a serious, composed little look came over her mouth.

Arrived at Fordsea, she sought for her uncle's house, it was in Reuben Street, she knew, and not far from the docks. Reaching the roadway, she caught sight of the foaming white waves in the harbour, and wondered how far the _Burrawalla_ had already got on her way towards the Antipodes.

"Captain Powell of _The Thisbe_?" said a lounging sailor who was pa.s.sing, with his hands in his pockets and his cap very much at the back of his head. "Yes, miss, Aye knows him well. It's not far from here, and Ay'll be pa.s.sing his door. Will Aye carry your bag?"

And, not waiting for an answer, he hoisted it on his shoulder, and signed to her to follow him. He was right; she had not far to go before she reached the little, uneven row of houses called Reuben Street, at one of which an old woman, with bucket and cloth, was preparing to wash the doorstep.

"Here's the young leddy come," said the sailor, pushing the portmanteau into the pa.s.sage.

"Will I pay you something?" said Valmai, nervously fingering her purse.

"Aw naw, nawthin' at all," said the sailor, hurrying away, with a flush on his face that showed her her hesitation had not been unwarranted.

In fact, Jim Harris considered himself a "friend of the family," and had gone to the station with the express intention of meeting the "young leddy." Having for years sailed under Captain Powell, he still haunted his house whenever he was on dry land. Every morning he went in to shave him, and in the evening he mixed his toddy for him and made him comfortable for the night, expecting and receiving no more than the friendship and grateful thanks of the old man who had, not so long ago, been his captain. Having deposited the portmanteau, Valmai had scarcely time to thank him before he had slouched away with a polite touch of his cap.

"My uncle lives here? Captain Powell."

"Yes, miss, and thank the Lord you've come, for Ay've bin ewt on the road looking for you twenty taimes to-day, though Ay towld him you couldn't come afore the train. There he is, knocking again. You go up to him, miss, that's all he wants. Ay'll bring your bag up, honey.

There's your room, raight a-top of the stayurs; and there's your uncle's door on the first landing. Ye'll hear him grumbling." And, following these instructions, Valmai knocked at the first door she came to.

"Come in, and be tarnished to you," said an extraordinarily gruff voice; and, almost before she had time to enter the room, a heavy book came flying at her. Fortunately, it missed its aim, and she stood for a moment irresolute at the door, while her uncle, without looking at her, continued to rail at his much-enduring domestic, whom he was accustomed to manage by swearing at and flattering in turns. His voice was a guttural rumbling, which seemed to come from some cavernous bronchial depths.

"Ain't the little gel come yet?"

"Uncle, here I am," said Valmai, approaching the bed with a frightened look, though she tried to put on a placid smile.

The s.h.a.ggy head turned on its pillow.

"h.e.l.lo and so you are; in spite of that old witch saying for the last hour that you couldn't 'acome yet. Come here, my beauty, and shake hands with your old uncle. Ay've got one hand, you see, to shake with you."

"Yes, uncle, and to throw books at me when I come in."

There was a low, gurgling laugh, which deepened the colour in the old man's face so much that Valmai, fearing he was going to have a fit, hastened to say something quiet and calming.

"I came as soon as I could, uncle. We were so sorry to hear of your accident. How did it happen?"

"The Lord knows, my dear, Ay don't, for Ay've walked up that street four or five times every day the last faive years, and never done such a thing afore. But there--" and he began to gurgle again, to Valmai's horror, "there must always be a beginning to everything, so Ay slipped on a d--d stone, somehow or other, and, being no light weight, broke my leg, and sprained my wrist into the bargain. Take off your things, may dear. Are you up for nursing an old man till he's well again?"

"Indeed, I'll do my best, whatever," said Valmai, taking off her hat and cloak. "Uncle Essec said I was to stay until you were quite well."

"That's raight. Ay knew you'd come, my gel, though that old devil wanted me to think that perhaps you wouldn't. 'She'll come,' ay sez, 'and if she's like her father she'll come almost afore she's asked.'

So ready, he was; and so kind. And how's old Essec? Got his nose buried in them mouldy books same as ever?"

"Just the same," said Valmai. "Shall I take my things to my own room?"

"Yes, may dear. It's the little room a-top of this. Where's that old hag now? She ought to be here to show you your room," and reaching a heavy stick, which stood by his bedside, he knocked impatiently on the bare boarded floor, calling Mrs. Finch! Mrs. Finch! so loudly at the same time, that Valmai seriously feared he would burst a blood vessel.

"Deaf as a post," he said, gasping.

"Leave it to me, uncle; don't tire yourself. She has shown me my room, and there she is taking my bag up. Now, see how quickly I'll be back, and bring you a nice cup of tea, and one for myself in the bargain, for I am famishing," and she left the room with a cheerful nod towards the old man.

"Bless her purty face!" said the rumbling voice when the door was closed. "Ay don't want her cup o' tea! Never could bear the slosh, but Ay'm blest if Ay won't drink it to the dregs to please her."

In a very short time Valmai returned, carrying a tray laid out neatly with tea-things for two; and, drawing a little round table towards the bed, placed the tray upon it, while Mrs. Finch brought in some slices of cold ham.

"There, you see," said Valmai, "I'm making myself quite at home. I asked Mrs. Finch for that ham."

"Of course you did, may dear! Didn't Ay tell you, you old addlepate,"

he said, turning to poor Mrs. Finch, whose only desire seemed to be to find a place for the ham and get out of the room--"didn't Ay tell you the lil gel would come?"

"Iss you did--many taimes to-day," said Mrs. Finch, while the old man fumbled about for another book to throw after her.

Valmai laughed, but chided gently;

"Oh, poor old thing, uncle! She flew about like lightning to get the tea ready. Now, here's a lovely cup of tea!"

"Ah! It do smell beautiful!" And he allowed himself to be raised up on his pillow, while he drank the tea down at a gulp.

"Bravo! uncle," said Valmai; "ready for another?"

"Another! Oh, dash it, no; one's enough, may dear. 'Twas very naice and refreshing. Now you have your tea, and let me look at you."

And as Valmai partook of her tea and bread and b.u.t.ter and ham, even his hospitable feelings were satisfied.