By Berwen Banks Part 37

At this moment Dr. Belton appeared on the verandah, having just returned from a visit to one of the Sydney hospitals. After greeting his friends, he sat down on a rustic chair, and with a stretch and a yawn brought out from his coat pocket a leather pocket-book which he flung across to Cardo.

"There, Cardo, is that yours?"

"Yes," he answered, carelessly taking the pocketbook and placing it in his pocket.

"Come, you have disposed of it quickly; look at it again."

Cardo drew it out once more, and, looking at it more carefully, said:

"I do not remember where I dropped it; but I do remember being in a hot, scorching atmosphere, and feeling a terrific blow on my head, and then--nothing more but cloud and darkness, until I awoke here to light and memory, though that sometimes fails me, for I cannot remember exactly what happened before that day of burning heat."

"Well! the blow on your head and the loss of your pocket-book I can explain, for to-day in the Eastlake Hospital, I was with a dying man, who confessed that about a year and a half ago he was standing idly on the docks, when he saw a gentleman suddenly struck on the back of his head by the swinging arm of a huge crane, used for lifting heavy weights to and from the s.h.i.+pping. The young man fell forward, his pocket-book--that one I have just given you--fell out of his pocket, and was pounced upon by the man who died to-day. That was you, Cardo Wynne; you were struck down insensible by the iron bar, and while you were quickly surrounded by a crowd and carried to the hospital, the man escaped with your pocket-book. He returned it to me with great penitence, having spent all your money, I am afraid; but your papers, I think, are intact, and I see you have in it a letter of credit upon the Bank of Australasia."

"Why, yes," said Cardo, "I remember coming to the harbour in a s.h.i.+p.

What was it called? The _Burrawalla_!" and as he fingered the papers in the pocket-book, and came upon his father's signature, Meurig Wynne, he became much excited, and hunted eagerly until he found a folded paper, out of which he drew a long curl of golden hair.

"Valmai!" he said, "oh, Valmai, Valmai!" and dropping on to a seat, he covered his face with his hands, and through his fingers trickled some silent tears.

"I must forbid any more excitement for the present," said the doctor; "let us go in to dinner."

And as they gathered round the table, Cardo took his seat next to his uncle, with more cheerfulness and alacrity than usual.

The thread of memory, once awakened, never wholly slept again. Daily and almost hourly memories of the past returned to him, and as he gained bodily and mental strength, he gradually unfolded to his uncle the incidents which had preceded his coming to Australia.

When Lewis Wynne became fully aware of his brother's deep-seated affection for him, and of the penitence and remorse which had darkened his life, he was filled with an impatient anxiety to return to the land of his birth and the brother whom he had loved so much. Indeed, before his acquaintance with his nephew, he had already begun to arrange his affairs with the intention of disposing of his property in Australia, for he had prospered in all his undertakings, and was now a wealthy man.

It was delightful news therefore to Cardo when his uncle one day appeared at Dr. Belton's, with the information that he had concluded a satisfactory sale of his property.

"So we'll go back together, old boy," he said, slapping Cardo on the back in his usual jovial manner; "you can write to your father, and tell him to look out for a house for Nellie and me."

"I will write to him to-day," said Cardo; "poor old dad, poor old dad!

What he must have suffered! I only hope the suspense has not killed him!"

"Well, if he is alive," said his uncle, "your good news will make up to him for all the past! We'll have some happy days in the old country yet. You must get married, Cardo, and settle down near us!"

"I am married," said Cardo, with a whole-hearted laugh at Dr. Belton's look of astonishment.

"Married!" said the doctor, "I never suspected that! I did think that long golden curl pointed to some love-affair."

"It did, indeed," said Cardo; "it is one of my sweet wife Valmai's curls!"

"Where is she now?" said Mr. Wynne, "with your father?"

"No," he said, with a more serious look, "living with her uncle. The truth is, my father knows nothing about our marriage, and I have only yesterday written to tell him the whole truth; and now that I am able to add the delightful news that you are returning with me, I think it will soften his heart, and he will forgive our secrecy."

"What objection has he to the lady?"

"She is the Methodist minister's niece."

At this remark Lewis Wynne burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.

"The richest thing I ever heard of. Ha, ha, ha! Meurig Wynne's son married to a Methodist preacher's niece. My dear boy, he'll never give his consent. Why, he hated them like the very devil himself, and now you expect him to agree to your marrying a Methodist."

"He'll have to," said Cardo, "and I think he will."

"Never, my boy, never," said Lewis, rubbing his hands gleefully. "I expect we shall have some exciting times down there, Nellie?"

"Yes; there will be one thing missing, and that will be dear Agnes."

"It will always be a mystery to me," said Lewis Wynne, "how I missed your father's letter, although certainly I was roaming about a good deal at the time, and afterwards never hearing my brother's name from Dr. Hughes, who wrote occasionally, I naturally thought he was still keeping up his unaccountable anger against me; and the busy life of an Australian station soon occupied my life entirely; but, hurrah! for old Cymry now. We'll go back and make it all right, Cardo."

And in less than a month from this time, a very bright and cheerful party went on board the fast sailing steamer _Wellingtonia_. Mr. and Mrs. Wynne especially were full of life and spirits.

Dr. Belton went on board with them, and when the last good-byes were said, he declared that Cardo's leaving would cause a great blank in his life, as not only had he been greatly interested in the young man as "a case," but he had also grown much attached to him as a friend.

The bell rang, the gangway was raised, and the _Wellingtonia_ moved from the side of the quay; and when at last they had fairly bid good-bye to Australia, they turned to look at each other, and to realise that another leaf in the book of life had been turned over.

Cardo was full of the brightest hopes, but shaded by anxiety, for he knew now that two whole years had pa.s.sed away since he bade good-bye to Valmai on the quay at Fordsea. What had been her fate since then? How had she borne his long and unexplained absence and silence? And as he paced up and down the deck he was full of troubled thought, as well as of bright hopes and antic.i.p.ations.

"She must think me dead, but she will soon hear; in another week she will receive my letter, and, oh! I will make up to her in the future for all she may have suffered. Valmai, my darling! I am coming back to you, to kiss away your tears, and to s.h.i.+eld you from every trouble in the future!"

CHAPTER XVII.

HOME AGAIN.

A cold, biting, north wind blew over Abersethin one morning in November, the sea tossed and tumbled its sand-stained waves in the bay, the wind carrying large lumps of yellow foam far up over the beach, and even to the village street, where the "Vicare du" was making a difficult progress towards the post-office, his hat tied firmly on, his hands buried deep in his pockets, and his long, black cloak flapping behind him. He walked on bravely. Every day he tramped over the sandy beach, under the cliffs, and down the village street to the post-office; this was quite a change in his habits, which drew many comments from the gossiping villagers.

"Well, well; he might have been kinder to his son when he had him with him; he'll never have the chance again," said Peggi "bakkare," peering through her tiny, foam-flecked window.

"No," said Madlen, who had come in for a loaf; "having got safe away 'tisn't likely the young man will turn up here again, and small blame to him considering everything."

"No, indeed, Madlen fach; serve the old Vicare right; but 'tis a pity for the poor girl, whatever."

"And where is she, I wonder?"

"Well, now," said Madlen, "Mary, my sister, was coming home from Caer Madoc last week, and on the roadside there was a tent of gypshwns; it was dark and they had a fire, and there, sitting by the fire, was a girl the very picture of Valmai."

"Dir anwl! I daresay it was her, indeed; but yet, I thought she was too much of a lady to join the gypshwns. Well, well; strange things do happen."

And the story of Valmai having been seen in the tent of the gypshwns was spread abroad in the village, not that any one believed it, but it was, at all events, better than no news, and was a little spicy condiment in the daily fare of gossip.

"My papers," said the "Vicare du" laconically to the postmaster. "Is your wife better?"

"Iss thank you, sir, and here is a letter for you--from Australia, I think."

The Vicar took it without any show of feeling, though his heart had given a sudden bound at the postman's news.