Gwen, who had not been immaculate herself, was her cruellest enemy, never losing an opportunity of inflicting a sting upon her helpless victim, whose presence in the household she had always resented. The day following Gwen's sneering remark, Valmai took her daily walk to Abersethin post-office. The old man beamed at her over his counter. "Letter come at last, miss," he said. And her heart stood still. She was white to the lips as she sat down on a convenient sack of maize. "It is a long walk," said the postmaster, hunting about for the letter. "Dear me, wherrs I put it?" And he looked in a box of bloaters and a basket of eggs. "Here it is. I 'member now; I put it safe with the cheese was to go to Dinas." Valmai took it with trembling fingers; it had a deep black edge. "It is not for me," she said. "Indeed! I was not notice that. I was only see 'Powell, Dinas.' I am sorry, miss, fach; but you must cheer up," he added, seeing the gathering tears; "it's never so dark that the Lord can't clear it up." "No," said Valmai, rising from her seat. "Thank you; good-bye." And, blinded by her tears, she passed out into the driving wind and sleet. Perhaps the letter bore some news of Cardo! Perhaps bad news, for it had a black edge! She drew her red cloak tightly around her and once more bravely faced the buffeting wind which swept the path before her, and with fitful gusts threatened to lift her off her feet. When she reached Dinas, Gwen was already laying the dinner in the little parlour. "You have been a long time," she said. "Where have you been? To the post again to-day? You never used to go to the post, Valmai." The girl did not answer, but sat down breathless on the sofa. "Where is uncle? I have a letter for him." And as she spoke her uncle entered. "A letter for me? Well, indeed! What can it be?" Essec Powell's correspondence was very limited; he hated writing, and never answered a letter which could possibly be ignored. He adjusted his spectacles, and after turning the envelope in every direction, opened it. "Reuben Street, Fordsea," he began. "Oh, dear, dear! here's writing! Caton pawb! I could write better myself. Read it, Valmai." And she obeyed. "REV. ESSEC POWELL,