"Are you going to leave us, then?" said the young man, in a disappointed tone. He had felt deeply interested in the girl who bore her desertion and sorrow with such patience, and had unconsciously been looking forward to a continuance of the friendship begun between them. "You are not going away for long, I hope?" "Yes, for long; possibly for ever, except for a hasty visit to Nance sometimes I shall trust her to you, Mr. Francis, and I hope you will be as kind to her as you have been to me." "Certainly I will; but do not talk of kindness. It has been a great privilege to me, and a pleasure to know you, and I hope in the future if I can be of any service to you, you will let me know." Valmai took out her purse nervously, she hesitated to speak of remuneration to this kind friend. "You are not going to wound me," he said, gently laying his hand on her purse, "by offering to pay me?" "No, no," said Valmai; "only for the future, for your care of Nance." "There will be nothing much to do for her, I think; just a call in passing and a few cheering words, and _they_ don't cost much." And he rose to go. "Good-bye, then," said Valmai. "I shall never forget your kindness." "Good-bye," said Mr. Francis, holding her hand for a moment. He seemed about to say something more, but changed his mind, and abruptly left the house. The next day was Valmai's last in Nance's cottage. She rose early, and, after her simple breakfast, put on her white hat, and, kissing the old woman tenderly, said: "I am going out for a few hours; there are one or two people I want to see--Peggi Bullet, and Shon, the sexton. Then I am going to cross the Rock Bridge." She did not tell Nance that her chief object was to pay a last visit to her old haunts by the Berwen. After making all arrangements with Peggi Bullet and Shon, she took her way across the bridge. The year that had passed since Cardo had left her, with its varied experiences and trials, the bitter sense of loneliness and desertion, the pains and the delights of motherhood, the desolation and sorrow of bereavement, all had worked a change in the simple girl's character, that now surprised even herself, and she thankfully realised that her troubles had at all events generated a strength which enabled her to act for herself and attend to matters of business which had before been unapproachable mysteries to her. She shrank a little as she met the bold, admiring gaze of a knot of sailors, who stood at the door of the Ship Inn, where she explained to the buxom landlady that she wanted the car to meet her at the Rock Bridge on the following morning at ten. "Yes, miss fach, and Jackie will drive you safe; but, indeed, there's long time since we saw you! You never come to see us now, and there's many warm hearts on this side the Rock Bridge as on the island, I can tell you." "Yes, indeed, I know, and I thank you all," said Valmai, as she went out again into the sunshine.