"Cardo Wynne, I am beginning to understand you; I have mistaken the whole situation. Here have I been thinking myself the only man in the place capable of appreciating its beauties properly--the only poetic and artistic temperament amongst you all--and I gradually awake to find myself but a humdrum, commonplace man of the world, who has dropped into a nest of sweet things: earth, sea, and sky combining to form pictures of beauty; picturesque rural life; an interesting and mysterious host; an idyllic cow; a friend who, though unable, or perhaps unwilling, to express his enthusiasm, yet thoroughly feels the poetry of life; and, better than all, I find myself in close touch with a real romantic love affair! Now, don't deny it, my dear fellow; I see it all--I read it in your eyes--I know all about it. The pretty cow's lovely mistress; and her name is--Valmai! How tender! My Welsh is rather rusty, but I know that means 'sweet as May.' Oh, Cardo Wynne, what a lucky dog you are!" Cardo was still silent, and his friend continued, pointing to Dinas: "And there she dwells (haven't I seen your eyes attracted there continually? Of course, there's the glimmer of her lamp!) high on the breezy cliff, with the pure sea wind blowing around her, the light and joy of her father's home, and soon to fly across the valley and lighten up another home." "Oh, stop, stop, for mercy's sake!" said Cardo. "Your Pegasus is flying away with you to-night, Ellis. Your imagination is weaving a picture which is far beside the truth. You have not guessed badly. I do love Valmai, Corwen's mistress, and I wish to God the rest of the picture were true." "Pooh! my dear fellow, 'the course of true love,' you know, etc., etc. It will all come right in time, of course; these things always do. I'll manage it all for you. I delight in a love affair, especially one that's got a little entangled, you know." "Here it is, then," said Cardo. "Valmai has neither father nor mother, and lives up there with an old uncle, who takes no more notice of her than he does of his cows or his sheep, but who would be quite capable of shutting her up and feeding her on bread and water if he knew that she ever exchanged greetings with a Churchman, for he is a Methodist preacher and her guardian to boot." A long-drawn whistle was Gwynne Ellis's only answer, but he rubbed his hands gleefully.