"Well, you see, Cardo, when you passed the stile on Thursday (oh, that sad Thursday!)"--Cardo shared in the shiver which shook her--"I was there, to catch a last glimpse of you; but I was afraid to show myself because of the 'Vicare du,' so I shrank down behind the hedge till you had passed, and then I stood up and waved my handkerchief, and then you were gone; and I fell down on the moss, and cried dreadfully. Oh, Cardo, I did feel a big rent in my heart. I never thought it was going to be mended so soon; and I roamed about all day, and tried hard to keep my sorrow out of my thoughts, but I couldn't; it was like a heavy weight here." And she crossed her hands on her bosom. "All that day, and all the next, I went about from place to place, but _not_ to the Berwen, I could not walk there without you; and the next morning, when I came back from Ynysoer, where I had been to see Nance, I found my uncle reading a letter. It was from Jim Harris, the sailor, who does everything for Uncle John, to say he had broken his leg, and would I come and nurse him? And indeed, I was very glad, whatever, to have something to do; so I came at once. Uncle Essec drove me to Caer Madoc, and I thought what a dull, grey town Fordsea was, until this morning when the doctor came and said the _Burrawalla_ had come back for repairs; and then the sun seemed to shine out, and when I went out marketing, I could not think how I had made such a mistake about Fordsea. It is the brightest, dearest place!" "It is Paradise," said Cardo. "There's Jim Harris going! I must go and lock the door." "Everything is all raight, miss, and Ay wish you good-night," said Jim, as he went out. He went through the same formula every night. "Now for my part of the story," said Cardo, when she returned. "First let me take the tea-things away, Cardo." "No, no, bother the tea-things; let them be for a while, Valmai. I forbid your carrying them away at present, and, you know, you have promised to obey." "Yes, indeed, and to love you, and no one ever did love anybody as much as I love you. Oh, I am sure of it. No, indeed, Cardo. Not more, whatever, but you know, you know," and her head drooped low, so that he had to raise her chin to look into her face. "I know what? I know you are my wife, and no earthly power can separate us now. Where is your ring, dearest? It should be on this little finger." "No, it is here," and Valmai pressed her hand on her neck; "you know I was to wear it here instead of on my finger until next year." "Until I came back, darling; and until I took it off myself and placed it on your finger. Come, wifie, where is it?" Valmai allowed herself to be persuaded, and Cardo, undoing the white satin ribbon, drew off the ring, and placed it on her finger. She looked at it thoughtfully. "Am I, then, really your wife, Cardo?"