o, one kiss is enough in a week,
whatever--indeed, indeed, you shan't have more," and she eluded his
grasp by slipping into the hazel copse, and looking laughingly at him
through its branches. "Oh, the cross man," she said, "and the
dissatisfied. Smile, then, or I won't come out again."

"Come, Valmai, darling, you tantalise me, and I begin to think you are
after all a fairy or a wood nymph, or something intangible of that
kind."

"Intangible, what is that?" she said, returning to his side with a
little pucker on her brow. "Oh, if you begin to call me names, I must
come back; but you must be good," as Cardo grasped her hand, "do you
hear, and not ask for kisses and things."

"Well, I won't ask for kisses and things," said Cardo, laughing,
"until--next time."

And thus, while Essec Powell was lost in dreams of the old bards and
druids, and the Vicar counted his well-garnered hayricks, these two
walked and sang in the mazes of the greenwood, the soft evening sky
above them, the sweet sea-breezes around them, and talked the old
foolish delicious words of love and happiness.

What wonder was it that, as alone under the stars, they returned to the
haunts of men, the links of the love that bound them to each other grew
stronger and stronger; and that to Valmai, as they parted on the shore,
all of earthly delight seemed bound up in Cardo; and to him, as he
watched the lithe, graceful figure climbing up the rugged path to the
cliffs, all the charm and beauty of life seemed to go with her.

After supper, at which the Vicar had been more silent than usual, he
rose, and for a moment stood still, and, looking at his son, seemed
about to speak, but appearing to change his mind, after a curt
good-night, he walked away through the long stone passage with his
usual firm step. He was so regular and fixed in his habits that even
this little hesitation in his manner surprised Cardo, but he had not
much time for conjecture, as his father's voice was heard at the study
door.

"Caradoc," he called, "I want to speak to you."

Cardo cast an involuntary glance of astonishment at Gwynne Ellis as he
rose from the table and put his pipe back on its bracket.

"I think I shall go to bed," said Ellis, leaning back with a yawn and a
stretch. "I have been on my legs all day, and a jolly day it has been!"

The Vicar was standing at the study door holding it a little ajar; he
opened it wide for his son's entrance, and closed it carefully