cause only
six weeks it is since I am here. Before that I was living far, far
away. Have you ever heard of Patagonia? Well then, my father was a
missionary there, and he took me and my mother with him when I was only
a baby. Since then I have always been living there, till this year I
came to Wales."

"Patagonia!" said Cardo. "So far away? No wonder you dropped upon me
so suddenly! But how, then, did you grow up Welsh?"

Valmai laughed merrily.

"Grow up Welsh? Well, indeed, I don't know what have I grown up!
Welsh, or English, or Spanish, or Patagonian! I am mixed of them all,
I think. Where we were living there was a large settlement of Welsh
people, and my father preached to them. But there were, too, a great
many Spaniards, and many Spanish girls were my friends, and my nurse
was Spanish, so I learnt to speak Welsh and Spanish; but English, only
what I learnt from my father and from books. I don't know it quite
easy yet, but I am coming better every day I think. My father and
mother are dead, both of them--only a few days between them. Another
kind missionary's wife brought me home, and since then I am living with
my uncle. He is quite kind when he notices me, but he is always
reading--reading the old books about the Druids, and Owen Glendwr, and
those old times, and he is forgetting the present; only I must not go
near the church nor the church people, then he is quite kind."

"How curious!" said Cardo. "You have almost described my father and my
home! I think we ought to be friends with so much in common."

"Yes, perhaps," said the girl, looking pensively out to sea, where the
sea-horses were tossing up their white manes in the moonlight. "Well,
good-bye," she added, holding out her hand.

"Good-bye," answered Cardo, taking the proffered hand in a firm, warm
grasp. "Will we meet again soon?" he said, dropping it reluctantly.

"No, I think," said Valmai, as she began the steep path up the hill.

Cardo stood a moment looking after her, and as she turned to look back,
he called out:

"Yes, I hope."

She waved her hand, and disappeared behind a broom bush.

"Valmai! Valmai!" he said, as he tramped off in the opposite
direction. "Yes, she is _Valmai_!" [2]

[1] "A pure Welshman." A favourite expression in Wales.

[2] "Like May."

CHAPTER II.

THE HOUSE ON THE CLIFF.

The Rev. Meurig Wynne, "y Vicare du," or "the black Vicar," as he was
called by the country people,