quite recovered from
his accident; and the New Year was well on its way before he had wished
her good-bye at the station. She left him with real sorrow, and the
old feeling of loneliness and homelessness returned to her heart. He
had received her with such warmth, and had so evidently taken her into
his life, that the friendless girl had opened her heart wide to him;
and as his rough, hairy hand rested on the window of the carriage in
which she sat, she pressed her lips upon it in a loving good-bye.
There were tears in the kind old eyes, as he stood waiting for the
train to move.

"Won't you write, sometimes, uncle?" she asked.

"Well, Ay won't promise that, indeed, may dear; for there's nothing Ay
hate more than wrayting a letter; but Ay'll come and see you as soon as
you have a house of your own. And don't you forget to look out for a
little cottage for me at Abersethin. Ay'm determined to end my days
near you, and _you know who_."

"Oh! there's lovely it will be, uncle, to have you to run to whenever
anything vexes me, but nothing ever will vex me then."

"No, no; of course, may dear, we'll all be jolly together. Good-bay,
good-bay." And the train moved out of the station.

Two months afterwards we find Valmai at Dinas, and reading to her Uncle
Essec as usual. She busied herself with the preparations for tea,
lighting the lamp and placing the buttered toast in front of the fire
until he should awake from his dreams, and descend to real life. While
the tea was "brewing," she sank back into her chair and fell into a
deep reverie. She was as fair as ever, the golden hair drawn back from
the white, broad brows, but the eyes were full of anxious thought, and
there was a little wistful sadness about the lines of the mouth. She
was paler, and did not move about her duties with the same lightness
and grace which belonged to her when we last saw her. She seemed in no
hurry to disturb her uncle's dozing dreams, until at last Gwen came
hastily in.

"Well, indeed! What are you two doing here? There's quiet you are!"

Valmai started, rousing herself and her uncle.

"Yes. Come to tea, uncle. I was thinking, Gwen."

"Oh, yes; thinking, thinking," said Gwen, with an insolent sneer. "You
may think and think--you are always thinking now; and what about, I
should like to know?" and, with a shrewd shake of her head, she left
the room.

A crimson tide overspread Valmai's face and neck, and, fading away,
left