By Berwen Banks | Page 2

in spite of
the moustache which threatened to hide it.
The band of the local militia was practising in the open market hall as
he passed, and an old Welsh air struck familiarly on his ear.
"They'll wonder what's become of me at home," he thought, "or rather
Betto will. I don't suppose my father would notice my absence, so long
as I was home to supper. Poor old dad!" he added, and a grave look
came over his face.
In truth it was not a very cheerful home to which he was returning, but
it was home, and had been his from childhood. It had been the home
also of his ancestors for generations, which, to a Welshman, means a
great deal, for the ties of home are in the very roots of his being. Home
draws him from the furthermost ends of the earth, and leaving it, adds
bitterness even to death.
His mother had died at his birth, so that the sacred word "mother" had

never been more than a name to him, and he had taught himself to
banish the thought of her from his mind; in fact an indescribable
uneasiness always leapt up within his heart when her name was
mentioned, and that was very rarely, for his father never spoke of her,
and old Betto, the head servant, but seldom, and then with such evident
sadness and reticence, that an undefined, though none the less crushing
fear, had haunted him from childhood upwards. As he stepped out so
bravely this soft spring evening, the look of disquietude did not remain
long on his face. At twenty-four life has not lost its rosy tints; heart,
mind, and body are fresh and free to take a share in all its opening
scenes, more especially if, as in Cardo's case, love, the disturber, has
not yet put in an appearance.
As he reached the brow of the hill beyond the town, the white dusty
road stretched like a sinuous snake over the moor before him, while on
the left, the sea lay soft and grey in the twilight, and the moon rose full
and bright on his right. The evening air was very still, but an occasional
strain of the band he had left behind him reached his ears, and with a
musical voice he hummed the old Welsh air which came fitfully on the
breeze:
"By Berwen's banks my love hath strayed, For many a day in sun and
shade; And while she carols loud and clear, The little birds fly down to
hear.
"By Berwen's banks the storm rose high, The swollen river rushing by!
Beneath its waves my love was drowned And on its banks my love was
found!"
Suddenly he was aware of a cloaked figure walking about a hundred
yards in front of him. "Who's that, I wonder?" he thought, and then,
forgetting its existence, he continued his song:
"I'll ne'er forget that leafy shade! I'll ne'er forget that winsome maid!
But there no more she carols free, So Berwen's banks are sad to me!"
By and by, at a curve in the road, he again noticed the figure in front of
him, and quickened his steps; but it did the same, and the distance

between them was not lessened, so Cardo gave it up, and continued his
song. When the strain came to a natural ending, he looked again with
some interest at the grey figure ever moving on, and still seeming to
keep at the same distance from him. Once more he quickened his steps,
and again the figure did likewise. "Diwss anwl!" he said. "I am not
going to run after an old woman who evidently does not want my
company." And he tramped steadily on under the fast darkening sky.
For quite three miles he had followed the vanishing form, and as he
reached the top of the moor, he began to feel irritated by the persistent
manner in which his fellow-traveller refused to shorten the distance
between them. It roused within him the spirit of resistance, and he
could be very dogged sometimes in spite of his easy manner. Having
once determined, therefore, to come up with the mysterious pedestrian,
he rapidly covered the ground with his long strides, and soon found
himself abreast of a slim girl, who, after looking shyly aside at him,
continued her walk at the same steady pace. The twilight had darkened
much since he had left the town, but the moonlight showed him the
graceful pose of the head, the light, springy tread, and the mass of
golden hair which escaped from the red hood covering her head. Cardo
took off his cap.
"Good-night to you," he said. "I hope I have not frightened you by so
persistently trying to catch you."
"Good-night,"