"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 her paler than before. She stood for a moment with her hands clasped, and pressed on her bosom, looking at the door through which Gwen had just passed, and then seating herself at the table, her eyes suffused with tears, she began to pour out her uncle's tea.
"That's a fine piece, Valmai," he said, "how Clwyn went away and never came back again, till the sea washed him one day at Riana's feet."