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.