He stopped and looked impatiently as he heard the postman call after him.
"There is another letter from Australia, sir, but I dunno where was I to send it.

Here it is, sir." And he touched his hat apologetically as he handed a second letter to him.
"Yes; my son's handwriting, I see.

I will take charge of it." He gasped for breath, though the postman saw no sign of emotion, and, as he bent his head against the wind, he read the address on the second letter.
"Mrs.Caradoc Wynne, c/o Rev.Meurig Wynne, Brynderyn, Abersethin, Cardiganshire, Wales." "Oh, my God, I thank Thee," were the only words that escaped the Vicar's lips while he hurried home through the brewing storm, the letters clutched in his hand and pressed against his breast; but these words were repeated several times.
At last, in the quiet of his study, he opened his son's letter and hungrily devoured every word of its contents twice over.

After its perusal he took up the second letter, and, with visible emotion, poured over every line of the address, turning the envelope over and over, and pondering in deep but silent thought, from which Betto's knock, announcing dinner, startled him.
As he stood for a moment to say grace, before sitting down to his meal, Betto raised her eyes to his face, and was so startled by the changed and softened look that, with round eyes of surprise, she asked: "Mishtir bach! what is it ?" "Mr.Cardo is coming home." And Betto, quite overcome, plumped herself down on the sofa, throwing her apron over her head and shedding some surreptitious tears of sympathy; while the Vicar, forgetting his dinner, recounted to her the chief incidents of his son's absence--his long illness, and subsequent loss of memory--Betto following the tale with a running accompaniment of ejaculations.
"And this, Betto," said her master, slowly laying the other letter on the table before her, "look at it--but I forgot you can't read English." "Howyer bach! not I." "Well, it is addressed to 'Mrs.Caradoc Wynne.' Did you know anything of this ?" Betto's face exhibited a succession of expressions, which followed each other like dissolving views, astonishment, indignation, fear of her master's displeasure, determination to champion Cardo in any course of combat, all ending in a broad grin of delight as she saw an unaccustomed curve on the Vicar's lips.
"Did I know it?
No; if I had, I wouldn't have had words with so many people in the village.

Oh! my boy, bach! didn't I always say he was a gentleman!" And her varied emotions culminated in a rain of tears.
"Twt, twt!" said the Vicar, clearing his throat, "no nonsense, Betto; bring me the potatoes." And that meal was finished with more cheerfulness than had lightened up that dark old room for many a long year.
From that day forth the Vicar seemed to gain strength and gladness with every hour.