She buried her face in her hands, and the tears trickled through her fingers.
Cardo drew them away tenderly.
"There is a tear on your ring, dear," he said, kissing it, "that must not be; let that at all events be the emblem of meeting and happiness and joy.

Think, Valmai, only a year, and I shall come and claim you for my own! Confess, dearest, that it is a little solace that we are united before we are parted, that, whatever happens, you are my wife and I am your husband." "Yes, indeed; indeed, it is my only solace, and I am going to be brave and hopeful.

My ring I must not wear on my finger; but see, I have brought a white satin ribbon to tie it round my neck; it shall always be there until you take it off, and place it on my finger again." "And you will keep our secret until I return, darling ?" "Yes," said Valmai impressively, "_until you come back, Cardo, and give me leave to reveal it_." "We must part, fanwylyd; my father must not miss me." "No, no--go, I will not keep you back." There was a long, passionate embrace, during which the white owl flapped in again to her nest.
"Good-bye and good-bye, darling, and farewell until we meet again." "Leave me here, Cardo.

Good-bye, dearest husband!" And so they parted, and, in the memory of both, for many a long year the sound of the Berwen held a place, and the flap of the white owl's wings brought back to Valmai memories of pain and happiness, mixed together in a strange tumult.

Slowly she made her way up the path to Dinas, the scarlet cloak was taken out from the bush under which it had been hidden, and, enveloped in its folds, she entered the house.