"He can be 'Baby' till September, and then he will be christened."
"And why, September, child?"
Here Valmai took refuge in that silence which had been her only
resource since Cardo's departure. She would be perfectly silent. She
would make no answer to inquiries or taunts, but would wait patiently
until he returned. September! What glowing pictures of happiness the
word brought before her mind's eye. Once more to stroll with Cardo by
Berwen banks! Once more to linger in the sunshine, and rest in the
shade; to listen to the Berwen's prattling, to the whispering of the
sea-breeze. Such happiness, she thought, was all in store for her when
Cardo came home in September; and the words, "When Cardo comes home in
September," rang in her ears, and filled her heart and soul. Yes, the
long weary months of waiting, the sorrow and the pain, the cruel words,
and the sneering glances, were all coming to an end. She had kept her
promise, and had never spoken a word to implicate Cardo, or to suggest
that the bond of marriage had united them. He would come home, at
latest in a year, and remove every sorrow; and life would be one long
shining path of happiness from youth to age.
The light returned to her eyes, and the rose to her cheek; her step was
once more light and springy, as she paced the lonely shore, dressed in
her favourite white serge, and carrying her little white-robed baby in
her arms. She was an object of great interest to the inhabitants of
the fishing village on the other side of the island, and they often
found an excuse (more especially the young sailor lads) to pass by the
cottage, and to stop at the open door for a drink of water or a chat
with Nance. They were as loud in their condemnation of her faithless
lover as in admiration of her beauty and pleasant manners.
Once more life seemed full of promise and hope for her, until one day
when the bay was glistening in the sunshine, and the sea-gulls, like
flecks of snow, flew about the rocks; the soft waves plashing gently
between the boulders, a little cloud arose on her horizon. Her baby
was fretful and feverish, and Nance had roused her fears.
"He is too fat, merch i," she said, "and if he had any childish illness
it would go hard with him."
Valmai had taken fright at once.
"Can you take care of him, Nance, while I go to Abersethin and fetch
Dr. Hughes?" she asked.
"Yes, but don't be frightened, cariad; I daresay he will laugh at us,
and say there is nothing the matter with the child."
"Being laughed at does not hurt one," said Valmai, as she tied on her
hat. "I will bring him back with me if possible."