CHAPTER XVII.
HOME AGAIN.
A cold, biting, north wind blew over Abersethin one morning in November, the sea tossed and tumbled its sand-stained waves in the bay, the wind carrying large lumps of yellow foam far up over the beach, and even to the village street, where the "Vicare du" was making a difficult progress towards the post-office, his hat tied firmly on, his hands buried deep in his pockets, and his long, black cloak flapping behind him.

He walked on bravely.

Every day he tramped over the sandy beach, under the cliffs, and down the village street to the post-office; this was quite a change in his habits, which drew many comments from the gossiping villagers.
"Well, well; he might have been kinder to his son when he had him with him; he'll never have the chance again," said Peggi "bakkare," peering through her tiny, foam-flecked window.
"No," said Madlen, who had come in for a loaf; "having got safe away 'tisn't likely the young man will turn up here again, and small blame to him considering everything." "No, indeed, Madlen fach; serve the old Vicare right; but 'tis a pity for the poor girl, whatever." "And where is she, I wonder ?" "Well, now," said Madlen, "Mary, my sister, was coming home from Caer Madoc last week, and on the roadside there was a tent of gypshwns; it was dark and they had a fire, and there, sitting by the fire, was a girl the very picture of Valmai." "Dir anwl! I daresay it was her, indeed; but yet, I thought she was too much of a lady to join the gypshwns.

Well, well; strange things do happen." And the story of Valmai having been seen in the tent of the gypshwns was spread abroad in the village, not that any one believed it, but it was, at all events, better than no news, and was a little spicy condiment in the daily fare of gossip.
"My papers," said the "Vicare du" laconically to the postmaster.

"Is your wife better ?" "Iss thank you, sir, and here is a letter for you--from Australia, I think." The Vicar took it without any show of feeling, though his heart had given a sudden bound at the postman's news.
"Stormy day," he said, as he passed out of the narrow doorway.
He was longing to get home, but he would not hurry his step.