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."
"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."
She took a long look at the baby, who lay with flushed face on Nance's knees, and ran with all speed across the Rock-Bridge, from which the tide was just receding, up the straggling street of Abersethin, and through the shady lane, which led to the doctor's house.
There was great peering and peeping from the kitchen window, as Valmai made her progress between the heaps of straw in the farm-yard to the back door, which stood open. The doctor's wife, who had her arms up to her elbows in curds and whey, looked up from her cheese-tub as she appeared at the door.
"Dear me, Miss Powell! Well, indeed, what's the matter?"
"Oh, it's my baby, Mrs. Hughes! Can Dr. Hughes come with me at once?"
"There's a pity, now," said Mrs. Hughes; "he is gone to Brynderyn. Mr. Wynne is not well. Grieving, they say, about his son."
Valmai blushed, and Mrs. Hughes was pleased with her success.