The Old Register

The summer had passed, with all its charms of June roses and soft July
showers, with its sweet, long days of sunshine, and its soft, west
winds brine-laden, its flights of happy birds, and its full promise in
orchard and corn-field.

Cardo and Valmai still haunted the woods by the Berwen, and walked
along its banks, or sat listening to its trickling music as it hastened
down to the sea; but there was a sadder look on both their faces.
Cardo had new lines about his mouth, and Valmai had a wistful look in
her blue eyes; both had an unaccountable premonition of something
sorrowful to come.

"Oh, I am afraid of something," the girl had said one day, as she sat
beside her lover, throwing pebbles into the brook, "something worse
even than this terrible parting, which must come next month. What is
it, Cardo? What is hanging over us? Something that darkens the
sunlight and dims the moonlight to me? Are we parting for ever, do you
think?"

"Nonsense, dearest," said Cardo cheerfully, though the little pucker
between his eyes seemed to speak of the same anxiety and fear. "Isn't
the separation which we must bear enough to account for all sorts of
fears and depressing thoughts? It is that only which dims the sunshine
to me, and makes me feel as if I were losing all the light and
happiness out of my life; but let us cast our fears to the wind,
Valmai, for a year will see all our troubles over; in a year's time I
shall have returned, bringing, I hope, reconciliation and love to my
dear old father--peace for his last days, Valmai. It is worth trying
for, is it not?"