By Berwen Banks

There is no part of Wales more rural and unspoilt by the inroads of

what is called "civilisation" than some of the secluded valleys lying

between the Radnorshire hills. Here Nature still holds her own, and

spreads her pure and simple charms before us. Large tracts of moor and

rushy fen are interspersed with craggy hills, rising one behind another

in lovely shades of purple and blue; and far from the haunts of men, or

at all events of town men, many acres of uncultivated land are still

tenanted by the wild mountain pony and the picturesque gipsy. On the

edge of one of these moors stood a quaint old family mansion,

surrounded by extensive grounds and woods. In front lay a descending

plain of varied beauty, green meadows, winding streams, and placid

lakelets; behind it, the wild vales and moor stretched up to the brown

and blue hills.

Colonel Meredith had lived there all his life, his ancestors before

him, and here it was that Valmai had found a home as companion to the

delicate eldest daughter of the family, who was delighted to find in

her so congenial a friend. Her beauty had made a great impression upon

the whole amiable family, as good looks often do upon people who cannot

boast of the same advantages. It was a good thing that the girl had no

vanity in her character, for her charms were continually brought before

her in the household. Her pet name was "Beauty," and Colonel Meredith

was fond of dilating upon her attractions of person wherever he went.

Cecil, a boy of sixteen, was completely her slave, and considered

himself the victim of a hopeless passion; while the girls vied with

each other in their love and adulation of their friend, so Valmai led

at least an outwardly calm and happy life. Her character had developed

rapidly during the last two years, and she found herself, to her own

surprise, possessed of a power of repression and a control over her

emotions which she would have thought impossible a few years earlier.

The memory of Cardo, the glamour of their rural courtship, the bliss of

their honeymoon, his departure and her subsequent sorrows, were kept

locked in the deepest recesses of her soul, and only recalled during

the silent hours of the night. She had become less impatient of the

stripes of sorrow; she had taken the "angel of suffering" to her heart

with meek resignation, endeavouring to make of her a friend instead of

an enemy, and she reaped the harvest always garnered by patience and

humility. But forgotten? No, not a tender word--not a longing

wish--not a bitter regret was forgotten! She seemed to lead two

separate lives--one, that of the petted and admired friend of the

Merediths; the other, that of the lonely, friendless girl who had lost

all that made life dear to her. Gwladys's love alone comforted her,

and the frequent visits which they paid to each other were a source of

great happiness to both. Her invalid charge soon benefited much by her

presence, and was really so far recovered that there was scarcely any

further need for Valmai's companionship, but she was glad to stay on as

a visitor and friend of the family. She was reading to Miss Meredith

one evening in the verandah, when Gwen and Winifred came bounding up

the steps from the lawn, hatless and excited.