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.