AMONG THE WELSH HILLS.* Tus author of this story knows
well what she is capable of, and keeps to it. There is a great deal of subdued naturalness in the portraits of the characters, and there is also a very fair plot, on which the incident is made to turn with some skill. The result is throughout pleasing; a sense of gentle power and transparent healthfulness is felt, and also the purity of feeling that usually
• Among Me Welsh Hills. By M. 0. Halifax, Author of " After Long Years," ac. London: Oroombridge and Son&
accompanies these. Mr. Desborough, a rich man, on his death- bed is fain to revoke an old will, made in a moment of anger against the interests of a daughter who had married a poor man,.
in opposition to his wish. He sends a messenger to seek out the daughter, but the messenger returns with the report that she and her child are both dead. The old will is left in force, and all the property goes to an old friend, a Mr. Meredith, who before very long gets the best of evidence that Mrs. Llewellyn's child is still living. With an uneasy conscience, when near his end, he leaves direc- tions to his son Guy to seek out this young lady and marry her. Guy Meredith is a sensitive-minded and highly honourable young man, who is nothing loath to anticipate the speedy dis- covery of the lady and the surrender of his estate to her, and to
train himself in chemistry, that he may procure a profitable- appointment abroad ; but to the other suggestion of his father he is most averse. To seek out a girl and marry her merely that he may give a sop to his conscience and sit down to enjoy his- wealth with a cheerful heart, is to him little short of revolting.
We may betray as much of the author's plot as to say that Mrs. Llewellyn's child is, of course, living still, else there could have been no story worth the telling. She has been taken care of, on her mother's decease, by a relative, Mr. Vaughan, a Welsh vicar ; and the peeps we get into the vicarage are very good indeed. Aunt Mary, who keeps her brother's house, is admirable in her kindliness and methodic ways, out of which
she was at first hardly willing to be shaken, even by that sudden appearance of her young lover of twenty years ago, Mr. Allan Cameron, who now unexpectedly returns to fulfil his old promise to her, if she is disposed to fulfil hers ; and this imparts to the story
the interest of a second and really original love-affair. Gwenny and her little cousin, Cynric, are two admirable child-portraits ; and the development of the sweet, but still possibly self-willed,. character of the former is well worked out. She has, of course, taken the name of Vaughan, which makes it difficult to trace her. Guy Meredith has occasion to visit Scotland, and Miss Vaughan is there on a visit also; they meet in the most un- expected circumstances, fall in love with each other; and while Guy Meredith's agent is on the search for Miss Llewellyn, Miss Vaughan has fully made up her mind—from the moment she has discovered who her lover is—that she should accept at his hands no such sacrifice. The story would at this point begin to seem common-place, were it not for the quiet and natural way in which all the lines are followed up and the points presented. The contrasts in the characters of the Ross girls, Miss Vaughan's friends, also show observation and skill in analysis. Guy Meredith, of course, does not succeed in his plans abroad, and returns home, to find that his agent has at length ferretted out Miss Llewellyn, who de- clines to accept any such sacrifice as he proposes to make on her behoof ; and of course, after some diversions, the whole thing, with its accompaniments of some odd and slightly comical situa- tions, is cleared up, and the two are united, with no sacrifice of the highest ideal on either side. To give our readers an idea of the author's style, we shall make an extract, not from the more romantic part of the book, but from the account of Mr. Came- ron's first pleading with Aunt Mary :—
" Allan Cameron had not made a fortune, but he had an assured, modest income, and it was not long before be aked Miss Vaughan to share it. Like one in a dream did she listen to his eager pleading. The story of his faithful love fell sweetly on her ear, but the notion of marriage seemed very visionary and impracticable, somehow. There were obstacles in the way, and at forty-one obstacles seem more real and immovable than they do to rash, ignorant, impetuous youth ; and besides that, she had become so habituated to her present mode of life that the mere thought of making any change required an effort. You forget that we are growing old, Allan.'—' Not aid, Mary, only middle-aged, and your face has scarcely altered since the time I loved you first.'—Mary shook her head. am afraid it's too late,' she said, with a wistful smile.—' It is never too late to be happy, dear, and I'm sure we should be happy together. I have had a hard life. Poverty closed my lips, when 1 would fain have spoken long ago. But now I am free from that thraldom, and can ask you with a clear conscience, and you must not say me nay.'—' But you said you hoped I should form a happy marriage with some one else ?' objected Miss Vaughan, with a touch of bitterness.-4I said so, it is true, but you cannot think I wished it. My fortunes were at a low ebb, then. I hardly knew how I could earn daily bread, and felt that it would be dishonourable to prevent you accepting from another what I then had little hope of ever being able to offer you myself.'—' Men do some cruel things, in the name of honour,' said Mary, quietly. ' A man should think of honour's requirements, before he seeks a woman's love. To give her back her liberty, after he has gained her heart, seems a kind of mock- ery.'—' Then you thought my letter cruel,' said Allan quickly, beginning to perceive for the first time how much this woman had loved him.— ' Yes; very cruel;' and the busy fingers trembled over the work they held.—The man was deeply moved. My dear love !' and he stcoped
and kissed her. Had he but rated this tender heart at its true value, that letter would never have been written. And you would have waited for me all the weary years, Mary?'—` They would not have been weary years, with love to warm and hope to brighten them,' she answered, smiling up at him though her eyes were moist.—` And yet when I do return and ask you to take me, you put me off with ex- cuses,' said Mr. Cameron, in an aggrieved tone.= As it is, things are different. John and the children have to be considered.'—' Of course, I mean to consider them. Come, Mary,' he pleaded, only say "Yes," and I will speak to John, and arrange everything to every- body's satisfaction.'—' That is a grave undertaking,' said Miss Vaughan, laughing.= Yes, it is; but I'll do it, if you will only con- sent.' But Mary could not be brought to consent, as yet, do what he would. Her secluded, routine life for the last ten years made her in- capable of at once accepting this sudden and momentous change."
The story would be well worth reading, were it only to follow the fate of Allan Cameron and Mary Vaughan. Nothing sen- sational is there in it ; it reads like a bit of real life, softly transfigured, somehow. The prologue strikes us as the most conventional part of the book.
There is a touch of refined irony in the fate of the opposition church, the erection of which had so distressed the good Vicar, turning out so complete a failure, and becoming a Dissenting chapel in the end. And we should not forget to say that there are some little bits of true landscape, too. This was sketched by one who had seen the effect on Scotch hills, and imaginatively caught its salient features :—
"As they ascended the hill the air grew cooler, but there was no breeze, and not a gleam of sunshine. Presently they came to an open space, in the centre of which stood a mound or hillock. They mounted it, and stood together looking downwards. Had the evening been clear, they would have had a fine view of the adjacent country, with the Moray Firth and the coast of Nairn in the far distance. As it was, they could see little or nothing, for a thick mist obscured the land- scape, and blotted out all distant objects. Oddly enough, no mist in- tervened between them and Braeburn. They could see the cottage and everything about it with the utmost distinctness ; but beyond, the earth-born haze and the dull, low-hanging sky seemed to blend and mingle into one. The effect was curious. The homestead seemed to stand on the edge of the world, with nothing beyond bat clouds and space."
Previous page
