Table Of ContentThe.
Hein af Usk Wayland
Sos
al
Myithng Public Libra
THE HEIR OF WAST-WAYLAND.
CHAPTER I,
As travellers from” disthnt- points, wseonscions of excl
ofhers existonco, set forth in. the morning with ons com-
object in view-—the reiching a certain hostel at
night, or the visiting some spot of interest, so occurs it
daily in the great journey of life. At one and the annie
moment variousdadividasls, as yet unknown to.ach other,
are drawn togailygr by aircumstance, or deatiny, towards
‘ong eotmon meeting point,
__ These meeting*points aresurious: wa advance towards
them us if with our eyer abut; wo seldom know when
they will occur, and stil less how much they may involve,
From them arise the moat monfintous incidents of our
livos; ften sad enough, often strange enough; aften com-
pletely altering the after Gouree of our existence, and ex~
areising an influence skh extends beyond timo—into,
cternity.
Tam about to-make you clairooyant ith regard ‘to
threo uch unconscious. groups of pilgrinia om the evory--
day jouroy of Hife, You shall see thom all in heir
yarious places of abode, on ono particular erening
‘April and you will thea bre how thoy'are alf advaaie-a
ooh
uneoniciously tora f other,sand towards ‘one.
object, literally and, metaphorically, towards a ‘certaitt”
2B sus me o WER WEAR
Janded estate, called Wast-Wayland dn the North
Foglnd. Hero, hawing onco amfyed, Wke the travellers ,
at the hostel, they shall remain tog. her for a period, and
svthen, as hy an irrosistible fate, bo again aepurated, an if
to the four winds of heaven} for there are separations |
phich divide more'templotely taal half the glohe—while
‘the influences which broughi, them thither shail remein
in their effects for ever.
Our first little group consists but of two women, Mry 1
‘Midway, and her daughter Honour They aro sitting in |
‘8 amall but neat room looking updh tho sea at 2
the tide is out, the dlant rays of the sotting sun Light up
tho beach, und the soa, andthe Jow groy rocks which rise
above the level of the low-water sands, with a golden |
radinnee. It is o lovely evening, warm and balmy as
Fune, and many people ard out picking up shells and
pebbles, and enjoying the finest sunset of what has hither.
$o boen a late and ungenial senso. Even the poor inva-
lid, with his close wrappings and his anzious attendants,
ind vontured forth, either to pace slowly, or to be drawn
“ jn his wheeled chair along the sun-dilumined explanade,
‘The two ladies, however, of whom I have spoken, hoth
of whese eountenaneen wore the quict ahd subdued ex-
pression of sickness and sorrow scemed indisposod t¢
Jeave their little room this evening, fino though it was
Tho mother sat on the cofe at her ‘theedlework; th,
daughter’ in her little how window spparently gazing
fho lovely naset end the groupe of pepe on the Beach
low, .
‘The foslingy of both mother and daughter wero much
alika at this moment; each hed a communication to make,
fend cach felt reluctant to make it; wo fear eo much to
distress those wo love; we avoid to¥ehing upon painful
subjects even when tho poignaney of the pain is pet; co
sacred to the affectionate heart are the feelings of the be-
Tho daughter's eyes were fixed on the objects without,
Cut her thoughts were not employed by them. The *
wother glanced up from her werk from time to time,
with that siek, sinking sensation which every unsious
sun mom op WAR
gpinit knows so well. A, writing-detk stood opéal da he
table before her, and she thought painfully-of certain
papers within,st, th® contents of which must be bom’
nidated; and now the time was come when that commu-
nication could be no longer delayed. She had 20 often
put off this paiaful duty, she musk put it of do Ygeger.
She fhought ovor the vary words she would uae; how she
would try to soften that which was hard, how she would
endeavour to cast a cheerful colouring over what she too
ell hadw was dark.and dispicitings and aboro all, how
she would never rovanl to what an exient she herself had
suffered.
Nhe made two or throe attempts to peak, tut her
stongne ot her heart failed het, and perhaps she might
ave defdrred her communication till the marrow——till the
mornmng, that her daughter might st least hays one moro
qmet nigit’s rest, as she bad 20 often done bofore, had
ot, Honour herrolf risen from her sent, and placing hor.
self by her mother’s side, said in alow, but dinn tone of
owe —
have long wished to have nome talk with you about
things, dearest, mother, I wish you roally to
miderstand and to beliova that there is a0 longer aay
need for apvigly on any account. I have heen now for
some thne quite reconeiled to things as they aro. I
acknowledge tat it requires great offort, perhaps alga
a great argount of suffaiug, before we can submit fo
adverse cirenmstances, but the affort is not beygnd eur
strength; and. then, when ond® wo apy wubuti
coy
8
eowes great peace of mind, and nefipaths are opened
to us, and new sources of plesaure which ‘jeg
sates for what we have lost. When ones, dearent mother,
owe attain to thivstate of submission and, fisth, ve are
not only contented, but wo aoa that everything is ordained
forthe best, and that If wo had the oftering of ver oma
destiny we should make blandermg work of it, anid bev
‘ut little enuse to rejoice after all. “ Live game to 00
‘this, dear nother, very clearly, and uow I beseash of ygu
0 have confidence in gro. fo nat wear that rad, texiows,
Jook which is notmatura) to your counteniigahy eae wicks
”
a pt nome or Waliewartasn.
distresses mo much more thaa any of those old troubles,
which wt one time ao completaly oooupied me, and worse
thea tint, made mo apparently forgetkyou, , Pardon mo,
* dear mother, for all this] ‘The worst of such trials ns
ming, ig, that they are so self-sbaorbing. And now I
want roally to contice you that Imes a) these things
‘vety differently to whot { did. I am no longer unkippy.
T ehall no longer be eelfish,””
“My donr ohild,”” said her mother, interrupting her, |
“do not be so unjust to yourself, You hava dot boot”
selfich; you have behaved heroveall You lave bad
great trial to boat, and thank God!" he las enabled you
40 boar it.”
‘Yes, indeed ho has," continued Honour, who was «
anzicous ta resume the conversation which it had required,
a grest effort to commence, “‘aad your goodaess also, and
your patience with me, have done much—have many a
time strengthened me when otherwise [ must have sunk,
And thero 15 no ono in this world so truo and kind as
yourself, aud ao worthy of mj living for. Igoe this, 1
Know this now; and now I feel it as my greaient blessing
and privitego t0 be a life-long companion to you, to be aule
to devote myself ontirely to you, and. to any dutics as &
daughter—io making you happy: and I Know, dewest
maother, that in so doing I shall be hoppier than 1 ever
‘havo been, or aver should have been. _L¢ppy in another
way—ia a way that God has appointed for me, and not
myself; and that is much better, for God ie wiser—oh, 60
vory much wiser thon wa! eWill it not be eo, dear mother;
abgil wo not be very Lappy togethor"*
‘Honour pansed and gased into hor mother's face with
‘hor largo, Goantifal eyes fall of emotion, though not ot
tears, “Tears, however, wore ia the mother's eyes as
he lifted the trembling band which she prossed to her
pa, and Honour éontinusd:— ‘
“But, mother dear, you ust promise me one or two
things: Tip, yp inns eenso t be anziovn about me,
fop, indeed, a8 I told you before, there is no canso for
anziotf on my account. It is oly while tho mind is
wavering and tossed about that w6 apo unkappy; only
> re Poe, ae
ewhilst a single reghot remains, a single Jonging after fiat
which God bas fogbidden to us, are wo 3 but
when the mind is Galm, is eubmissiva, when we can can-
weientiously say, (I here given up all; thy will and not
mine be done,” thea that which was dark becomes ight, the
Giftigalt becomes wabyy and tho wnéortain assuredy then
‘there is nothing left but to advance straight forward in
posoa, and even perhaps in great joy. ‘This is what 1
ser] nt protons, and you, dsrert‘mother, must feel i
“with mé, and you aust still strengthen mo #8 you havo
hithorto dono; and nore than thie, you must cease to be
ansious for me, for thet you are G0 I can seo plainly
enough, Yes, doar mother, you press my hand; you
confors if; you bave not faith in sae; you have seen #0
auch weakness in me that you cannot believe in ay
strength, Ah! what eat! do to prove to you that
ami contented, that T am happy! Belicre this, my
mother, ‘There is," thersforo, no need for anxiety;
nothing bat happiness lieg before ue—happiness in our
imited sffection, in our friendship, in our love for each
other, for there is nothing in this world 10 compare with,
the affectionate, confiding intercourse of mothor and
daughter; thtre is uo frieudehips no love like it. Yee,
of this I feel sure: amew life lies before us, a better life
than the old ome, because it will be so much tener; and if
Team only aoe "you Jooking ns care-freo as you used to
do, then, indeed, T shall be happy; very, very happy!
‘But then, desr mother,” gontinued she, in a tone of
Jess exultation, ““F have to sik from you a sscrifioss
perhaps it ie selfish, but I hope not—Tthink not. Do
not let us return to Northbridge, ‘There is something
very Painfol to me in the thought of returning thither
‘Thero wa should afein fall into the old routino; and neeing
the game people, and living among the,same old seanes,
would recall daily and hourly old associations to keep
alive old habits; habits of mind, traing of thought J mean,
trom which I must dissever myself if Jrould live up to
‘the new and hotter knowledge which I have scqpired’
‘The triala which God ordains for us we must bear, po
they over so painfal, but those of which I apeak are not
ad .
