Digitized by tine Internet Arciiive in 2008 witii funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation littp://www.arcliive.org/details/fromsnowdontoseaOOtrevricli FROM SNOWDON TO THE SEA JB\> tbe same Butbor. Dedicated by Gracious Permission to Her Royal Highness the DUCHESS OF YORK. GLIMPSES OF WELSH LIFE AND CHARACTER. By Marie Trevelyan. In Crown 8vo, 408 pages, vellum cloth, Illuminated, price 6s. ; gilt edges, 6s. 6d. t^ Her Majesty the Queen, H.R.H. the PRINCE OF WALES, H.R.H. the DUCHESS OF YORK, and H.R.H. the DUCHESS OF TECK, have each been graciously pleased to accept a copy of "Glimpses of Welsh Life and Character." " 'Glimpses of Welsh Life and Character' has been a theme of admiring conversation since the first day of its appearance." — // 'cstcrn Mail, Cardiff. "One of the rare books which disappoint the reviewer by turning out to be infinitely better than is expected." — Liverpool Courier. FROM SNOWDON to the SEA STIRRING STORIES OF NORTH AND SOUTH WALES BY MARIE TREVELYAN author of 'glimpses of welsh life and character," "brave little women, ETC. LONDON JOHN HOGG, 13 PATERNOSTER ROW [A// rights 7'eserved'\ BeMcateb BY KIND PERMISSION TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LORD WINDSOR, LORD LIEUTENANT OF GLAMORGANSHIRE. 386 PREFACE lAIR WALES, the region of thrilling song and witcbing romance, of gloomy tragedy and quaint comedy, is again my theme^ and the English who have had glimpses of my native land and its people are invited to accom- pany me in spirit to the lofty summit of Snowdon and the solitary traeth of the sea. To the heights of Snowdon, Vortigern retreated after the treachery of the Long Knives, and there Merlin the magician assisted the king to build the wonderful castle, supposed to be impregnable, but ultimately destroyed by the enemy, — after which, in a lonely valley near the sea, the un- fortunate monarch was buried in all his bravery of green armour. Through the passes of Snowdon, Llewellyn, the last native prince of Wales, descended to his doom on the banks of the Irvon ; and, from the viii Preface rocky fastnesses of the same mountain range, Prince David was dragged to his barbarous death at Rhuddlan. After privation, loneliness, and cold, Owen Glendower and his men went from the celebrated mountain to meet the troops of King Henry the Fourth, and, later on, retired to the sea cave known as Ogof Owain, where, according to tradi- tion, the great leader of rebellion with his soldiers wait, ready to rush forth at the command of Wales, should an enemy assail the dear old land. From the crest of Snowdon to the verge of the restless sea waters that wash the Northern, Western, and Southern boundaries of Wales, the Awen or Muse has descended to the sons and daughters of the bards who revered Eryri as the Parnassus of the Principality. Among the grand and impressive highlands of the North, and the pastoral and beautiful low- lauds of the South, the traditions, folk-lore, and romances that are woven into these stories, have been collected. To itinerant preachers, to the humble and primitive peasantry, to the grand-sire who holds the place of honour iu the fireside corner of the settle, and to grand-dames, who, while knit- Preface ix ting, croon at eventide over the long ago, I am indebted for the threads that form the warp and woof of my mental weavings, which I hope will aid in briD^iDor Eno^land and Wales into still closer communion, under the good old Welsh motto, '' Galon AVrth Galon "— '' Heart to Heart." My publisher, Mr. John Hogg, once more entering into the spirit of the Geltic subject, as in the case of my former work, " Glimpses of Welsh Life and Character," suo^o-ested a national emblem for the cover design of this book. In preparing the sketch of the arms supplied by the Heralds' College, most valuable assistance has been kindly and courteously rendered by Mr. Everard Green (" Eouge Dragon"), who thus certifies the design : — ^' I hereby certify that the arms on the other side are those of Llewellyn, Prince of North Wales, and of Khys ap Tewclwr, the last King of South Wales, who bore the arms of Howell Dda his ancestor, as did the subsequent Princes of South Wales. " Everard Green " ("Eouge Dragon"). The shields of Prince Llewellyn and of Khys viii Preface rocky fastnesses of the same mountain range, Prince David was dragged to his barbarous death at Khuddlan. After privation, loneliness, and cold, Owen Glendower and his men went from the celebrated mountain to meet the troops of King Henry the Fourth, and, later on, retired to the sea cave known as Ogof Owain, where, according to tradi- tion, the great leader of rebellion with his soldiers wait, ready to rush forth at the command of Wales, shoidd an enemy assail the dear old land. From the crest of Snowdon to the verge of the restless sea waters that wash the Northern, Western, and Southern boundaries of Wales, the Awen or Muse has descended to the sons and daughters of the bards who revered Eryri as the Parnassus of the Principality. Among the grand and impressive highlands of the North, and the pastoral and beautiful low- lands of the South, the traditions, folk-lore, and romances that are woven into these stories, have been collected. To itinerant preachers, to the humble and primitive peasantry, to the grand-sire who holds the place of honour in the fireside corner of the settle, and to grand-dames, who, while knit- Preface ix ting, croon at eventide over the long ago, I am indebted for the threads that form the warp and woof of my mental weavings, which I hope will aid in bringino^ Endand and Wales into still closer communion, under the good old Welsh motto, '' Galon Wrth Galon "— " Heart to Heart." My publisher, Mr. John Hogg, once more entering into the spirit of the Geltic subject, as in the case of my former work, '' Glimpses of Welsh Life and Character," suo^gested a national emblem for the cover design of this book. In preparing the sketch of the arms supplied by the Heralds' College, most valuable assistance has been kindly and courteously rendered by Mr. Everard Green ("Eouge Dragon"), who thus certifies the design : — " I hereby certify that the arms on the other side are those of Llewellyn, Prince of North Wales, and. of Ehys ap Tewclwr, the last King of South AVales, who bore the arms of Howell Dda his ancestor, as did the subsequent Princes of South Wales. " Everard Green " (" Eouge Dragon "). The shields of Prince Llewellyn and of Ehys X Preface ap Tewclwr, uDited above the motto of tbe Bardic Chair of Dyfed (Dimetia), which is also frequently called tbe Chair of South Wales (Deheubartb), are most appropriate symbols for a volume of stories founded upon Welsh tradi- tions and folk-lore. MAEIE TEEVELYAlSr. 1894. ■'^ ^^ ^^ CONTENTS DEDICATION PREFACE THE MASTER OF LLANTYSILIO (a STORY OF THE DEE SIDE) . ROGER MEYRICK's RIDE (a FOLK- | STORY OF CASTELL CARREG) j " TILL THE DAY OF JUDGMENT" (A ( NIGHT IN THE CHAIR OF IDRIS) J THE RANSOM OF SIR HARRY STRADLING PAGE V [DENBIGH . • 13 [e. GLAMORGAN . ■ 36 [MERIONETH • 48 [S. GLAMORGAN . . 68 THE SWEET SINGER OF VALLE CRUCIS ABBEY (EXPERIENCES OF THE supernatural) . THE GHOST OF THE GATE-HOUSE . THE FLIGHT OF THE MERLYN THE MAN OF THE MOAT HOUSE . THE LADY OF THE LAKE - [DENBIGH . [e. GLAMORGAN [MERIONETH [S. GLAMORGAN [MONTGOMERY 96 112 125 160 171 Xll Contents SWEET LYDIA. FELL (A STORY OF THE WELSH QUAKERS) THE WELSH MERRY-MAN THE WHITE WOMEN OF LUNDY THE BLACK BRIDE OF CAERWEN . BOUND FOR LLANDOVERY 'twas in BEAUMARIS BAY THE SCARLET RIBBON . THE LEGEND OF RHITTA THE GIANT LADY JANE OF SUTTON (A STORY OF THE ANCIENT STRADLING FAMILY) " FOR THE KING, OR FOR OWEN GLENDOWER?" . PIP, FLUSH, AND FLANDERS [n. GLAMORGAN . . 182 [CARNARVON 211 [lUNDY and SWANSEA ) \ 22c; BAY . [CARNARVON 245 [CARMARTHEN . 265 [anglesea and S.W. ) GLAMORGAN [273 [s. GLAMORGAN . 302 [n. wales 332 [S. GLAMORGAN . zv \ [DENBIGH . [S. GLAMORGAN . 353 380 INDEX 429 Zbc flDaetcr of Xiant^eilio A STORY OF THE DEE SIDE m ^ \s^ IT was a midsummer bush. Not a sound could be heard save the ceaseless murmurino' of the sacred Dee, as it rushed over the Horse Shoe Weir, or the occasional chauutinof of missel thrushes in the elm trees fring^iuo^ the foamino: torrent. The cloudless sky, gleaming like sapphire, was clearly reflected upon the river, where tree- shadows fell brokenly as the sun-kissed waters glided serenely onward to the verge of the Weir. Noontide splendour filled the beautiful Vale of Llantysilio with golden glory. Through woven branches and wild rose sprays, the sunlight slanted downward into peaceful pasture lands, where sweet meadow grasses mingled with red and purple clover bloom, and delicate ferns fringed the luxuriant hedge-rows. 13 14 The Master of Llantysilio Blackbirds nestled closely in their leafy re- treats, the yellow hammer moved more lazily than usual, water ouzels darted to and fro beside the Dee waters, and water wagtails and linnets vied with each other in idly dipping their heads and wings in the river, then scattering silvery showers like dewdrops on the mossy sward. So sultry and still was the noontide, that the sheep and cattle were gathered together under the shady trees which here and there were grouped about the fields, while even the ever restless Welsh mountain ponies, known as " merlyns," were obliged to lie down in cool shadows. Where now the pretty church of Llantysilio stands, an older edifice stood in the latter half of the last century, and, on the site of the modern hall, an ancient residence was then to be found. The old ivy-covered church crumbling to decay, stood as a monument of the far past, when cowled monk and girdled friar moved leisurely to and fro the beautiful valleys of Wales, and the sound of the Angelus penetrated the narrow ravines or floated like a mystic melody downward with the Dee waters. The ancient Hall looked grand and stately in the midsummer glow. Not a shadow flecked the flood of sunshine that filled the mossy lawns and terraces, where the hoary sundial recorded the fleeting hours, A Welshman of the Old School 1 5 and, above and beyond it, the gilded weather- vane stood motionless upon the ivy-covered out- buildings. In the cool and shady study, looking on to the terrace, the Master of the Hall was busily engaged in writing. His swift and impatient pen hurried over page after page, and, wdien that work was completed, he began summing up various accounts. The occupation of casting and balanc- ing was by no means congeuial to the Scjuire of Llantysilio, whose expenditure was always greater than his income. Presently he dashed his pen upon the table, leaned back ia his comfortable chair, and began running his fingers through the heavy masses of his dark hair, wdiere silvery threads already appeared. The Squire — or Master, as he was generally called — of Llantysilio, was a handsome man above the average height of modern AYelshmen. He was sprightly, somewhat proud, reticent, but extremely good-natured. In his dark eyes a fiery light lurked, ready to flash forth lightnings when matters w^ent wrong, and his keen-cat mouth curved wdth scorn w4ien anything affected his dignity. He was a Welshman of the old school — a typical gentleman of the period, when to be deeply in debt was the rule, and to be fairly sober w^as the exception. The Master of Llantysilio was the youngest 1 6 The Master of Llantysilio survivor of three brothers, all of whom had been brought up by their only half-sister, k. own iu her aore as Madam. She was about six..7-eio;ht and the Master was forty-five. Not one the brothers ever married or thought of marriage, and the Master was, to the world of Llantysilio, a bachelor, though it was rumoured that he had a wife and children in England, where he spent most part of the year. Madam said she was married to Duty, but she believed the Master had " some kind of tie somewhere." Else how could the money go so fast ? She had been a " saving woman" all her lifetime, but all her economy failed to bring the Master's expenditure w^ithin the limits of his income. Thoughts like these kept running in her mind, while she replenished the pot-pourri and harvested the lavender on that sultry midsummer morning. " Is Kobin Ddu coming; to-morrow ? " asked the Master, breaking in on Madam's reverie. " That is more than I can tell," replied Madam. " Eobin is flighty. If he wills it to come, he will come." Eobert Lloyd, the tailor of Llangollen, was popularly known by the soubriquet of Eobin Ddu — pronounced The — or Black, because some said he was acquainted with the hlach art. Even as the Master and Madam were speaking. Robin Ddu \ y Robin Ddu appeared coming up the drive, like a long thin shadow fleeting across the sunshine. He was a tall shadowy man, with a wan and ghost-like face, hollow eyes, hollow cheeks, and high cheek-bones. His whole frame was painfully attenuated, and his long, thin arms and bony hands looked more like angular appendages of a wooden doll than limbs of real flesh and blood. " The more you do feed him, the thinner he do look," said the farmer folk ; and the villagers added, '' Robin Ddu is tormented by a ghost." Strange stories were told about him, all of which were discredited by both the Master and Madam. But country people from Llangollen to Llantysilio declared that the tailor heard un- earthly noises, and saw strange sights, and went through gruesome midnight experiences, all of which caused his poor wretched body to waste away, even though, wherever he worked, '*the best of food " was put before him. He was the best tailor " for forty miles round," and it was regarded as quite a favour to be able to obtain Robin Ddu's services. Robin booked engagements twelve months in advance, and, as a rule, regularly as clockwork fulfilled them. In those days as now, in many parts of Wales, the tailors went from house to house, working for weeks in one family, just as dressmakers in country places do in these times. The Master of Llantysilio Kobin Ddu was anuouiicecl, the servant letting him into the morning-room, where the Master and Madam stood beside the harvested Lavender. " Sirr ! " said Eobin with a strong double r, and bowing respectfully to the Master, '' I did think to finish at the parson's to-day, but I kent till to-morrow night, an' if you'd be so kind as to wait till then for me, I shall be thankful. The parson's boys " " What have the parson's boys to do with me ? " said the Master, impatiently stamping his foot. " Nothin', sirr — nothin' whatever. But now an' then we do like to 'blige a neighbour, an' " '•' Neighbour, indeed ! " exclaimed the Master. " The parson's no neighbour of mine ! I say you must begin to work here to-morrow morning." " Why will you be so unreasonable ? " remarked Madam. " A day makes little difference to you. I should think to-morrow night, or Thursday morning, would do well enough. You're in no immediate hurry." " Much you know about it," exclaimed the Master. " Six months ago, Eobin promised to begin work on Midsummer Day, and begin on that day he shall ! " "Very good, sirr; very good," said Eobin. " I '11 put the work by, and come here by eight o'clock to-morrow mornin'." Madam and the Tailor 19 With that, Eobiii Dclu bowed himself out of the room, and Madam followed. " You'll take a crust of bread and cheese and a tankard of cwriv da'' said Madam to the tailor. '' Thank you kindly," replied Eobin, following Madam to the servants' hall. " The Master is getting more impatient and irritable than ever," remarked Madam confi- dentially to Robin, while he took the offered refreshment. "It's his way, Madam," replied Robin. " 'Twas the natur of all the gentlemen of the Hall. There was Master Griffith — he worrited hisself to death." '' Yes ; but he had a cause after Gwen Hughes jilted him." " Well, Master David was jest the same," added Robin. " He was always a troublin' his mind 'bout somethin' or another." '^ He was never well," pleaded Madam. "But my brother Owen has no cause for impatience and irritability." " How do we know, Madam ? Perhaps he's got his worries in Llundain (London), or them other places he- do go to." " But what worries or cares can he have there \ " curiously asked Madam. " How do I know. But they do say," said 20 The Master of Llaiitysilio Eobin, cautiously lowering his voice, " the Master spends a sight o' money in Llundain." " I thiuk so too," said Madam. " But the ex- travagance and irritability of Owen, and Griffith, and David come from their mother's side. My mother was most amiable, but " " So I've heerd my father tell," interrupted Eobiu. " But their mother — my stepmother, you know — was always fretful, though she died wlien Owen was only a year old." "I've heerd them say so," said Robin, looking up with a start when the cuckoo clock struck the hour of one. " How Madam ken talk to Robin Ddu as much as she do, I don't know," commented one servant to another in the butler's pantry. " I'm afeard of him," said the housemaid. " An' I wouldn't meet him in the dark for the life of me," added the cook. Five minutes later Robin Ddu fleeted like a shadow through the sunshine, his attenuated form looking cold and ghost-like even in the splendour of midsummer. Robin Ddu toiled hard and fast throug;h the burning hours of that afternoon. It was after eight o'clock when he put his work aside and went to his lodgings. He was, as a rule, very reticent, talking freely only to those with whom The Heritage of Ghostly Annoyance 2 1 he had been thoroughly familial- all bis lifetime. To his few chosen friends he admitted that both he and " his father before him " were haunted. It was said that Robin's grandfather had robbed an aged aunt of a large sum of money which she had saved for her only daughter. The old woman on her deathbed bes^cred for restitution, which was promised ; but the daughter eventually died of starvation, while her heartless cousin prospered. Soon after the death of the injured woman, her cousin became an altered man. People said that the aged aunt and her daughter haunted him. At last he declared he could not get any rest between midnight and sunrise, and very often in the day he was pinched, struck, and tor- mented by unseen assailants. In a few years his business went to its lowest ebb, then he died. The heritage of ghostly annoyance fell to his son, who became a soldier, and sought in change of scene and active life, respite from the angered ghosts. He returned home to Wales, and was worried almost to death by the obnoxious ghosts, who would not give him peace by night or day. The worst part of it all was that Robin, even as a child, looked ghost-ridden. He was apprenticed to a tailor, and then became a soldier, but from his youth upw^ard he was very delicate. Soon 2 2 The Master of Llantysilio after his father's death the ghosts began to worry him, and continued to do so from manhood to middle age. " They do never give me an hour's peace," lamented Eobin to his friend Timothy, with whom he always lodged when working in the n eighbourhood of Llantysilio. " I be better when I'm away from home. But wherever I do go they do find me out, if 'tis only for a little spell." "Did you never try to get somebody to lay the ghosts ? " asked his friend. " Lay these here ghosts ! " exclaimed Eobin. " There'll be no layin to them till I be in my grave ! " Robin sighed deeply. Later on he went out for a stroll. It was a glorious night — that Eve of St. John and mid- summer. Moonbeams fell in silvery radiance upon the waters of the Dee as the river poured ceaselessly over the Horse Shoe Weir, and the dark trees looked like grim sentinels standing out clear ao^ainst the moonlio-ht. Eobin Ddu walked on like one in a dream. To him it was a pleasure to find peace and rest of body and brain. Li his reverie he thought of the Eve of St. John, of the many associations and superstitions connected therewith ; then feeling more peaceful than he had felt for many A Ghostly Visitant 23 months, lie returued to liis lodoino-s and went to bed. Eobin Ddu slept well for the first three hours that night, even though the moonlight, streaming in throuo^h the curtained window, almost forbade sleep. Just as the clock struck i a.m., Robin awoke, and fanch^d he felt a breath of cold air in the room. The moon was setting, and the lififht in the window had become dim and shadowy, when suddenly he heard the latch of the door clicking. Robin Ddu turned in his bed. He expected his usual ghostly visitants, instead of which he saw a mysterious and stately lady, robed in grey, coming towards him from the doorway. She went to Eobin, touched him on the lips with an icy finger, and whispered, " Follow me." Robin hesitated, but the lady moved to the doorway, and therefrom earnestly beckoned him with her forefinger and whispered, '' Come ! Come ! " Robin Ddu, fearful of incurring the dis- pleasure of the apparition, dressed himself immediately. The ghostly visitor, in a calm and dignified manner, preceded Robin downstairs, and out on to the road. She went on a little ahead of her companion, and led the way to Llantysilio church. 24 The Master of Llantysilio To Eobiii's surprise pale tapers shed ghostly lio-ht throucrli the church windows. The church door was open, and the spectral lady, followed by Eobin, entered. Then the apparition led him to the chancel, and vanished. Alone, before the altar steps stood Robin Ddu. The pale glimmering radiance of lighted tapers illuminated the altar, and shed a dim and un- earthly light upon all the surrounding objects. Robin Ddu's teeth chattered, and he chafed his long thin hands to get warmth into them. The night, or rather, the morning air was keenly cold, quite unlike the atmosphere of midsummer, and a sudden gust of wind threw open the chancel door, through which, in the dawn-light, a spectral figure entered. It was that of a tall man, clothed in a swallow-tailed coat, with dark plush knee-breeches, white stockings, and low shoes with bows on the insteps. His white wig was tied at the base with black ribbons. He was soon followed by two other men dressed after the same fashion. The trio entered wnthin the altar rails, and turned their faces towards the stone cross above the communion table. In hollow sepulchral tones the three spectral figures denounced the Master of the Hall. "Woe be to him walkino: ! " said one in a hoarse, unearthly voice. The Ciirse from the Altar 25 " AVoe be to liim standino- ! " almost grroaned the second figure. "Woe be to bini sitting!" wailed the third j)erson. " Woe-be-to-hini- where ver-he-goes ! " chanted the trio as in one voice. The first speaker then turned round face towards the nave. Eobin Ddu shuddered. The speaker's face was white as with passiou, and from his eyes a straiige and lurid light flasljed, as he said — " Let him think Avhat he may, the Master of the Hall shall not die a natural death. He shall go to his grave un- mourned and forgotten. When he dies, the Hall shall be seized by one without legal right to it. Strangers shall dwell therein, and, in course of time, the Hall shall crumble to the ground. Thereon shall rank and noxious weeds grow, and when the mouldering wall can no longer stand, a new Hall shall be built to cover the ruins of the old habitation ! " Tlie sjDCctral figures then vanished, and, a moment later, a tall gentleman of military ap- pearance strode into the chancel, entered the Hall-pew, looked around, then passed down the nave, and went out through the west door of the church. Eobin Ddu, trembling from head to foot, and 26 The Master of Llantysilio shivering with cold, stood as one tran.^fixed with amazement. He rubbed his eyes. Was it a dream, or real ? At that moment the altnr lights went out, and the o-olden radiance of sunrise streamed in throuoh the stained-olass window of the cliance], already gorgeous with prismatic colours. Eobin Ddu walked slowly to the western door, which he found open as when he entered. He returned to his lodgings, where his friend Timothy's wife greeted him with a pleasant "Good morning;" adding, "You've been out for a walk betimes, Kobin." "Ay!" he replied, drawing near the newdy- lighted fire. "Art cold?" asked Timothy, coming in later on from his work. " That I be," replied Robin. "Seen ghosts agen, I s'pose," remarked Timothy. "Ay! Ay!" said Eobin. "AVell, well! Thee'rt an odd one," said Timothy. " I do b'lieve thee wast born at mid- night of a Nos dydd Calan. Thee'rt a man of second sight sure — ly ! But come to breakfast." Eobin broke his fast in almost complete silence, and afterwards went to the Hall, where he soon commenced working away upon the Master's clothes. The Master s Dream 2 J At nine o'clock Madam put in an appearance, and at ten o'clock the Master strode into the room. " So you've come," said the Master. '' Yes, sirr," replied Eobin. '' An how may you please to find your.lech in all Britain. Looking from the high moorland, the sur- rounding country appeared like a fairy realm stretching towards the region of the setting sun. On the outskirts of the moorland a few strag- gling cottages remained in the days of which I write, and in one of these lived an old woman known by the sobriquet of "Mary the Downs." Waste common land, moorland, and unenclosed heaths are frequently called "the downs" in Wales. Mary lived on St. Lythan's Down, near St. Nicholas, in the Vale of Glamorgan. She re- tained a bright intellect, and could thread her needle without the aid of glasses at the age of ninety-three, and even then remembered all the old folk-stories that were told in her childhood. In her quaint Anglo-Cymric 'patois she w^ould tell the tales of her grandmother, and all the traditions, and nursery stories, handed orally down from one ^feneration to another. She remembered ministers and pious men coming long distances to lay ghosts, and she was per- 38 Roger Mey rick's Ride fectly certain lier great-grandni other was a friend of the ''little people," as the fairies are some- times called in Wales. The Tylwyth Teg and the Bendith-y-Mamau had visited Cogan Pill in her own childhood, and she had been fairy-led in a field near Wenvoe Castle when quite a grown woman ! She had also found strange small silver in her own new tin money-box be- fore anybody had placed a contribution therein. Mary would not have it that her mother had possibly put some small silver in the box "for luck's sake." Seated in her arm-chair beside the glowing fire, Mary would tell her stories as long as any- body cared to listen, and many pleasant hours could be wiled away in the old woman's company. Her language was not polished, and sometimes it became confused ; but she was one of the last of the old Welsh story-tellers, the last of a generation that has seen its day, and is lost in the peaceful past. "Did you ever hear the story of Cast ell Carreg? " asked Mary. I told her I had heard much about the cele- brated cromlech, and others of its kind in the neighbourhood. " Oh, 'tis nothin' 'bout the Druids an' Bards," said she. " 'Tis a story my great-grandfather used to tell my grandfather." The Battle of St. Fagan 39 Mary related the story in her own old fashion. I have woven it thus : — Although nearly five years had passed since the terrible battle of St. Fagan's was fought, the con- flict was still cruelly fresh in the people's memory, and many lamented the loss of relatives and friends as if they had only just been severed from them. In the lowest end of the druidical A^ale of Worship, a small farm-house called Northcliffe nestles under the trees in a veritable sleepy hollow. Away beyond it, broad meadow lands stretch from the mill of Duffryn to that of Lidmoor, both in full working order in the days of Cromwell. On the heights above Northcliffe stood Sutton, then a quaint old Tudor -built house, now it is an ordinary farm. Even in the present days of toil and traffic, Northcliffe is secluded ; still, in the stream that flows through the mill-meaclows, otters are to be seen, and still in the orchards the nightingales sing, as though the world was in its youth. Eoger Meyrick of Northcliffe was a rich man before Cromwell scoured the country, but after- wards he found it difficult to make ends meet. He had lost two sons in the battle of St. Fagan's, and one of them had left a widow and children, the care of whom fell to Roger's lot. Another son, named Cyril, was taken prisoner, and still remained in exile. 40 Roger Meyrick's Ride Late in the autumn of 1649, Eoger Meyrick took the path through the fields in the Vale of Worship, and passed Castell Carreg on his way to the village of St. KichoLas. He had many calls to make, and twilight was deepening into night, when he started to walk home again, this time by way of the road. Autumn leaves fluttered silently downward into one of the most beautiful roadways in South Wales. Broad margins of grass are on each side of the thoroughfare, and, nnder stately and ancient oaks and elms, a sparkling brook glides onward to the valley below. Hoary oaks, that Ijave stood the storms of centuries, crown each upland, and groves of the same venerable trees still remain where once the Druids worshipped. As Eoger Meyrick w^ent past the Manor House, St. Nicholas, where chestnut trees form a dense canopy even in the daytime, and make the road- way as dark as night, early in the evening a man accosted him. "It is dark hereabouts," said the man. *'That it is," replied Eoger; "but who may you be?" " You know my voice, don't you ? " asked the stranger. " I can't say that I do," replied Eoger. "Don't you remember Miles Button of Sheep- cote ? " asked the strano-er. Roger s Companion 41 " I do. He was taken prisoner at the battle of St. Fagan's." " Yes, and lie had a son named Morgan," said the stranger. " I remember," said Roger, sighing deeply. '' Poor fellow ! He was killed in the great battle." " Was he ? " curiously asked the stranger. "To be sure he was," said Eoger sorrow^fully. " No, no," said the man decidedly. "Well, if he wasn't killed, why didn't he come home when 'twas safe for him to come ? 'Tis goin' on five years since that terrible battle." Roger sighed deeply, and tears filled liis eyes. " Morgan Button escaped," said the stranger hurriedly ; " he went abroad and returned." " When did he come back ? " asked Roger. " The last week in October," replied the man. " I've not heard a word about it," said Roger, somewhat tartly. Roger Meyrick was always one of the earliest to know the gossip of the country-side, and re- sented the idea of anybody else being first in the field. " You may not have heard the news," said the strano-er, "but he's come for all that." Just then the men emero:ed out of the dense shadows into the twilight, and immediately Roger Meyrick recognised his companion. 42 Roger Mey rick's Ride " Well indeed ! " exclaimed Eooer. " Sure enough 'tis Morgan Button himself ! But what do you come this way for ? Why don't you go to Sheepcote ? " " To tell the truth," said Morgau, low^ering his voice, '' I want to keep out of the way for a bit. My father is home, and I've been a bad boy — spent too much money, and he's augered about it. My mother asked me to keep away from the house for a few weeks." "And where may you be staying?" asked Eoger. " With the people of Tinkin's Wood," was the reply. " Oh ! with the Powells ? " " The same." The men walked slowly on in the growing darkness, until they reached the little bridge spanning the brook, and leading to the farm- house known as Tinkin's Wood, close beside Castell Carreg. Morgan talked much of his escape after the battle of St. Fagan's, and of his doings whilst abroad, and time seemed to fly, so pleasant was the conversation. The men lingered on the brido-e until nio-htfall, and then Roo^er was loth to leave the wanderer. " Come up with me to the house a bit," said Morgan. " 'Tis early yet." Cyrir s Return 43 " Well, to be sure," said Eoger, " I think I will. It can't be long after six, by the light." At Tinkin's Wood, Roger was warmly welcomed. The inmates were hospitable people, and soon Powell the elder, Moro^an Button, and Eos^er Meyrick were regaling themselves with cakes and cwTiv da (beer). In the midst of their rejoicing, loud knocking was heard at the front door. A stranger begged permission to rest awhile, for the night was dark, and he had come a long distance. " Come in, come in," said John Powell, throw- ing the front door widely open. In strode a tall young man dressed in the fashion of the period. '* I have tethered my horse to a tree in yonder yard," said the strange visitor. John Powell directed his men to see to the animal, and led the way to the kitchen. Roger Meyrick could scarcely believe his own eyes, for there, erect as ever, stood his youngest son, Cyril ! " My son ! my son ! " exclaimed Roger. " My son returned from exile ! " Cyril warmly returned his father's embraces, and his friends' hearty greetings. Then they all sat down and talked, and quaffed large tankards filled with foaming nut-brown ale. Story after 44 Roger Mey rick's Ride story was told, and the night was growing. Morgan Button quafFed the foaming ale and related his experiences abroad. Cyril Meyrick also heartily quafFed the ale, and talked much about his adventures, while John Powell and Roger Meyrick listened long and earnestly. The hours flew like fleet-winged birds before a hurricane. It was eleven o'clock, and Roger said he must o-o, ])ut Moro^an Button and Cyril Meyrick urged him to remain. " If you'll stay ai] other hour," said Cyril, " you shall have my horse. I'll stay here, and you can go home and prepare mother for my coming." What a kind and thoughtful son ! Roger, mounted on a swift horse, would be home in " no time." It mattered little if he remained anotlier hour. Ao^ain and ao^ain were the tankards replenished with the foaming nut-brown ale of Wales. It was midniglit ! Still one more story, then Roo-er must 2:0. It was an hour later when he mounted Cyril's horse, and had the reins put in his hands by his long-exiled son. The knowledge was too good to be true. How the kind wife at home would rejoice, " for this my son that was lost is found again." "Cyril, my bo}^, what is the horse's name?" asked Roger Meyrick. Firefly s Race 45 "Firefly," replied Cyril. ''He's fleet-footed but quite safe." Then Cyril lighted the small saddle lantern which he always used when riding in the dark. '' Good-nio-ht," said Eoo^er. " Good-night/' responded the other men. Down through the darkness and the narrow lane leadincr to the road went Eooer. He was careful just there, for the lane was rough, and the horse was strange to those parts. Presently he reached the road leading from St. Nicholas towards Duffryn. Li flrst the horse went almost too slowly, but once on the good road, it went at a better speed. By-and- by it quickened its pace, and when Roger turned into the road leading from St. Lythan's, Fire- fly was going positively fast. " It's a oood horse," remarked Roger, strokino- its head. Soon afterwards he thought the horse went a little — just a little too fast. Firefly struck its hoof sharply upon the rocky road. That was enouoh ! Firefly started at a race-horse speed, and the hands of the rider could not check him. On, on went the horse and the rider, as though to win a wager. Roger Meyrick used every efi'ort to restrain Cyril's horse, but failed. 46 Roger Mey ricks Ride Although the night was dark, and the roads strange to the horse, the animal raced until Roger Meyrick felt as though he were being carried off in a whirlwind. North cliffe was passed, Sutton was reached, still on, on, through the darkness and the night went Firefly. Up hill, down dale, clattering through villages silent as the grave ; bounding over brooks ; dashing past lonely churchyards where the dead slept oblivious of everything ; aud surmounting every obstacle. Firefly raced as if lives were at stake. Roger's brain whirled. He was almost too giddy to wonder how and where the race would end. What a terrible ride ! He could never forget it — never ! He longed for the first light of dawn to reveal where they were. At last it came. A rift appeared in the grey November clouds, and Roo-er had sufficient liorht to see that they were on the Golden Mile, near Bridgend, and many miles away from home. Firefly slackened its pace for a moment, duriug which time Roger Meyrick was able to turn the horse's head. But the next minute the animal was careering as madly as ever. "The animal is surely bewitched," muttered Roger, as he heard the people in the village shouting, " A runaway ! a runaway ! " The race was fearful, the noise of the people Caste II Cai^reg 47 along the thoroiiglifaie became deafening. Clatter, clatter, went the horse's hoofs upon the road. Eattle and whiz went the whirlwind around Koger's ears, as the " bewitched horse" raced along. Suddenly the cock crew, and the horse stopped. Roger Meyrick rubbed his eyes. He found himself in Castell Carreg ! The "bewitched horse" was the fallen cromlech on which he was seated. The ride was merely a dream engendered by copious draughts of the Welshman's beloved civrw da. Roger Meyrick went home a sorrowful but wiser man, and when he told his wife the story of the Firefly race, she said, " That will teach thee a lesson to come home straiorht instead of going to sleep in Castell Carreg ! " A year later the exiled son returned home, but Morgan Button's fate remained a mystery. Early in the last century it was a folk-remark in that neighbourhood, when a man went to market, to warn him to " Take care thee dost not go for a ride round Castell Carreg on thy way home." ''Zm tbe Da? of 3ut)cjment" A NIGHT IN THE CHAIR OF IDRIS ELYN AP MADOC, a priuce of Merio- neth, had been readiug the Triads, and afterwards pondered deeply upon the one in which it is recorded : — • " The three Blessed Astronomers of the Island of Britain — Idris, the Great ; Gwydion, son of Don ; and Gwyn, son of Nudd — so great was their kuowledo-e of the stars, and of their natures and influences, that they could foretell whatever any one might wish to know till the day of judgment." What attracted his attention most, was that *' they could foretell whatever any one might wish to know till the day of judgment. ^^ At the same time, Belyn by no means wished to know future events so far as the day of judg- ment. In truth that was, he thought, going a little too far ; but his ambition was to know Belyn ap Madoc 49 if ever he would become a great man, a " leader of men," like the renowned Glendower. Then he suddenly remembered the old story, wherein it w\as stated that whoever slept for one night in the Chair of Idris would, as people said, " go mad," or awaken gifted with inspiration — some said poetical, others said astrological, while some declared it w\is a little of each, seeing that poets, seers, and madmen are closely allied. Whatever the ins|)iration w\as, Belyn coveted it, and set about the right way of obtaining, as he thought, a *' peep into the future." Belyn, taking sufficient provisions to sustain himself during his pilgrimage, started in ample time to reach the summit of Cader-Idris early in the afternoon. Very beautiful, though toilsome, w^as the route upward from Dolgelly ; but, though the scenery was grand and impressive, few people in those troublous times heeded the beauties of nature. Grim chasms, beetling crags, and towering rocks overhanging solitary ravines, or lookin^T downward over lono- stretches of rich pastures and tliymy uplands where the heather was not yet in blossom, and the slopes were strewn with fading petals of the golden gorse — had little charm for the rough and uncultured mountaineers of that period, or for the men who were ready to take up arms with or against Owen Glendower. D 50 " Till the Day of Judgment " Belyn, after many pauses to rest on the iip\Yard way, gained the summit, and for a short interval stood to look down upon the vast pano- rama below. It was a grand and impressive scene. Amid warm mists and heated vapours the July sun crept stealthily, and ahuost thief-like, behind the western mountains, as though his golden orb was being watched and his precious darts had a price set upon them. Belyn was dazzled by the sight, as he gazed and gazed, untd the great sun sank below the peaks of the west. For him the western dis- tance held no charms beyond the freedom of the sea, so like his own restless heart, and the grandeur of the wild coast, so like his own wild and uncurbed nature. The north was his home, and his soul cIuuq: to that with all the ardour of a Welshman. But the south, down there about and beyond the Berwyn mountains, held a wonderful charm for him, for there at present the great and renowned Owen Glendower con- gregated his followers. As the last rays of the setting sun blazed above the purple mountains, and the last shafts of golden light glanced like lances between the sharp peaks and splinty spires of the west, Belyn moved towards the Chair, at the foot of which he took a seat. Watching the Stars 5 1 Not far above him eagles poised on their wings, ready to descend in a "fell swoop" into the valleys below, and on the crags around him vultures couoTes^ated as if in solemn conclave, while, lower down, kestrel and kite wheeled wildly in the evening air. Far, far below, lake and river and stream looked like orbs and ribbons of silver in emerald settings, while over all the tardy twilight threw a veil of pale and delicate opal and purple tints. Soon the light, circling clouds, like masters of magic, wove spells around the great mountains, and then Belyn felt himself altogether cut out from the lower world. Soon afterwards, nerving himself for the occa- sion, Belyn took his seat in wdiat is called the '' Chair." Night approached, and while dark clouds circled below the peak, above, in the clear purple sky, the stars came out and sparkled like jewels. And then Belyn thought within himself, No wonder that Idris GawT (Great) had come there in dateless days far above the world to watch the stars. Then there came to his mind once more the enthralling words of the ancient Triads — " Idris the Great ; Gwydion, son of Don ; and Gwyn, son of Nudd. So great was their knowledge of the stars, and of their natures and influences, that they could foretell whatever 52 '' Till the Day of Judgment " any one might wish to know till the day of judgment." " So far," he whispered under his breath, for the very thought overpowered him with awe. " So far," he repeated, as a shudder passed through his frame and the night wind j^layed around his fevered brow, and cooled his heated brain that throbbed with a wild unrest. At last, when the first sense and symptoms of drowsiness began to oppress him, he tried to ward them ofi". For, in truth, although he came up there to get the magic sleep, — ah ! now it had come to the rub, he feared the nameless horror of— madness ! What if he should go mad — yes, mad, and die out there on the heights alone, and far from kith and kin ; or worse still, become a wild and sense-refc wanderer among the mountains, or a time-driven and brain-consumed skeleton, to descend like an evil spirit among his people, and prove himself to be a living example of one who had dared more than a mortal should ? No ; he would not sleep in the Chair of Idris. He would remain awake, and descend from the great and gloomy peak as soon as the day-dawn appeared. Suddenly, and without warning, he found himself in utter darkness. Oh, the horror of it ! He stretched forth his hands as if to grasp> some In the Chair of Idris 53 friendly rock or ledge, but in vain. What was worse, it was a thick darkness, in which he gasped for breath. He thought be must soon be suffocated. One momeut he shivered with the cold until his teeth chattered ; the next he was burninof with fever heat, until his pulse throbbed as though ready to burst with liquid fire. Alas ! that he ever was so foolish as to veuture to the Chair of Idris, and, after all, be unable to sleep in it. Surely they were mad who had said, that " he who slej^t for one night in the Chair of Idris would awaken gifted with poetical or astro- logical inspiration," when there was no sleep to be had in the hated spot. Presently to his great relief the darkness seemed to decrease, and he hailed a faint grey glimmer- ing light, as one who, clinging to a shattered spar on mid-ocean, greets a distant sail. Belyn was almost frantic with delight. The grey light developing revealed gigantic forms, and Belyn began to think of Idris the Great, of Gwydion the son of Don, of Gwyn the son of Nudd, and last, but not least, of the Brenin Llwyd the Grey King, who, they said, seated himself among the mountain peaks and dis- covered the secrets of the stars. Belyn then heard the sound as of uncurbed 54 " Till the Day of Judgment'' floods let loose, and the rushiug of waters, and tlie noise of many conflicting winds. He re- membered he truly was near the " fountain of the waters, and the cradle of the winds." Out of what he thought to be the dim morning twilight, a voice came, and this is what it said : " When thou hast secrets to keep, dost thou know where to keep them ? " Another voice answered in hollow tones, " No." " Trust them to the depths of the ocean ; trust them to the rocky fastnesses of the mountains ; trust them to the lone star distance, but not to (^fellow-mortal ! " Belyn sighed. It was a relief, and yet not quite a pleasure, to hear these strange and un- earthly voices. " Hast thou ambition ? " again questioned the greater voice. " Ay ! ay ! " responded the lesser voice. '•' Place it on the flower of the field, and it will wither ; plant it in the furrows with the grain, and it will be blighted ; set it in the sweet aff'ec- tions of thy heart, and it will turn to wormwood and gall ; let it follow the warrior, and it will end in conflict, in death, in dust ! " Then another voice chaunted : " Few win renown ! The monarch's crown Is worn in pain ! A Mysterious Voice 55 The warrior's strength Is spent at length, In vain, in vain ! " Belyn almost groaned. His ambitiou was to follow Glcndower, and, like him, to become a leader of men — a migiity warrior — an everlast- \\\^X world-name. One of the mysterious people appeared to divine his thoughts, for, after a pause, the greater voice cried: "Beware, rash youth, beware of warfare, of battle, of woe, while yet no thread of silver is seen in thy dark curling hair. AVe know thy wishes. They are to go forth to battle — to earn a miMitv name, and to come home victo- rious and triumphant. Be not rash. Many will go forth and few will return. Go home, and try not to learn the secrets of the stars. The greatest inspiration is to do good to thy neigh- bours as to thyself, to be true to thyself and thus be true to all men— to help the helpless, to comfort the sorrowful, to give food to the hungry, and to do well in the sphere of life in which thou wast born." Then the voice ceased, the gigantic figures slowly vanished with the morning mists, and the sun was shining when Belyn aroused him- self. He was stiff and sore after the night spent in the Chair of Idris, and he began to wonder that during the unearthly watch, or sleep, or 56 " Till the Day of Judgment'' dream, or whatever it was, he had not truly ^' gone mad." As for inspiration, he was quite sure he had received sufficient never again to venture upon such a foolish and daring ex- pedition. Slowly, but in a thankful spirit, he descended homeward. "Where hast thou been?" asked the few wayfarers who met him on the downward path. " Up the mountain-side," said Belyn. '* He's been say in' his prayers," said some jeer- ins^ fellows lower down. Yet Belyn left them alone. ''Hast been amono; the eas^les ? " asked a neighbour nearer home. Belyn remained silent. At length he ap- proached home, and by this time the twilight began to descend slowly upon the earth. He paused to look back, and upw^ards towards Cader-Idris, and it seemed to him as though the grey and gigantic figures once more stood there and gazed kindly downward. Distance softened their outlines, and, instead of being objects of terror, they appeared to be stretching forth their arms as if breathing a benediction upon all below. When he reached his father s partially ruined stronghold beyond Dolgelly, sad thoughts once Sonnds of Revelry 57 more oppressed him, for the home, which liad been a noble fortress in the days of Edward the First, bore many traces of stern resistance and pitiful defeat ; and Belyn wondered after all, if it were not better to live in peace, and let the chances of war to the brave, but wild warriors of Wales. Musiug in this manner, he paused where the dark portcullis threw its shelteriog shadow^s around him, and night wandered soberly into the deserted courtyard. Suddenly he heard sounds of revelry in the banqueting-hall, and the w^ords of Owain Cy- veiliog, the poet-prince of Powys, rang in his ears : — "Fill thou the horn, for it is my delight in the place where the defenders of our country drink mead, and give it to Sclyt the Fearless, the defence of Gw^^gyr. Woe to the wretch who offends him, eagle-hearted hero, and to the son of Madoc, the famous and generous Tudwr, like a wolf when he seizes his prey, is his assault on the onset. Two heroes, who were sage in their councils but active in the field, the tw^o sons of Ynyr, who on the day of battle were ready for the attack, heedless of danger, famous for their exploits. Their assault was like that of strong lions, and they pierced their enemies like brave warriors ; thev were lords of tbe 58 '' Till the Day of Judgment'' battle, and rushed foremost with their crimsou lances ; the weight of their attack was not to be withstood. Their shields were broken asunder with much force, as the high-sounding wind on the beach of the oreen sea, and the encroachiDS^ of the furious waves on the coast of Talgarth. Fill, cupbearer, as thou regardest thy life . . . the Hirlais driiikiug lioru, . . . and bring it to Tudwr, the Eagle of Battles ; . . . give it in the hand of Moreiddig, encourager of songs. . . ." Belyn marvelled as to the meaning of all this noise and revelry, the sound of the harp, the voice of GrufFydd, the family harpist, and the wild and frequent bursts of applause. In a pause of the song he went onward, and, wishful to remain unseen, sought the shadows where, like an eavesdropper, he lingered beside the least -used and garden entrance of the great hall. Once more GrufFydd swept his fingers along the harp-chords, and resumed his song : — ^'Pour, cupbearer, from a silver vessel, an honourable badge of distinction. On the great plains of Gwestine I have seen a miracle, to stop the impetuosity of Gronwy was more than a task for a hundred men. . . . They met their enemies in the conflict, and their chieftain was consumed by fire near the surges of the sea. . . . Pour the horn to the warriors, Owain's noble heroes, who Gruff ydd the Harpist 59 were equally active and brave. They assembled in that renowned pLace where the shining steel glittered ; . . . hear ye, by drinking mead, how the lord of Cattraeth went with his warriors in defence of his just cause, the guards of Mynyd- dawe, about their distinguished chief. . . . Pour out, cupbearer, sweet and well-drained mead . . . from the horns of wild oxen covered with gold, for the honour and the reward of the souls of those departed heroes. ..." Then there was another pause, more like a sacred and solemn hush than anything else, in which only the sounds of the swords as they were being sheathed could be heard., after which the tune was changed. Instead of wild martial music, Gruffydd played a soft and subdued in- terlude in a minor key, which seemed to soothe the warlike spirits of all present. A moment later, the aged and snowy-haired hnrpist recom- menced sinojinof : — " Of the numerous cares that surround princes no one is conscious here but God and myself. The man who neither gives nor takes quarter, and cannot be forced by his enemies to abide to his word, Daniel the valiant and beautiful. Oh, cupbearer, great is the task to entreat him ; his men will not cease dealing death around him until he is mollified. Cup- bearer, our shares of mead are to be given us equally before the bright shining tapers . . . 6o " Till the Day of Judgment Cupbearer, slight not my commauds. May we all be admitted into Paradise by the King of Kings ! " Song ceased, and, lookiiig through the door- way, Belyn saw that the warriors' lances had been laid aside, swords were in their scabbards, and gold- and silver-bordered shields were heaped together in a corner of the hall. He heard his father Madoc calling, " My son — where is Belyn, my son — why tarries he so long — we wait his coming, as the thirsty flowers wait the ap- proach of the life-giving dews, or the refreshing rain ! " ' It was enouoii for the wanderer, who rnshed forward, and immediately found himself locked closely in his father's arms. When the mutual greetings were over, Madoc, whispering a word to the stern warrior sitting beside him, placed his son's hand in his. " For the sword and the honour of Wales ! " shouted Madoc, and all the warriors united in one wild outburst of applause. Belyn looked bewildered. "My son — my only son," exclaimed Madoc. " I proudly give thy hand, and, if need be, thy life, into the keeping of our noble leader — Owen Glendower ! " Belyn dared scarcely glance upw^ard. So much for his dreams of peace ! Under Owen Glendower 6i UiJ asked, he was placed — and by his own father — ^in the hands of Owen Glendower, whose deeds he so recently wished to emulate. After some formalities, he found himself pledged to accompany wherever he went, and to defend the leader of the ofreat rebellion ao^aiust the English king, Henry the Fourth. When Belyn took his seat beside his father, the words of the mysterious speaker rang in his ears : " Many will go forth, and few will return." He was not a coward, but his new dreams of peace were dispelled, not by his own wish, but by his father's ali-poweifiil will. Then he thought of the grim monitor who said, "Do well in the sphere of life in which thou wast born," and, taking up the broken threads of his hopes, he made a resolution to try and do his best, even in taking up arms under the direction of Owen Glendower. Fiercely the conflict raged. Wild yells and frenzied shouts of the living, and the sighs and groans of the wounded and dying, mingled with the ringing clash of arms, made day discordant, and, as evening approached, they increased rather than diminished. Only the sea was at peace. Scarcely a ripple marred the serene surface of Cardigan Bay, and the wavelets seemed almost 62 " Till the Day of Judgment'' too lazy to roll along the sands, or to glide in and out among the rocks under Harlech. On sea and land, the red sun shed a lurid glow that deepened towards the setting, and illuminated the distant peaks with its beacon fires. Darkly in the crimson sunset, the serried hosts fought and wavered, each pause being only the signal for still more desperate attacks. Here and there, on the fringes of the field, cowled monks and solemn friars waited the re- sult of the warfare — waited ready to administer reviving cordials and soothing remedies to the wounded and the dying. Here and there, hovering around the moun- tains, fierce eagles and hungry vultures waited, ready to descend for prey, while hoarse-voiced ravens croaked in resj^onse to hooded crows that stalked the lonely shore while waiting for car- nai^e. o In the front of the fray, Owen Glendower urged his men to unceasing action, while the opposing hosts fought and faltered, then rallied and wavered weakly before the overwhelming force of the enemy. On, on pressed Glendower and his men, as they scaled the heights and looked down on their comrades. Suddenly the red sun seemed with renewed HarlecJi Castle 63 streDgth to glare upon the terrible scene, and, as a vivid flash of sunset light shot across the field, a fierce, ringing cry rent the air, and the war- riors on the heights signalled victoriously to their comrades, who rushed forward and upward in ecstasy. The vanquished forces wavered for a moment, then rallied, and made one supreme efi'ort on- ward, but it was too late. They were crushed back by superior and overwhelming numbers, and fell lifeless on the field. Harlech was taken, and Owen Glendower held the castle. That night, when the slender crescent of the new moon pierced the dark blue sky, and the star of strength shone steadily above Harlech Castle, and the star of love gleamed peacefully over the calm waters of Cardigan Bay, Belyn the son of Madoc lay wounded among his com- rades. Two years had passed since his father gave him to Glendower and warfare, and there was not a braver soldier in the service of rebel- lion. He had fought in several great battles, yet, in this — which they only regarded as a skirmish — he was wounded, and as he thought — "unto death." He found himself, with others, amonof some mounds close under the castle, just where the grass was thickest, and the shcadows were darkest 64 " Till the Day of Judgment " Belyn felt as tliougli he had been in that posi- tion for nights instead of about two hours, when a voice aroused him with — " If thou wouldst have comfort and shelter, follow me." *' I cannot," he murmured wearily. " My wounds are great and will not permit me to move." Whereupon the stranger said, " I will lift thee ; " and forthwith Belyn found himself raised in the great arms of one who appeared to have Herculean strength. It was but a short way across the fields to carry the living burden, and the stranger soon deposited him in the comfortable and spacious kitchen of an ancient farmhouse. Belyn was surprised at his good fortune, but his wounds were so great, and his strenofth so little, that he could not question uor make comment of any kind. In a few days those that remained of the vanquished left the neighbourhood, and Glen- dower's men held the castle while their leader pressed onward. When all was quiet again, and the wounded had either recovered or died on the field, and Belyn was able to sit up, he found that he was in the house of an old friend whom he had not seen since his childhood. Gwilym ap Howel had been his father's firmest G wily 112 ap Howel 65 friend in days gone by, and had left Dolgelly for Anglesea to inherit estates. ''Thy father would little look for me here," said Gwilym sorrowfully. '' Fallen fortunes and loss have brought me to this place, where I would fain live during the remainder of my days in peace, surrounded by my good wife and children. Mine has been a life of trouble and foolish expenditure of time in fighting, and all to no purpose, save that of diminishing my means." At that moment a merry-eyed maiden entered the room, and, tripping gaily up to her father, asked when the stranger would be able to join them ''at meals." Without answering her,* Gwilym said, "This is my little daughter Elined. k& soon as thou art able to quit thy couch, I will give thee into her care. She is as good a nurse of those that are on a fair way to recovery, as her mother is to those who are wounded or in dangerous illness." Thus it proved. When Belyn was able to walk a little, who should lead him but Elined, and by and by it came to pass that the two became inseparable companions. Hours ran into days, and days merged into weeks, still Belyn remained there. Love and 66 " Till the Day of JudgDient'' peace went hand in hand, while rebelliou, and the sound thereof, vanished from the shores of Cardigan Bay. But the longest day has its end, and the time came when Belyn, the son of Madoc, must go from under Grwilym ap Howel's kindly roof. When the morning for the young man's departure came, shadows lurked around Elined's dark eyes, her red lips drooped unusually down- ward, and instead of her sprightly manner, her movements flao-ofed. Noticing this, Gwilym tenderly said, "We are all sorry to see thee going. But come again. Thou wilt always be well received." Belyn saluted his host and hostess and. their family in the fashion of those days, and with a suitable escort went homeward. For many days afterwards, Elined drooped like a floAver bereft of sunshine, and then her parents knew that her heart had gone with Belyn the son of Madoc. In the stronghold of Madoc there was great rejoicing at the only son's return, and when the feasts were over the father said, " Thou shalt go no more in the train of the great Glen dower, but take to thyself a wife, and remain here in peace." Then the truth came out that the world held but one woman for him, and when the son of Belyn and Elijied ]\Iadoc named her, Lis kinsiuan said, ''It is Ijiit right that Belyn — from Beli, the sun — shoul'] wed Elined, Luned, or Lunet — the moon/" Belyn, accompanied by a brilliant retiuue, soon returned to Harlech, and anked Gw;]yijj ap Howel for his daughter's hand, at liie same time adding mirthfully, he knew he jjad '"'al- ready obtained her heart/' When Belyn returned jjorne witlj Elined Ijis bride, few wondered she lia/l charmed liim, for she was " passing fair/*' In the future Belyn had every reas^^n to be tliankful tljat Ids father "gave Jjirn to G^eri- dower," for thereby he oljtained a good and beautiful wife. Belyn never again trouljled hiuiself a.bout tije Triad that says — "So great was their hnow- ledge of the stars, and of their natures and influences, that they couhl fbretell whatever any one might wish to know fAll the day of judgrn/mty But ever to liis dyiijg jjonr lie remembered that ni^dit in the Chair of Idris. ^bc IRaneom of Sir fl^arrv^ StraMino OWN to the wave- worn stretches of rocks under the cliffs and crags of Tresilian and St. Donats, the laver- gatherers go when the tide is high, and, as the waters recede from the long ledges, the women beo:in workiiio:. Brown, and glossy, and beautiful are the long leaves of the sea-liverwort, called by the Welsh country-folk laver, which, when cooked, is known as laver-bread. In the glorious hours of April, May, and June the laver-gatherers are always very busy, linger- ing among the rocks and smooth ledges where the liverwort spreads its leaves, and stretches them out and down into the clear sea-pools. It is the custom of the women to fill laro^e baskets with liverw^ort, and then bring their burdens shoreward, where, in deep pools, they wash and free the laver from all traces of sand. 68 Dymveii s Bow of Destiny 69 After that, the toilers rest awhile on the shore auci in the caves before proceeding home- ward. Close beside Tresilian is a lofty, long, and spacious caverD, which can only be entered when the tide is out. The inhabitants of the neirii- bourhood call it Reynold's Cave, wdiich is sup- posed to be a corruption of Reynard's or Fox's Cave. It faces the sea, and its most remark- able feature is a natural arch which spans the cave a little below the general roof. Even in the present day, it is the custom for visitors to try their luck in throwing pebbles over the arch, so as to fall on the opposite side, but many people fail to do so owing to the great height of the cavern. The number of unavailing efforts — after preliminary practice — made before the arch is surmounted denotes the period of years that must intervene before the person throwing the pebbles will be married, or, if married, be released by death to make another choice. This cavern was known to the ancient Britons as Dynwen's Cave. Dynwen was the daughter of Brychan Brycheiniog, who flourished about A.D. 45. The British votaries of Love were supposed to supplicate Dynwen, who discoun- tenanced celibacy, and presided in the cave near Tresilian. The arch was formerly called Dynwen's Bow of Destiny, and through hoary 70 The Ransom of Sir Harjy St7'adling centuries, many men and maidens have con- sulted the wave-resistingf oracle. Althous^h the arch appears to be very close to the roof, a boat could be rowed over it easily, and about half a century ago a man swam above ifc at springtide. Old and young, rich and poor alike, still try their luck in Dynwen's Cave. In this beautiful cave, when the June sun was shining with almost tropical fierceness, and the younger laver-gatherers washed the contents of their baskets in the fresh sea-pools, the older women rested awhile. Cool and pleasant were the shadows in Dyn- wen's Cave. Sea-swallows, sand-martins, and wagtails darted and flitted over the Bow of Destiny, or dipped down to drink of the rock- bound streamlets that slowly trickled from ledge to ledge, and fell with musical cadences to the pools below. Among the rocks, just where small pebbles and sand mingled on the floor of the cavern, sat the old women, surrounded by a group of merrv oirls, who, treatino^ laver-o^atherins: as holiday work, toiled a little and rested long. While the laver-gatherers either worked in the burning sunshine, where the yellow sands fringed the rocky ledges, or rested where shadows w^ere cool and refreshing, my thoughts w^ent back to St Donats Castle 71 the clays of old, when other generations wandered along the shores. Like drifts of brown sea- la ver thrown up on the sands of Time, the old traditions and stories of this part of Glamorgan came to my mind, and deftly as the laver- gatherers worked among the shelving rocks, I penetrated the nooks and crannies of the past, and with the following results. In the memorials of the ancient Stradlino- family, who, in an unbroken line, from the time of the Norman Conquest until the year 1738, were owners of St. Donats Castle, Glamoro-an- shire, it is thus recorded — " Sir Harry Stradling, in the sixteenth year of the reign of King Edward the Fourth, journeyed like others of his ancestors to Jerusalem, where he was honoured with the order of the Knight of the Holy Sepulchre like his father, grandfather, and others. This Sir Harry died in the island of Cyprus on his return homewards, in the city of Famagusta, and was buried there." The family had an estate at Coombe Hawey in Somersetshire, where they occasioually lived, but their favourite residence was at St. Donats. St. Donats Castle is one of the most ancient in Wales. It is beautifully situated on the side of a lovely but narrow glen sloping to the Severn Sea. Cradled, as it were, among luxuriant trees, its mossy lawns descend in terrace after terrace 72 The Ransom of Si 7" Harry Stj^adling down to the old sea-wall, where in former times the barracks stood. Before the ancient castle the calm sea glitters in the golden glow of summer, and the foam of the cold grey waves looks like driven snow when winter winds swell the waters, and lash them against the rocky barriers of the dangerous coast. On the west of the glen stand the remains of an ancient watch-tower, which was built by Sir Peter Stradling, " to give light to his galley at nights when the family returned from Coombe Hawey to St. Donats." Other authorities said that Sir Peter — from whom Sir Harry was sixth in descent — erected the tower and placed a light therein, " to decoy vessels to the dangerous rocks that extend along the coast for some miles east and w^est of St. Donats." "But," says an old writer, "this kind-hearted and charitable family were far indeed from entertaining any such intention. It is, however, said, that the light in the tower led some vessels astray, that were ultimately lost on the bordering rocks ; but so far were the Stradlings from plundering the cargoes of such wrecks that, instead, they preserved and pro- tected them to the utmost, for the rightful owners — affording, also, every succour to the crews." In the days of Sir Harry Stradling, a notorious Colyn Dolphyn Jo pirate, known as Colyn Dolphyn, a native of Brittany, scoured the coast, now making raids on the English side of the Bristol Channel, then crossing over to Wales and plundering the country there. According to the old chroniclers, Colyn Dolphyn was a tall, athletic, and mighty man, "like Saul in Israel." He ''towered head and shoulders" over the Welsh aiid Enojish alike. o Colyn Dolphyn's name was a terror in South Wales. At the sound of it children crouched around their mothers, and stalwart men trembled, and even in the present century the name of the great pirate is a power in the home, for the Welsh mothers and nurses still say, " Hush ! Be good children, or Colyn Dolphyn will come ao-ain ! " In the reign of King Henry the Sixth, a strange beldame appeared in the neighbourhood of St. Donats. During the day she groped away to the shadows of gloomy glens, dark caverns, or deep dingles, but at night she came forth and wandered about. Her real name, the race from which she was descended, and the manner of her life or source of sustenance, were unknown to any mortal. Because of lier nocturnal habits, the peasants called her Mallt-y-Nos (Night Matilda, or Matilda of the Night). She worked magic and witchcraft, and it was said — thouf^h in fear 74 The Ransom of Sir Harry Stradling and trembling — that she was Colyn Dolphyn's spy, and a minion of the arch-fiend himself. One evening, as Sir Harry Stradling, accom- panied by bis man Dewryn, went from the castle to the watch-tower, old Mallt-y-Nos crossed their path. " How now, beldame ! " exclaimed Sir Harry, throwing her some money. Leaning on her stafi", the old woman paused, looked down at the money, and muttered under her breath, " Thee 'It want a fortune of that kind soon." Then, j)icking up the coins, she hurried quickly under the trees towards the church and village. " Mallt-y-Nos muttered some words, but 1 did not hear them," remarked Sir Harry to Dewryn. The man repeated the words. " What can the hag mean ? " said Sir Harry. " That I know not ; but she means no good, w^e may be sure," said Dewryn. Sir Harry and his man strode on, and soon reached the watch-tower. Meanwhile, Mallt-y-Nos made her way to the castle. Although shunned by all, turned away from the doors of rich and poor alike, the witch was received kindly by Lady Stradling, who bestowed food, clothing, and sometimes money upon the wanderer. Lady Stradling 75 It was whispered abroad, that the stately sister of William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, and wife of Sir Harry Stradling, was supersti- tious, and fond of consultino- the witch, for sometimes Mallt-y-Nos was closeted alone with her ladyship when Sir Harry was away. " My respects to your ladyship," said Mallt-y- Nos, dropping a curtsey to Lady Stradliug at the door of the great hall. " Bid her come in," said Lady Stradling to one of the maids. The witch entered. As she did so, Elizabeth, Lady Stradling, devoutly crossing herself, said, "Pat food before her, and then send her in to my presence. I wish to consult her as to the properties of ground ivy." After having partaken of the very welcome refreshment, the witch was conducted to Lady Stradling's room, the door of wdiich was imme- diately closed. " Your ladyship looks troubled," said the witch, dropping a very low curtsey. " That I am," was the reply. " It behoves me not to ask questions of my lady, but I should like to know what ails you, madam ? " " Much," was the reply. " Sir Harry is going to Somersetshire, and it is my desire to prevent him." 76 TJie Ransom of Sir Harry Siradling " Why so, my lady ? " "Because I like not the omen he had last night." " What was that, my lady ?" "Heliad a bad dream. In it he was 011 a solitary island, w^here an angry sea rolled and a tempest raged. He said I was crying and wringing my hands, and, standing in a ship bevond the surf, I begofed the seamen to succour him, but they would not. I fear some harm will befall him." Mallt-y-Nos pondered awhile, then said, " That dream bodes no good." " I fear me not," said her ladyship, " and yet I know not what to do." " If Sir Harry will go, he will," said Mallt-y- Nos ; " for he's a man of great determination." " I know^ — I know," said Lady Stradling, im- patiently, as though she wished the witch could do something, or work magic to prevent Sir Harry's departure. Guessing this, Mallt-y-Nos said, " I can warn Dewryn this very night, and that I promise you, my lady." Then dropping a low curtsey, the witch went her way. That night when Dewryn crossed the park, Mallt-y-Nos accosted him. " Beware ! " she said, raising her thin and boney finger ; *' beware ! " Mallt-y-Nos yj " What danger now, liag ? " asked Dewryn, pausing to listen. " Beware of dangers and troubles on sea and land, and soon — soon ! " said Mallt-y-Nos. '^ Dangers, troubles, woe, and mischief, aro always the burden of thy croak ! " exclaimed Dewryn, striding away. '' Beware ! " shouted the hag after him. ^^ Beware ! " cried the mocking echo. The next day Sir Harry Stradling and his men set sail for Somersetshire, wdiere the party intended remaining for some time. It was July when they went, and they pur- posed returning early in August. Tidings were received of their safe arrival in Somersetshire, and Lady Stradling's mind was at rest. Through July the clustering grapes ripened in the celebrated vineyards, and the deer browsed in the parks of St. Donats, where the monks and friars of neio;hbourincr monasteries and abbeys were at liberty to wander at will. Leland in his Itinerary writes : " In. the which space bytwixt the Castelle and the Severn is a Parke of Falow Dere. There is a nother Park of Kedde Deere more by Nor the West from tlie Castelle. Tiie Parkes booth and the Castelle long to Stradeling, a Gentilman of very fair Landes in that Countery." y^ The Ransom of Sir Harry Stradling August came, aud with it the ripened fruits, and corn, and barley, and truly the Givlad ar Hdv — Land of Summer, as Glamorgan was called, looked radiant and beautiful. August waned, and the September moon arose like an orb of beaten gold iu the sapphire sky. Day after day Lady Stradling took her three children, Thomas the heir, Blanche, and the baby, to the terrace to watch and wait for the return of Sir Harry, but still he came not. In the evening of a glorious autumn day, a small sailed skiflf was seen approaching, and in a few minutes two of the crew landed. They hastened to the Castle, and asked for Lady Stradling. The first question they put was, " Is Sir Harry Stradlinof come home ? " and were answered in the negative. " Then," said the elder man of the two, " some ill must have befallen him." " I fear me it must be so," said Lady Stradling, " though we have not had a storm." " See," said the other man, " these things were found by the captain of a schooner off Nash, and brought therefrom to Minehead." The articles were a light leathern package containing a valuable document belonging to Sir Harry, and the figurehead of St. Barhe, the Stradlins^ vessel. In the " Sea Szv allow'' 79 Lady Stradling was stricken with grief as to the fate of her husband. The weather had been so calm and fair that the ship could not be wrecked, but its fate was a mystery. " P'rhaps it has foundered on the Nash," said the people, and forthwith a search party went to the dangerous sands, which can only be approached in calm weather, and when the tide is out. There they found many tokens of the St. Barhe. It was evident that Sir Harry and his crew had been wrecked on the Nash Sands. Meanwhile many weary months passed away, during which Sir Harry Stradling, his faithful man Dewryn, and the crew of the St. Barhe, were kept close prisoners by Colyn Dolpliyn, on board his barque the Sea Sivallow. The St. Barhe, on the homeward voyage, had been seized by the notorious pirate, and scuttled near the Nash Sands. In pain and sorrow, Sir Harry and his men were kept manacled in the Sea Swalloiv, wher- ever it sailed. Now the pirate barque, followed by other vessels belonging to Colyn Dolphyn, fleeted before the wind up-channel, past the Steep and Flat Holms, and on, higher up the Severn, then down again on the wind's wing, 8o The Ransom of Sir Harry Stradling only pausing to seize some unfortunate ship, or running into lonely parts of England and Wales, and re-embarking with spoils from numlDerless castles and abbeys, monasteries and farms. The captain and crew of the St, Barhe were dispersed among the notorious pirate's various vessels, so that there could be no chance of mutiny or the escape of Sir Harry. By-and-by, after one whole year of torture and privation for Sir Harry, it occurred to Colyn Dolphyn that more money miglit be made by releasing the owner of St. Donats than by keep- ing him. Thereupon he proposed that Sir Harry should find a ransom, but the sum named was so high that the prisoner knew his family w^ould be reduced to w\ant and beggary in order to pay it. For several months, even though suffering the pangs of hunger, tlie pains of torture, and the taunts of the coarse and rough sea-thieves surrounding him. Sir Harry refused to pay the ransom. Later on he begged Colyn Dolphyn to reduce the sum. This happened at a time when "trade w^as dull" with the great pirate, who then offered to take 2200 marks — ^just half the sum he at first demanded. A messenger was despatched to Lady Stradling and other members of the family, who, in order to raise the sum wanted, were compelled to sell part of the Stradling property. Watching for the " Sea- Thief 8 1 According to Sir Harry's directions two ancieut manors in Oxfordshire, the manor of Tre-Gwilym, in the parish of Bassaleg, in Monmouthshire, together with the manor of Sutton, in Glamorgan- shire, were sold, and the money was sent from St. Donats to Colyn Dolphyn. Sir Harry, his man Dewryn, together with the captain and crew of the St. Barhe, were handed, ragged, penniless, and without foo'd or raiment, on a lonely part of the coast about ninety miles from St. Donats. Footsore and weary, the victims of the pirate's cruelty reached St. Donats Castle, where they were received with great rejoicing. Soon after his return home. Sir Harry Strad- ling placed arms in the ancient watch-tower, and men who, according to an old writer, had " to watch at night for the sea thief, Colyn Dolphyn, who too frequently cruised along the Severn Sea on ship-robbing intent." Many a weary watchman had waited in vain on both sides of the Severn Sea, for the English and Welsh alike longed to catch Colyn Dolphyn. But the old sea-rover was wary. He knew where schemes and traps were laid, and carefully avoided them. In the course of time Sir Harry thought of the old report concerning the building and purpose of the ancient watch-tower. Pacing up 82 The Ra7iso7n of Sir Harry Stradling and down the terraces of St. Donats Castle, Sir Harry one day — when the white-capped waves hurried landw^ard, and the storm-wind howled through the grim caves on the rock-bound coast — looked across at the watch-tower. " Old Sir Peter kept a light in the tower," said Sir Harry to his faithful Dewryn, " and I think I will follow his example. If light fails to lure our old enemy, nothing will take him. See that a light is put there to-morrow night." A strong lantern was accordingly placed in the tower, and Dewryn took charge of it. Every morning he trimmed the lantern. Every night he lio^hted it. The beacon lidit could be seen far out at sea. Colyn Dolphyn saw it and swore. ^^Ha, ha!" he cried. "Sir Peter's lamp re-lighted ! Well, in times gone by it was a welcome beacon to warn mariners off the wild Welsh coast. A beacon it shall be to me hence- forth. Good Sir Harry ! He thinks of his days with us, and the perils of the sea ! " November fogs glided ghostlike up the Severn Sea, enveloping the coasts of England and Wales. November's drizzling rain fell on land and sea alike. Through fog and rain the old sea-rover fearlessly sailed, for too well he knew the coast to venture into danger. December dawned, and with it at first came Good Sir Harrys Beacon ! 8 sleet and beating hail, followed at the end of the month bj wild winds and blinding snow. The storm raged furiously. Snow fell thick and fast, filling the frozen sails of the Sea Swallow. Icicles clung to the mast. Icicles fell in long fringes from the figurehead of the pirate's barque. Colyn Dolphyn's sailors dashed the icicles from their long hair as it froze. The old sea-robber paced the deck, now shouting a command, then pausing to shake the snow from his shaggy beard and matted eye- brows. '' We must put in to land ! " he yelled. "But where are we?" shouted the man at the helm. " Ofi' the Tuscar," responded the pirate, in hoarse tones, as he peered through the increasing gloom. '' A light ! A beacon light ! " cried one of the crew. Colyn Dolphyn gazed through the snow. '' Good Sir Harry's beacon ! " he shouted. "That will do. Now, make for Dunraven." On, on, the plaything of the tempest, the frolic of the waves, went the Sea Swallow. It was a terrific storm ! Now, creaking and groaning in the snow and surf; now thrust back by the force of the waves, then hurled forward by the relentless winds, the pirate's barque was wrested 84 The Ransom of Sir Harry Stradling from the captain's power. On, like a sheeted ghost, the Sea Swallow, with sail and cordage riven, with frosted yard and spar, and with a half-frozen crew, was driven by the wind. One more leap across the dark and yawning wave chasm — one more dip down into the depths of whirling surf and hissing spray — one more struggle, then, groaning, creaking like a human creature, the Sea Swalloiv struck on tlie Nasli Sands. It was a widely scattered wreck. In the gloom of the wintry daybreak, through hissing spray and wind-blown surf, Colyn Dolphyn and his crew clung for dear life to drifting yard and spar, hoping thereby to reach the shore. Some of the crew were eu- gulphed in the yawning waves, and some, by dint of clinging to the frozen wreckage, were saved, and that on the third day before Christmas. Sir Peter's beacon light had done its work ! Sir Harry Stradling was revenged ! Dewryn, pacing the shore, looked keenly on. Malt-y- Nos, groping among the snow-covered crags and rocks, that on this coast have been hurled in wild confusion, alternately groaned and sighed. Sir Harry hurried to the shore. He had tidings of the wreck, and, ready to lend a helping hand to all " in peril on the sea," he was pre- pared for generous action. I In Captivity 85 Yet even he hoped the wrecked ship was the Sea Sivallow, and the lost included the old pirate and his crew. Foremost among those swimming from the wrecked ship to the shore, was one whose brawny arms and breast battled bravely with the angry waves, and at last succeeded in gaining a rock of safety. There, tall and erect, in the cold of winter and the snow, stood Colyn Dolphyn, with six of his crew. The old sea- robber gazed around and then shouted, " Where — where am I ? " For answer, in the growing daylight, he was surrounded by Sir Harry's men, and, together with the crew of the Sea Swallow, Colyn Dolphyn was made prisoner. The notorious pirate and his men were manacled and marched from the scene of the wreck to St. Donats. Nothing daunted by the disaster, Colyn Dolphyn, on the upward way, playfully promised to call his confederates from the sea to join him in Sir Harry's Christmas sports. He fully ex- pected that if he offered a good ransom, or the return of the sum paid for the release of Sir Harry, the owner of St. Donats would set him free. All the captives were taken to the Castle keep, and there secured to wait until the morrow^ 86 The Ransom of Sir Harry Stradling when, accordiDg to the old chronicles, Colyn Dolphyn, without the aid of judge or jury, was sentenced to death. In solemn tones Dewryn said, " Colyn Dol- phyn ! we doom thee, by means of wind and twist, to writhe until thy soul and body part ! " It was Christmas Eve. Early in the afternoon the javelin men, aroused by a sudden trumpet blast, assembled in the court-yard of the Castle, and were then joined by a band of well-armed soldiers. Soon, as a search-party, they marched down through the glen to the shore, where, perhaps, some lurking ship waited to land others who would be ready to rescue Colyn Dolphyn. The men, however, returned with the tidings that all was clear. At ten o'clock that night, from each battle- ment, court, and mound, hundreds of flambeaux blazed. The guard turned out; the javelin men grimly surrounded Sir Harry, who, accompanied by friends, priests, monks, and friars, went in pro- cession to the Castle keep. Colyn Dolphyn and his crew were brought forth and led to the place of execution. On the right side of the notorious pirate, one of the Friars Minor urged him to repentance ; on the other side, a " White Monk " tried to soothe him by word and sign, and promise of pardon hereafter. The Pirates Invocation ^j Presently the dark and gloomy procession halted before the fatal oak where the pirate was to meet his doom. Then, according to the ancient chronicles, a strange scene was witnessed. The wTctched man, with a terrific orhare, appeared to gaze upon some fearful supernatural form seen only by him. They said he "held converse with the Fiend," and that he " invoked the 'Sire of Sin.'" AVhile crowds transfixed with horror listened, he delivered his invocation, which has thus been rendered in verse by Taliesin, the son of lolo Moro'anwo^ : — " Oh thou ! full well whom I have serv'd, From whose commands I never swerved ; To help thy faithful follower speed ! ISTor stand aloof in hour of need ! By years that bade remorse adieu I By deeds that ne'er repentance knew ! By murder'd infants' parting breath ! By pleading mothers dash'd to deatli ! By hands, through life in blood imbrued ! And by my soul ! with thee imbued ! Come to my aid ! avert this fate ! Our compact told a longer date. Thine am I ! pledg'd by deed and vow ! Supreme of Darkness ! nerve me now ! " Silence deep and profound followed the in- vocation. Dewryn's band of armed men pinioned Colyn Dolphyn, and soon the crowd SS TJie Ransom of Sir Harry Stradling a,round saw the old sea-pirate suspended by his neck from the ancient oak. Before he breathed his last a terrible tempest arose. In the words of Taliesin, the son of lolo Morgan wg : — "... Fierce the wild tornado grew ; Their maniac forks the light'nings fling, And demon hosts are on the wing ; The warring winds assail the deep ; The waves infuriate upwards leap ; The heetling cliffs, in frequent crash, Hurl downwards with impetuous dash ; Fierce thunderbolts the forests rend, And all the elements contend ! " While the thunder pealed and the lightning flashed across the midinght sky, and the crowd stood in terror before the awful gallows-tree wherefrom Colyn Dolphyn's body was suspended, a solitary figure quickly threaded its way to the scene of execution. It was Mallt-y-Nos. Under the heavy snow-encumbered branches of the ancient oaks, she waited until the curious crowd gladly and yet fearfully went homeward. Some marvelled that such a storm of thunder and lightning should occur in the winter ; some said it was because Colyn Dolphyn invoked the Fiend, who was not satisfied with the pirate's latest adventures ; some said it was because the Dead Man's Candle 89 holy Eve of Christmas was desecrated by the execution of the sea-robber and his crew ; while others declared in sinister tones that it was the vengeance of Heaven expressed against Sir Harry Stradling for having despatched the pirate without the privilege of trial by judge and jury. When all was quiet — when the crowd had dispersed, and the dead bodies drooped listlessly in the frosty air, Mallt-y-Nos crept towards. the oak where Colyn Dolphyn hung. In the distance, the prowling fox yelped, the hounds howled dismally in their kennels, and down in the glen melancholy owls hooted to each other. Dewryn alone, unseen among the surrounding oaks, watched the witch in her progress. Afterwards he said she invoked the " Fiend," and that there, in the loneliness, darkness, and snow, she collected the materials necessary for preparing the gruesome " Dead Man's Candle." '' Then," said Dewryn, relating the story to his fellows in the Castle, " she muttered strange words, made strange signs, and uttered unearthly sounds. And I saw that she was joined by three witches of terrible aspect. They bound her hand and foot, and, amid the smell of sulphur and Hames of fire, she was wafted out of sight." From that night Mallt-y-Nos was never seen aofain. In the "Memoirs of the Stradlinos " it 90 The Ransom of Sir Harry Stradling is recorded that for having executed Colyn Dolphyn without trial by jury, '' Sir Harry Stradling, it cannot well be devised why, was bitterly pursued at law by Henry the Sixth." Yet another story about this romantic and picturesque neighbourhood. The last of the Stradlino;3 to live in St. Donats was Sir Thomas Stradling, who was killed " in a duel" at Montpelier, in France, on September 27, 1738, and was buried at St. Donats on March 19, 1739. Much mystery and suspicions of foul play surrounded his death. Young Stradling went abroad witli his friend Tyrwhit, and they agreed in writing that, if any ill befell one of them, the survivor was to inherit the other's estates. Some said that the body conveyed from Mont- pelier to St. Donats, and there buried, was not the mortal frame of Thomas Stradling. Litiga- tion for more than fifty years followed the death of the last of the Stradlings. By that time Tyrwhit, the claimant, was dead, and the Castle was rented to a family named Thomas. In the early part of the present century, when May blossoms filled the land with beauty, and nature looked like a fair young bride going forth radiant and gladly to meet her groom, a strange thing happened. Lewis Thomas left St. Donats Castle in the The Solitary Coast 91 afternoon for Tresilian. After spending some time there, lie decided to walk homeward along the shore instead of following the cliff line. The tide was far out, and there was no dano'er of beino- wave-locked. Durino^ that deliofhtful walk Lewis Thomas thouo;ht mucli and pleasantly of his son, who was "far out at sea." In this state of mind he wandered slowly along the lofty and inaccessible cliffs that towered above him. Far over the sea a soft golden glory lingered, and slowly merged into the purple haze of twilight that deepened almost imperceptibly. When Lewis Thomas was within twenty minutes' walk of the Castle, he thought he felt somebody tapping his shoulder. " It was only a fancy," he murmured, for on the solitary coast not a person could be seen. Only the sea-swallows darting to the cliff cavities, and the sea-gulls flying in their wake, were visible. Again he felt a tap upon his shoulder, and this time, turning round, he saw beside him a tall bearded man, dressed as a sailor. "What may you want?" asked Lewis Thomas accostiuo; the strano-er. "Tliis, only just this," said the man breatli- lessly. " I hurried after you as fast as I could to draw your attention to yonder cliff." 92 The Ransom of Sir Harry Stradling " And what of that ? " asked Lewis Thomas. " Before three days have passed there will be a slight, a very slight landslip there. Now, I want you to promise me something." "And what may that be? I do not like making rash promises." " You shall see ; the land will slip and thereby lower the cliff." "Indeed!" exclaimed Lewis Thomas doubt- fully. " When the land has slipped," said the stranger, "lose no time in making a stairway that shall lead upward from the shore to the fields beyond." "And why?" " Ask not," said the stranger, " but solemnly promise you will do as I bid." " I solemnly promise," said Lewis Thomas. " Then farewell. There's no time to spare — proceed wdth the work at once." Before Lewis Thomas could respond, the stranger vanished. Three days later the Castle servants reported a landslip on the very spot indicated by the stranger. Lewis Thomas went to see it. Yes ; there was the slip which considerably lowered the cliffs in that part. " This would be a good place for a way up from the sea, in case of shipwreck or being A Ship in Distress 93 locked in," said Lewis Thomas, who forthwith directed his men to make the necessary pre- parations for a rougli stairway there. The work was completed, and the whole countryside sang the praises of Lewus Thomas and his work. Months passed. September gales raged — the Severn Sea waves rolled majestically, and their thunders could be heard far inland. Breaksea Point roared in response to Sker, and the breakers around the Tuscar Eock sent their sad wave-messages to the eddies that whirled around the treacherous sands of Nash. In the night of a rainy day, when the wind w^ent down, and a dangerous white fog en- veloped land and sea, a fog-horn was heard. ''A ship in distress," said the Castle folk, some of whom went down to the shore as quickly as possible. But by that time the horn ceased, and the fog, increasing in density, prevented the people from seeing the position of the ship. " It has passed on safely," said one. '' Or struck somewhere," said another. Then the party returned to the Castle. Two hours passed. The Castle clock struck ten. Half an hour later the fog had lifted, and the stars were glittering in the September sky. About midnight loud knocking aroused the Castle people from their beds. 94 The Ransom of Sir Harry Stradling ''Who is it? What is the matter?" asked Lewis Thomas, opening the door. ^' We're shipwrecked mariners," was the reply. " Pray let us in." " To be sure, to be sure," said kindly Lewis Thomas, throwing the door widely open, and thinking^ of his dear son " far out at sea." He lighted the candles, roused the servants, and ordered fire, clothing, and food for the dripping sailors. '' Don't you know me ? " said a bearded man, coming eagerly forward. '' No," said Lewis Thomas. " Not know me ! " exclaimed the man. Lewis Thomas looked closely at him again. " My son ! my son ! " he cried ; '' my only son, whom I thought was far out at sea." After the first joy of welcome bad passed, Lewis Thomas asked where they w^ere wrecked. "We would have been overwhelmed by the tide," said the sailor son, '' but I noticed in the half light a land-slip. We made for that, and there found a stair leading to the fields. The ship was wrecked, but by swimming after me towards the slip, the caj)tain and crew^ were all saved." Lewis Thomas then told the story of the mysterious stranger and his command. '' And the stranger was no other than thou, my boy, Lewis Thomas s Stairs 95 for now I see thou hast grown a beard," said Lewis Thomas, who rejoiced in having performed the promise, and so saved the life of bis son, then " far out at sea." From that day to this, a steep and rugged pathway, now worn with age and partially obli- terated, remains. Leading upward from the shelving cliflfs to and through a tangle where white violets, prim- roses, and blue bells grow in profusion, the path- way is lost among the elderberry bushes fringing the field beside St. Donats Castle. It is known as "Lewis Thomas's Stairs." ?Cbe Sweet Singer of IDalle Cruets EXPERIENCES OF THE SUPERNATURAL. OFT and filmy mists, through which the moonbeams occasionally strayed like arrows of silver, filled the beautiful Valley of the Cross, and lightly shrouded the ruins of tbe celebrated Valle Crucis Abbey, which was founded by Owen Gwynedd, Prince of Wales, in 1 200. Through the light veil of the mist the hoary ruins loomed like a grim warden, surrounded by a staff of sentinels guarding the resting-place of the illustrious dead and the sacred secrets of the past. There, in solemn loneliness and grandeur, kings and princes have been laid to rest ; and beside them mitred abbots, cowled monks, and humble friars are sleeping their long last sleep. There, too, where the shadows fall kindly, and 96 Solitary Travellers 97 the moonbeams quiver gently, lolo Goch, the illustrious poet of Wales, has rested through the long ceuturies that have gone by since Owen Glendower lived at Sy earth, and the comet which appeared, auguring good fortune and success for the intrepid leader of Welsh insur- rection. Slowly through the mist and the early morn- ing moonlight, two pedestrians w^ended their way through the silent valley, and paused occa- sionally to rest awhile, now on one of the stone stiles still so numerous in AVales, and ao-ain lean- ing against a gate to look back as far as they could see. They were tired already, having come a long distance, but consoled themselves by saying, " Two miles more and we shall be in Llangollen." There they were to join a friend who had offered them seats in his dog-cart, bound for a distant town. These solitary travellers were itinerant preach- ers, and like many of their brethren in the present day, they often had to walk far and sometimes fare badly. The name of the one was Kobert Owen, and the other was Eichard Ehys, both ministers of that large community known in Wales as Cal- vinistic Methodists. In their days men were obliged to be good walkers, for the century was young and coaches gS Sweet Singer of Valle Cruets Abbey were unknown in the remote parts of Wales. Sometimes the itinerant brotherhood had the loan of a mountain pony, but more frequently they had to walk. Eobert Owen and Eichard Ehys had already walked twenty miles when they reached the sacred Valley of the Cross. During their journey they had whiled away the time by discussing the views of the day, the state of religion, the spread of infidelity, and lastly, they related anecdotes and stories of fellow-ministers. A great number of the itinerant preachers of Wales are born story-mongers. All the good and bad stories of the Principality are included in their repertoire, and if any Englishman wishes to increase his knowledge of *' gallant little Wales," let him spend a holiday among the people there in the wild highlands or the lonely lowlands of Wales, where the itineraut preachers are still to be found as " thick as leaves in Val- lambrosa." In the ancient farmhouses of Wales, where once devout men of another creed — men whose carved crucifixes, quaintly bound missals, and curious rosaries, proved like a talisman every- where — the itinerant preachers of Wales are to be seen. Cowled monk, mendicant friar, and wandering priest, who wended their way through the gloomy glens, shadowed ravines, or mountain Old Faith m Fairy Folk 99 passes, have been succeeded by the great dissent- ing brotherhood for which Wales is celebrated. In the days of Eobert Owen and Eichard Khys, people believed in ghosts, though the old faith in fairy folk was gradually but steadily waning. Long before the travellers had reached the abbey, conversation turned to these subjects. "Do you believe that there ever were such beings as fairies ? " asked Koberb Owen. " You ask me a question difficult to answer," said Eichard Ehys in his cpaint and slow fashion. " There were such beings — as giants — in times gone by ; that we know — for a certainty. And — if there were — giants — why — should not there have been — dwarfs ? " " But surely it would be impossible for such tiny little creatures as fairy-folk to exist. I have heard my mother talking about the Tylwyth Teg and Bendith-i-Mamau as if she knew them well.'' " Perhaps she did," said Eichard Ehys, the elder man of the two. " I couldn't believe it," said Eobert Owen. " Not believe your own mother ! Oh ! " said Ehys. "Very likely it was only a fancy of hers," continued Eobert Owen. "Her great-grand- mother, her grandmother, and her mother be- lieved in fairies, and it was only natural that lOO Sweet Singer of Valle Crucis Abbey my mother should inherit the belief. Did your mother believe in fairies ? " " She did, and my grandmother too. I will tell you a story about my grandmother," said Richard Rhys. '' I've heard her tell it many a time. In the early days of her married life my father, a small farmer, had a hard struggle to get along. Times were bad, the family w^as increasing, and the harvests were small. One day my grandmother lamented to herself about the near approach of rent-day, and no money to meet it. Mv oTandfather was out workino; on the farm, and the children were playing in the yard. Just as my grandmother w\as thinking like this, she heard a knock at the door. ' Come in,' said my grandmother, and in walked a little old woman dressed in a green gown, with a red cloak and hood, and a tall extinguisher hat. She was one of the ' little people,' she said, and had come to help my grandmother. The fairy told grandmother to go in the dusk of the even- ing to the cross roads, and turn to the one lead- ing to Ruabou. Grandmother went, and was met by a fairy man, who gave her sufficient money to pay the reut, and afterwards, when- ever she wanted money, she went there, and the fairies supplied her." Robert Owen discredited the story, but did not make any comment on it. At Machynlleth loi After a brief silence Robert Owen said, '' Well, come now. Turniug from fairies, do you believe that disembodied spirits return to earth — that ghosts haunt any particular spot or person ? " " I do," said Richard Rhys firmly. " And I do not," said Robert Owen decidedly. "But T would like to have the proofs of your belief." "That you shall," said Richard Rhys. ''Twenty- five years ago I had to fill another preacher's place in the Association held at Machynlleth. When I got there I found nearly every house filled with strangers from all parts, and the deacon had so many visitors himself that several of us had to sleep out. I was one of them. But first let me tell you that I had never been in the town before, and I knew nothing about it at all. The house I had to put up in was very ancient, and I could see it would soon tumble down. Soon after supper the first night I went to bed early. My room I found to be very large — too big for a bedroom. In it was a great four-posted bed, a good-sized round table of solid oak, and other furniture besides. Tired after the long journey I soon fell asleep, and suppose I must have slept for several hours, when a noise in the house disturbed me. At first I thouo^ht somethinof had fallen to the floor in the next room, but by-and-by, when more I02 Sweet Singer of Valle Crticis Abbey sounds came, I could hear the tramp of many feet on the stairs. Suddenly the door of my room flew open, and in walked a troop of men, I could see them as plain as possible, because the moonlight was as bright as day. And what I thought most odd was that all the men were dressed as armed men of hundreds of years ago. One of the men planted himself by the chimney- piece, and the others stood before him. Although I was very fearful, I sat bolt upright in bed to look at them. Some were fierce-looking, others were milder, but all were armed, and all wore swords. The men seemed to be debating, and the leader was apparently giving directions, when one of the number rushed forward, and lifting his sword attempted to kill the leader. In the twinkling of an eye the head man sprang aside, and the assassin was foiled. Terrible noise followed, and I could hear the clatter of arms, and the clash of swords as the men crowded around the fellow, who had tried to slay tbeir leader. Then, as strangely as they came in, they tramped out of the room, and I heard the sound of their feet going downstairs and out to the road." " And what followed ? " asked Robert Owen. " I got up at once," continued Eichard Ehys, " and I looked out, but all was as quiet as the grave. Before I left the town I told the deacon The " Parliament House what had happened, and he had heard the house was haunted." " Did you ever find out anything more about the place ? " asked Eobert Owen. ''Not then/' replied Eichard Rhys, ''but a year later I met a preacher who saw exactly what I had seeu. It appears he found out that the old dwelling was called the ' Parliament House,' and there in 1402 Owen Glendower nar- rowly escaped being assassinated by Sir David Gam, the Fluellin of Shakespeare." " Have you another proof of your belief in ghosts ? " asked Robert Owen. " Yes ; one of my own and one of my fathers," said Richard Rhys. " Seven years ago I was do\Yn in Aberedwy, dear Builth, Breconshire. I had to preach twice on the Sunday and one week night in Builth. The deacon was a blacksmith, and lived next door to the smithy. The weather was very cold, and everybody believed snow would soon fall. It was late when I got to Aberedwy on the Saturday night, and late when we went to bed. In the dead of the night I felt cold, and got up to put some more blankets that the deacon's wife had placed on a chair by the bed. Just then I heard a voice by the blacksmith's shop, and it sounded to me as thous^h the smith was shoeins^ a horse, but it could not be that at two o'clock on a Sunday morning. I got up and looked out. I04 Sweet Singer of Valle Ci'7icis Abbey Snow was coverino^ the road, and the moon was shiniijg. Down by the forge a man was stand- ing while the blacksmith shod the horse. I thought it something important, or a man would never come to shoe his horse at such an untimely hour. Well, I saw the stranger remount his horse, and ride off, and when he was gone I saw a curious sight. In the snow, the mark of the horse's hoofs were the wrong way around. The smith had sliod the horse backward. I didn't then tell the deacon a word about what I saw, but next time I went to Builth, I heard that another preacher had seen the same sight : I was told it was the ghost of Prince Llewelyn, who rode to the smithy at Aberedwy to have his horse shod backward in order to defeat the enemy. Now, the other ghost story was told by my father. In his age, he was then over seventy, he preached one Sunday night at Meifod in Montgomery, and after service he had to go to Llanfyllin on the Vyrnwy, six miles away. It was a dark, wet, and windy night in December. My father, mounted on a merlyn, rode on very comfortably for two miles or more. Then the horse stood quite still. He tried to make it go on, but it would not. Then he heard a rustling noise in the hedge on the roadside. A minute later, a very tall gigantic figure appeared on the road. It stretched out '' For your Life go back " 105 its arms as wide as ever it could, and made a kind of barrier across the way. My father rode nearer to it, and implored it in the name of the Lord to speak. He heard a sound like the rushing of a flood, and then the phantom, with- out moving, said, '' For your life go back." My father was so much astonished that he turned the horse's head, and rode back to Meifod. It was' lucky he did, for next morning the news came to Meifod that about the time my father was stopped on the road, a man was attacked and murdered by a gang of highwaymen. If my father had ridden on, he would have shared the same fate. The spectre on the road was a warning from the Lord. Now, what have you to say about ghosts ? " Eobert Owen did not r^eply. " Do you believe in special interposition of Providence ? " asked Eichard Ehys. " I have no reason to disbelieve, seeing I never had any experience in that way," said Eobert Owen. By this time the preachers approached the ruined Abbey of Valle Crucis. " It is many years since I last saw the old place," remarked Eichard Ehys. " And I have never been here before," said Eobert Owen. " There is time to take a look around, I suppose ? " io6 Sweet Singer of Valle Crucis Abbey " Plenty, plenty," said the older man. By this time the mists began to melt away, the mornino; moonliorht faded, and the shadows grew longer and deeper among the rnins as day- dawn approached. "It's a grand old place," remarked Robert Owen. " Very," said Eichard Rhys, who began moral- ising on the vanity of human desires and the scattered vestio^es of what he called '^ ecclesiastical extravao^ance." Just as he came to a peroration on the subject a sound was heard comino^ from the distance. It was the voice of a singer, singing in the ruined choir. The preachers listened for a few minutes, and then Robert Owen said, " Let us go and see who it is." "No, lio," replied Richard Rhys, "if we do that we shall stop the singer." Robert Owen obeyed his friend ; at the same time he ventured, as the children say, "to have a peep." He just caught a glimpse, no more, of the long and somewhat broad shadow, apparently of a man, across the spot where once costly marble chancel pavement was to be seen. Then, fearing to disturb the singer, he drew back. The '^ Dies Irae^^ 107 The preachers withdrew to a secluded corner of tbe ruins, and there listened as if spellbound. To the humble and simple preachers the singiug was mysterious, and in a language unknown to them. At first the singer appeared to be practising a few bars, then he went on, and by-and-by began siuoino^ the OTand old ^' Dies /7'ae" in Latin. Although the preachers did not understand a word of the hymn, the melody and the manner of singing enthralled them, especially when the singer sang the more pathetic parts. Both Eichard Khys and Kobert Owen w^ould have felt greater sympathy had they know^n the meaning of the words — "Recordare, Jesii pie Quod Slim causa tuse vise, iSTe me perdas ilia die, Qusereus me sedisti lassus, Redemisti crucem passus, Tantus labor non sit cassus." The singer threw wonderfully deep and pathetic expression into the hymn, and when the sweetly sad but powerful voice ceased, Eichard Ehys grasped Eobert Owen's hand, as though he felt shaken to the soul by the grandeur of the sing- ing. There was a pause for a moment only, and it seemed to the listeners that the heavens had io8 Szueet Singer of Valle Crucis Abbey opened, and a voice from on liigli began singing another liymn, bub still in the same unknown tongue. It ^vas tlie sixth "Penitential Psalm," the grand '' De Profundis,'' truly the cry of a contrite heart imploring tlie Divine mercy. Then as if to fully practise the beautiful Psalm, the singer commenced singing in English — " Out of tlie depths have I cried unto Thee, Lord. Lord, hear my voice. . . . . . . With Him is plentiful redemption . . . . . . Let perpetual light shine upon them . . . May they rest in peace ! " Then the singer ceased. Tears fill the eyes of the preachers, who, although they understood very little English, knew enough to recognise some of the leading passages. How long they had stood listening to that wonderful and melodious voice, neither Eichard Rhys nor Robert Owen could tell. This they knew, and this alone. Morning moonlight filled the land with chastened splendour when they entered the ruins of Yalle Crucis Abbey, and when they turned to proceed to Llangollen the sun was fairly high in the heavens. And they knew at last, such had been the power of the singer of those holy and mystic melodies, that hours had passed by like a dream of de- light. The Valley of the Cross 109 " Did you ever hear anything like it ? " asked Eobert Owen in enraptured ecstasy. "Never," exclaimed Koberfc Ehys. "It was truly wonderfid, wonderful." "Whoever the singer was he had a orand voice," said Eobert Owen. " Yes," said Richard Rhys, " but I fear me we have tarried too long, We shall not get to Llangollen in time to go off with Morgan Wynne. That is a pity." "Well," said Robert Owen, "a voice like that is only heard once in a lifetime, and Td rather miss the doo^-cart than lose hearino; those divine strains divinely rendered." The preachers left the ruins and passed by the ancient fish-pond, where once the friars fished and abbots partook of the contents of the anglers' baskets ; then they walked from the lovely Valley of the Cross, and reached the road leaclino; to Llano-olleD. They arrived at Morgan AVynne's house, on the outskirts of the town of Llangollen, to find their friend had taken his departure without them. "How long is he gone ? " asked Robert Oweu. "About three hours ago," replied Mrs. Wynne. " That is all because we listened so long on the way," said Richard Rhys. " It was foolish to do so." I lo Sweet Singer of Valle Crucis Abbey " I don't know so much about that," said Robert Owen. After refreshment and rest, the preachers were obliged to resume their journey. It was somewhat auuoying to have to walk when they had an opportunity of being driven. How foolish they were to loiter on their way ! How foolish it was to listen to the sweet and mysterious singer ! But were they foolish ? For answer they met a horseman half way between Llangollen and their destination. He was riding post haste. " Bad news," he breathlessly shouted, and halted a momeut : " Morgan Wynne and his brother have met with an awful accident. The horse took fright and ran away. John was thrown out and killed on the spot ; Morgan has been badly injured, and is only barely sensible." Then the horseman rode on with the news to Llangollen. Robert Owen and Richard Rhys proceeded to the place where the accident occurred. In a cottage close by, they found Morgan Wynne just able to recognise them, and poor John's dead body laid on a bed in the next room. The preachers in one voice offered up their prayerful thanks to God for their safe deliver- ance from peril, and perhaps death. Deliverance fro7n Peril 1 1 1 Eichard Ehys declared his belief that tlie voice in the ruined abbey was the special and merciful interposition of Providence to retard their progress and shield them from danger. Robert Owen attained a good old age, and to the end of his life he attributed his safety on that perilous occasion to the wonderful, mys- terious, and sweet spirit-singer of Valle Crucis Abbey. ',n ^'^^ "m^ ■'^."-^^ ~, >fy^ . '-^n'V'^i^'^^^':-^-^'- n shadows of the early twilight were falling across the frozen snow^, and the welcome lights of the farm were as friendly beacons to tlie shipwrecked mariner. The cowboy told his story in solemn silence, while tears rained in showers from the eyes of all who listened. Snow fell almost continually for fourteen days after Betty's death, and it was April before any attempt could be made to reach the ruined cottage among the mountains. Even then, the snow remained in many places, and still covered Betty Barebones' remains. May, with its sunshine and songs of birds, came, and then the men ascended the mountains, at the foot of which a large funeral procession w^aited for the coming of the body of Betty Barebones, who w^as buried with her husband in the little village churchyard. Five hundred pounds were found where Betty said three hundred were stored, and Ivor, who was advised by his master, kept the sum he promised to take, and gave the remainder to the old w^oman's next of kin. Ivor the cowboy set himself up in a small farm near Llanwddyn, and years afterwards his eldest son became an earnest and hard-workiuo; minister of the " Corph," as the Calvinistic Methodists are called in Wales. According to poor old Betty Barebones' pro- SMbmerged 159 pbecy, the ancient Llanwddyn was demolished, and the phice where it once stood is submerged beneath the Vyrnvvy Waterworks — that huge artificial lake from which Liverpool receives its daily supply. ICbe fiDan of tbe fIDoat Ibouse, E lived alone, and gloried in it. His home was called the " Moat House/' and that name it bears to this day, though nobody knows why, because there does not appear to be a vestige of a moat near the place. In his Moat House he reigned supreme as an absolute monarch, and when they told him that Oliver Cromwell, having already made turmoil in England, was about to proceed to Wales, Michael Giles exclaimed, " More's the shame for him — a Welshman — to try and beat Welshmen ! But never fear. The Royalists and the Roundheads will pass by little Lisworney." So he leaned back in his chair, and enjoyed him- self like a king. He ate and drank alone, worked and rested alone, and declared that he never suffered from bodily ache or mental pain, simply because his life was unruffled by a companion. 1 60 Living Alone i6i When the old women came around offerinor o their herb infusions, he would laugh heartily at them, and say, " If you want to live well and long — live alone. 'Tis livin' with other people an' bein' bothered with 'em that brino^s on the indigestion an' the black bile an' the rheums. Here am I, as happy as the lark, and as rich as I wish to be, an' all because — I live alone ! " People who were allow^ed to go so far as the threshold of the Moat House said it was spot- lessly clean, just as if '' a woman kept it." When this remark reached the ears of Michael Giles, he said, " Some men be tidier than women. As a rule, women is much like peas in a pod : there's no tellin which is the best till you come to shell 'em, and then like enough you'll find the bigger the pod the fewer the peas. So you mustn't judge a woman by the outside nor the threshold of her house. Sometimes the finer the windows the bigger the cobwebs." Michael farmed for himself. He had never been known to have hired help in his lifetime. His dairy-work, house-work, and farm-work were performed single-handed. He drove his own flocks to market, and there sold them, and as a purchaser he had the reputation of being a hard-bargain driver. He had been known to take his cattle thrice to Cardifi" market, and brino' them back ag^ain, because of the diff'erence L i62 The Man of the Moat House of sixpence ; for ^Yhicll the country people would call after him, " Thee'lt need to shoe thy cattle, to go long distances for the splitting of a hair." Michael Giles only laughed, and would answer, " Perhaps in the long run it would pay to have them shod. Worse things than that have been done." His house, or as much of it as should be seen, was clean ; his garden was well kept, and his farm was always in an orderly condition ; but he had many peculiarities, as might be expected. One of his whims was to strew the floors with leaves, whereat the good people of Lisworney lauo^hed. Michael, seeing no laughing matter in tliat, said, " What could be more beautiful than fresh leaves and woodland flowers in spring-time and summer : brown bramble leaves and ferns in autumn, and fragrant pine spikes in winter ? Are they not nature's carpets, and better than those supplied by the hand of man ?" " Now, Michael," said the lord of the manor, '' what would you tell King Charles if he came here?" The lord of the manor was a staunch Royalist. "Tell the king?" said Michael. "I'd tell him that if he'd learnt the way to reign alone, he'd have had no trouble. 'Tis company that brings trouble. An if the king was to Michael Giles 163 come here, I 'd not let bim put foot over my threshold unless he begged permission." " What would you tell Cromwell ? " asked the lord. '' The very same thing. Only I would add to Cromwell, that more's the shame for him, a Welshman, to try an' beat an buffet his countrymen." The lord of the manor rode away. "Men that live alone are generally morose, but " remarked the parson of Lisworney. " Do I look morose ? " interrupted the man of the Moat House. "Nay, nay, as I was going to remark, I " said the parson. " Do I talk like a morose man ? " asked Michael. "Nay, nay, friend," readied the parson. ''I'm no friend of thine," said Michael, "for thou'rt both morose in looks an' in talk." The parson smiled and walked on. " There's nothin' like livin' alone," said Michael to a neighbour. " If one has a quarrel with oneself, it can't become the talk of the village. When I count up my money, there's nobody to look on through keyholes and cracks, an' when I sit down to have my food, there's nobody to say it isn't done to satisfaction. When I laugh, I enjoy it alone. AVhen I sing, I'm all alone, 164 The Man of the Moat House an' there's nobody to say I am out of tune. An' when I do — which is seldom — run down any- body, I do it alone, an there's nobody to hear." His panacea for all the ills of life was to — live alone. As time passed political matters were getting more complicated, and it was necessary for the Royalists to form an organisation in order to support the king and resist the enemy. The lord of the manor called upon Michael Giles to ask his assistance. "I'll give thee no aid," said Michael. "But come in and sit down, an' we'll talk the matter over." The lord of the manor entered. "I've never asked thy aid, or the king's yet," said Michael, " an' what's more, I never intend to while I've breath in my body. I've lived alone all my lifetime, an' mean to as long as I live." Then he laughed heartily. " I don't understand how you can be so happy," said the lord of the manor. " Why, sir, that's easily understood," said Michael " I've nobody to ruffle my temper, nobody to oppose my wishes, nobody to frus- trate my designs, nobody to thwart my inten- tions, an' nobody to say ' No ' to me ! " The Lo7'd of the Manor 165 The lord of the manor went away, wishing he too lived alone ! " I fear me there are dangers ahead," said a neighbour, a little later on, when news came that Cromwell was in Cardiff. " P'rhaps so, but they'll never come to little Lisworney," said Michael. " But s'pose the troops did come here," said the neighbour. " They'd ransack the place an p'rhaps turn us out of house an home." " Wait till they do come," was Michael's reply. " Living alone hath made me hopeful. I've nothing to fear, nobody to trouble me, an' little to lose." But the day came, when the lord of the manor and other gentlemen had to seek the aid of every man in the neighbourhood, and they claimed, almost pressed, Michael's assistance. The man of the Moat House flatly refused, and the others had to ^o without him. During the absence of all the men in the neighbourhood but the parson and himself, Michael became the protector of Lisworney. In that capacity he acted like a veteran Field Marshal, and, with keen eye, closely watched all who came in or passed through the village. One day a small party of Eoyalist soldiers trooped in, and during Michael's temporary absence in the fields, entered the Moat House. 1 66 The Man of the Moat House Seeing from a distance tbeir movements, Michael promptly returned, and ordered them out of his house. This they refused to do, and declared their intention of remaining there as long as they thought fit. " I'll make ye clear out," said Michael. The men laughed, and, leaning back in their chairs, ate and drank the best of everything in the house. " How wilt thee do it ? " asked one. " Thee'lt see how, time enough," answered Michael. ^' By means of a watch-dog ? " " Nay," answered the man of the Moat House. " By means of firearms ? " queried another. ''Nay," said Michael. ''What good would one firearm be as^ainst six ? " " By burning clown the house ? " asked another. " Nay ; I would not ruin my property for such little sakes as thine," said Michael, with a touch of scorn. " And would ye all willingly sit down to be burnt alive ! No, no. Ill use more effectual means to clear ye out of my house, an' save your skins too." The men laughed at his threat, and in fun waited to see what means he had at hand for ejecting them. In the room in which the soldiers reo^aled themselves there were three doors, one of which A Siege of Bees ! 167 led upstairs, aud the other opened into the dairy. The third was the parlour door. Without attract- ing attention, Michael Giles went out through one door, and made a slight noise upstairs, then descending as quietly as possible he went into the back yard, took a hive of bees, and crept behind the settle. Then quickly turning the hive over, he gave the bees their freedom. Like a dense cloud they swarmed the room, and be- seiged the intruders. With great difficulty, and not without severe stings either, the soldiers rushed out of the kitchen into the open air, only to be followed by the persistent bees. In pain and misery, with swollen faces, eyes, and hands, the men mounted their horses and hastened away anywhere from Lis worn ey. Not without a parting shot from Michael Giles, who at the top of his voice shouted, " I found effectual means of getting rid of ye all. There's nothino^ better than a sieofe of bees ! " The event became the talk of the country- side, and the people declared in jokeful fashion, ''There's nothino^ like bees for drivinsf enemies aw\ay." A few weeks before the great battle of St. Fagan's, the lord of the manor came begging Michael Giles to accompany them to Cowbridge, where all the Royalists were to assemble, in order to proceed to the scene of conflict. 1 68 The Man of the Moat House ''It's your duty to come," said the lord of the manor. '' I call it my duty to remain at home," said Michael determinedly. " I've always lived alone, never had a companion, and why should I go out amongst others ? No, I'll stay at home, and mind the Moat House and Lisworney." He remained true to bis post, and waited anxiously for news of the great and terrible battle fought at St. Fagan's, after which the Parliamentary forces did much damage in and around the neighbourhood of Cowbridge. One evening in May, soon after the Battle of St. Fagan's, a party of Parliamentary soldiers rode into Lisworney. Michael Giles, like a Field Marshal, imme- diately spied them. Seeing the stalwart Welshman, the leader of the party rode up to him. " We would fain rest awhile," said Captain Garland, "and have what private provision we can. Will you direct us ? " This was spoken in a tone of such refined courtesy, that Michael Giles, even though a Koyalist himself, was much touched. Honour be to the magnanimity of the Welsh Royalist, he immediately conducted them to his own Moat House, and regaled the cajDtain and his men with the best provisions he had in his possessioD. Captain Garland 169 Then Michael Giles discovered that the leader of the band was no other than the well-known Captain Garland, who was mentioned in Colonel Horton's despatches to the War Department. Captain Garland and his men halted at Lis- worney for the night, and early the next morning took their departure for Bridgeud. Before going, the captain ordered his men to give three ring- ing cheers for "Master Michael Giles, of the Moat House, Lisworney, and may he live long and prosper ! " And the men cheered to an echo. " He'll prosper as long as he lives alone ! " shouted Michael, whereupon all the soldiers laughed heartily. " I crave a boon before you go," said Michael, resting his hand on Captain Garland's horse. " Anything you may wish to name," said the captain, '' and it is in my power to give." " I crave thy gauntlets," said Michael. '•' And you shall have them," replied the cap- tain, forthwith handing them to MicLael, who promptly returned thanks for the boon. Tiie Koyalists then rode away, and long after the civil war was over, Michael Giles would tease and taunt his own party, by saying, " The Roundheads paid for their place with a pair of gauntlets; but, for their insolence, I paid the Royalists with bees ! " 170 The Man of the Moat House In the course of time Michael Giles was gathered to his fathers, but, about forty years ago a gauntlet, containing coin of various reigns, was found in the thatched roof of the Moat House. ZTbe Xab^ of tbe Xake RYNAOH AP HOWEL, a prince of Montgomery, was in a gloomy mood. His lands were fair, Lis flocks were large, his herds were vast, and his palace near Welshpool was very beautiful. Yet, he was a man with a grievance. His fair domain must fall into the hands of an enemy, unless Owain, bis son, married a rich woman. Unfortunately all the pretty princesses of Montgomery were very poor, while tlie only rich women were Gwenllian of Craig-y-Mwyn, who was already promised in marriage, and 01 wen of Carno. Owain ap Brynach was one of the most hand- some men in Montgomery — a kind-hearted neighbour, and one of the best huntsmen in Wales. He knew his father's grievance, and put off the evil day as' long as he possibly could. But there was no help for him. The beautiful 172 The Lady of the Lake maidens of Montgomery were poor, and Olwen of Carno possessed untold wealth. At last they were married, and the estates were saved. 01 we II was old enough to be wain's grand- mother, and her figure was bent and bowed with extreme age. Her parchment-coloured skin was wrinkled, crows' feet surrounded her eyes, and her lij)S were thin and compressed. Day after day Owain, as he sat down to the banquet, grieved bitterly over his condition. What was the good of all the wealth in the world and no happiness ? Like a skeleton in a cupboard was Olwen to him, and as time passed, the worse matters grew. He disliked her at first, he hated her in the end. When in a maddened mood Owain, without a word to Olwen, would angrily stride out of the banqueting-hall, and go away hunting. It was only in the chase he found any pleasure now. Sometimes he wandered listlessly through the pleasant woodlands, where he sought, but always failed, to find solace for his heart-ache. One day, when he was more than usually gloomy in mind, he threw himself upon a mossy bank in the woodlands, and there, half asleep and half awake, he mused over his condition. Overhead, the interlaced branches of the trees waved gently but solemnly to and fro. Around him, the white anemones quivered in soft summer Ozvain ap Brynach 173 air, and away in the distance the blue-bells looked like a sea of azure. Slowly through the long and natural woodland avenue a lovely maiden came. As she drew near, Owain observed that her face was fair and extremely beautiful. Long golden hair fell in profusion far below her waist. Her hands were like the white anemones, and her lips were red as the summer rose. She came quite close to him, so that he could almost touch her robes. Her eyes were like violets orleaminor darklv under the lonor-frinfjed lids. At last she spoke. " You are sad," she said, in bewitching accents. " I am," he replied. '' And why ? " " Because I am tied for life to an ugly partner," said Owain, as the maiden sat beside him. " Why don't you get rid of her?" asked the beauty wickedly. '' Because it is written, ' Thou shalt do no murder,' " replied Owain, who thereupon poured forth a torrent of laments to the lady who so enthralled him. " I must go," said the maiden. Owain besought her to stay, but she would not " I'll come again to-morrow ! " she cried gaily and then vanished. 174 T^he Lady of the Lake Day after clay Owain and tlie beautiful maiden met, until at length the prince deter- mined to marry her. But how was he to get rid of his ugly wife ? Even the beautiful maiden could not suggest any better or more effectual metliod than — murder ! One day Owain strode angrily homeward, and was in a sufficiently mad state of mind to thrust his sword there and then through his ugly wife's heart. Accor Her father's agony was more than Ursula could endure. Where was St. John? — why, oh why did he tarry ? Yet, if he came, could he save her father \ Li the hour of sorrow her heart failed her. Perhaps St. John had forgotten her ; and if so — well, it mattered little who became her husband. She went out moaning into the sunshine. '' St. John — St. John ! why don't you come ? " Slowly, as one in a dream, Ursula mechanically wandered along the sheep-walks tow^ards Worms' Head. " Oh, my love, my love ! " she cried, " why don't you come ? — why have you broken your troth ? — what shall 1 do without you ? God give me strength to drain this cup of gall ! " " Miss Gibbon ! " exclaimed somebody behind her. " Sir Lloyd ! " she responded. 284 ' Twas in Beaumaris Bay Sir Lloyd Pryce was by no means an un- pleasant man. His manners were those of a gentleman, and there was a sadness in his tone that won Ursula's pity. " I am sorry to see you thus," he said. "You know what I told you a few days ago, dear ? I am quite prepared to keep my part of the compact. Promise to be my wife, and I will rescue the old home from the money- lenders. And I love you, child — oh, so dearly ! Heaven knows I speak truly, Ursula." They were walking slowly along the sheep-walks where the June sunbeams glared mercilessly down upon the parched grass and sun-scorched ferns. " One day more at Rhossilly," Ursula men- tally uttered aloud. "My poor father — it will break his heart I " But mentally she pursued, " Oh ! St. John — St. John ! why do you tarry ? " Then she sank down upon one of the ridges and wept — wept bitterly. Lloyd Pryce was deeply distressed. He was by nature most gentle and refined, and a woman's grief always sorely touched him. "Ursula," he urged, "child, I can't endure you to suffer. AVill you not trust yourself to my keeping \ " "My life, perhaps," she said, "but not my love — never expect that." ''I do not ask it, but will try to win it — I Sii^ L loyd Pryce 285 try to merit it. Will you be my wife, Ursula ? Tell me, dearest ! " Then, choking one deep agonising sob, she said, " To save my father, I will." Lloyd Pryce gently drew her towards him, and fain would have pressed his li23s to hers, but she quietly thrust his arms from around her and said, '' Don't — you mustn't." '^ As you wish, dear," said Pryce. " But I love you more than life, and I wall do my utmost to make you happy." Sir Lloyd Pryce knew nothing of Lieutenant St. John. Dr. Gibbon had kept that episode a profound secret. So they walked homeward, Ursula wishing that the sun's fierce glances would wither her life, as it crushed out the existence of the ferns and grasses around her. At The Grange gateway they met the doctor striding rapidly towards the village. " Father ! " she cried, seizing his arm. There was a fierce unnatural light gleaming in his dark eyes as he angrily thrust her away from him. " Get away. You are no longer my child ! " he exclaimed. " A truly dutiful and unselfish daughter you are ! " "Father!" she gasped, " Sir Lloyd will tell you all. Spare mo — spare me." 286 'Twas in Beaumaris Bay With that she darted indoors. Sir Lloyd Pryce quickly informed Dr. Gibbon of the change in Ursula's plans, and before the day died, all arrangements were made for paying off all the debts and retainino' the old home. o " I never can be sufficiently grateful to you," said Dr. Gibbon. ''It is for her sake/' said Sir Lloyd, '' I love her as I love my life." He spoke the truth. From the first moment he met Ursula he was determined to try and win her. His countrywoman's youth and beauty had first attracted him, but her true worth he preferred above all. Sir Lloyd Pryce was a merchant prince and slave-owner. Jamaica was his birth-place and home, but having, as his uncle's successor, become possessed of an additional fortune and the family title, he was obliged to return and settle, for a part of each year at least, upon the ancestral estates which were in North Wales. In a few weeks' time Ursula became Lady Pryce, and the moment after writing her maiden sio^nature for the last time she heard the bells ringing. Ursula entered the carriage, put her fingers in her ears, and crouched back. How those bells mocked her ! Urstila tJie BiHde 287 Every tone struck out the death knell of her heart. " Untrue to your troth ! " they seemed to shriek. *' False, fickle, fair, false ! " they seemed to groan. "Oh those bells — those cruel bells!" sobbed Ursula. " For ever — for ever ! " moaned the bells. Clatter, clatter went the hoofs of the horses along the sun-parched highway, every hoof- beat causing Ursula's head to ache as though it were pierced with the sharp spikes of a thorny crown. Crowds of villao'ers and visitors, even stranorers who chanced to have business in the neis^hbour- hood, thronged the roadway leading to The Grange. Ursula shuddered as the carriage slackened its speed. "Let the peoj)le see you," said Sir Lloyd. " They are longing to get a smile." Ursula looked out. What did she see ? A vast crowd surs^ino; around the carriag;e. Yes, and a stalwart horseman standinsf beside his horse, which was reined up by the village inn. Who could it be ? She had seen the face before. If only he would remove his slouched hat ! 288 'Twas in Beattmaris Bay Takinof a red rose from his coat, the horse- man strode to the carriag^e, and tossed the flower lightly into Ursula's lap. This action remained unobserved by Sir Lloyd, who was giving directions to the postillions. Ursula shuddered. She dared not look up. The horseman came to the carriage window, doffed his hat, and respectfully offered his congratulations to the bride. "Too late," he whispered in a hoarse tone, reproachfully adding, ''you might have waited!" " Find out all," gasped Ursula. " Don't judge me harshly." The horseman vanished. Later on he "found out all," and immediately quitted the village. "St. John— St. Johu," sighed Ursula. "Oh, my love ! my love ! You were true to me, after all!" 1765 Sir Lloyd and Lady Pryce were staying at The Grange. Frequently since their marriage Sir Lloyd had gone away and left his wife to herself for many weeks. On one occasion he remained three months away, and once he went to Jamaica, staying there for more than three months. Ursula had no objection to his absences, but during the last two years of her life she In the Firelight 289 had tried to solve tlie reason of bis flights. Still she failed, utterly failed in her object, and still her husband remained kind, loving, and gentle to her. * Sir Lloyd was very quiet and grave, the most suitable companion that could be found for Dr. Gibbon. His utterance was generally subdued, and his conversation full of thought, yet his friends and his wife owned to something about him which they could not quite like — a something which in an inexplicable way repelled them. He was passionately fond of music. Ursula had a rich thrilling voice, and often in the twilight Sir Lloyd would have his wife sing to him, her voice seeming to rise and fall like wind sighing among snow-encumbered trees. It possessed a poignant sweetness, and she sang the songs in which his heart delighted with exquisite expression. Those were happy hours to Sir Lloyd — ^they were too precious, he said, because they made the hours when he was away from her too s^reat a contrast. " Oh, Ursula, come here," he said one Decem- ber afternoon. She had been singing to him in the twilight. It was intensely cold, and the fi.relight shed a witching glamour around Ursula Pryce's face and figure. Slowly, but steadily, the snow- flakes were falling on the frozen earth, and 290 ' Twas in Beaumaris Bay ominous clouds fleeted across tlie waniiig crimson sunset. '' Ursula, dearest," said Sir Lloyd, looking lovingly at his young wife, who was gazing at the sea that always cruelly seemed to mock her broken troth. " Yes," she replied calmly, not coldly. *' Ursula dearest," he continued, going to her, and clasping her in his arms. " What is it ? " she asked. " I shall be obliged to go away to-morrow dear, and " " To-morrow % " she said. There was a slight sound of fretful disappoint- ment in her tone. Could it be jDossible, thought Sir Lloyd, that her feelings were changing, that his wife began to cherish, or ever so faintly to welcome, his love ? ''At last I at last!" he uttered passionately, as he kissed her uplifted face. Ursula was amazed. "Darling — darling," said her husband. "It seems so strange to hear you express regret at my leaving. I have hungered for your love so long — so long. It seems so hard to have to go to-morrow — now that I have attained you. Ursula, I have won heaven, and you arc its only angel for me. My precious wife, how I love you." The "• Dofuin ica'' 291 Ursula was surprised at her husband's out- burst of feeling. Her manner mellowed to him, for though she had no love for him, his love of her was surely w^orthy respect. She knew he loved her deeply. Laying her hand gently on his arm she said, "Can't you defer going now?" " Darling — darling, I wish to heaven I could, but I cannot. Business has to be accomplished. Ah, God ! why can't it be deferred ! " Sir Lloyd clasped his wife closely in his arms and kissed her again and aojain. Then calmly he said, " My own precious wife, there are important matters to settle. I will return as soon as possible, but probably not before March." " Going so suddenly," mused Ursula. Then she remembered that her husband always went away at a moment's notice. " Never mind, dear. If I can possibly return before March I will," said Sir Lloyd. In half-an-hour he was ready for the journey. He would go to Swansea and there em- bark on board his own ship, the Dominica, for London. "As we sail down channel," said Sir Lloyd, " I will keep a good look-out for you. If the weather permits, go to the top of Worms' Head and wave a white kerchief — will you, Ursula?" " I will," she said. 292 ' Twas in Beaumaris Bay "And I will wave mine in return," said Sir Lloyd. " Now, sweetheart, adieu, adieu ! " In deeply passionate tones he once more told her of his love, clasped her in a close embrace, and kissed her red lips again and again. He looked at her with hungry love, kissed her hand lightly, and departed. As he walked out through the doorw^ay he muttered, " Ah God ! why can't it be deferred ? — cursed fate that wrests me from her now, now of all times 1 " Ursula and the servants distinctly heard his remark. '' He loves me deeply," said Ursula. " I must be a good wife to him, for the sake of his great love." On the afternoon of her husband's departure it ceased snowing. Two days' subsequent frost had hardened the snow's surface, so that it was possible to walk with comfort. Ursula started for a walk. " Where are you going ? " asked the doctor. ''To AVorms' Head," she replied. "Lloyd and I are o-oins: to sio^nal to each other." " Oh, oh, I merely asked," said the doctor, delighted to find that, after all, the marriage had brouo^ht love. Had it ? Ursula could best answer that question. Rho s silly s Barometer 293 Lady Pryce hurriedly wended her way along the sheep-walks, and soon gained a secluded and sheltered spot on Worms' Head. For six weeks, and ever since Ler arrival from North Wales, she had sought that nook almost daily at all hours. Sometimes it was night when she came, and only the glittering stars knew of her coming. ''Why did she come? Why— why ? " asked the waves as they laughed down on the shore. "Why — why?" screamed the sea-gulls as they sought their nests in the clefts of the terrible cliffs. Dark clouds fleeted across the sky and pro- mised more snow. The wind whistled and howled ominously through the caves along the shore, and Rhossilly's barometer roared. Ursula drew her red-hooded cloak closely around her skirts and shivered. She stamped her feet to keep them warm. Presently she was joined by a stalwart man — the horseman of her wedding day, the admiral of all her dreams. '' So he's gone again," said he. " Ursula, are you prepared for strange news ? " " Have you found out ? " " Yes." '' And who is it — what's the — the other wife's — the Jamaica wife's name ? " 2 94 ^ Twas in Beatimaris Bay For Ursula had come to the belief that her husband had another wife out in Jamaica. "Ah," said St. John, "you — both of us have judged him harshly. There isn't another wife at the bottom of it, after all. I discovered it most oddly. Think of it — I have been more than a year trying to ferret out his secret, and now only obtained it by sheer accident. Have you ever asked why he goes away from you { "No." " Do you mean to tell me that he has never hinted why ? " "Certainly not." " Well, Sir Lloyd Pryce is liable to temporary but terrible fits of insanity. When they ap- proach he places himself under restraint. They occur about twice a year. He is quite sensitive of their approach, and prefers giving himself up to his doctors than alarm his friends. Dur- ing his father's lifetime in Jamaica a private keeper used to attend him. Since his father's and uncle's death. Sir Lloyd has adopted a new plan." " My husband a madman ? " said Ursula, in an incredulous tone. "Yes. Would you know where he is now ? " " Until I do — until I see him mad, I will not believe," said Ursula. A Bridegroom s Madness 295 '' You must leave all arrangements in my bands, or your father will be suspicious," said St. John. '^A letter shall come asking you to join your husband in London. I will meet you at Swansea and accompany you to town. I shall still keep up my disguise. AVhen can you go ? Next week ? " '' Not next week. That's too quick. What of the second week hence ? " " Very good," said St. John. " There ! " exclaimed Ursula — '' There — there's the Dominica, I'm sure. See, he's waving his kerchief, St. John ; please wave mine in return. I have no strength to do it." St. John did as he was bidden. ''All the same," he said, ''I don't believe it's the Dominical "Nonsense, it is," said Ursula. ''Now go — St. John, go — or I shall get mad too." " Meet me here to-morrow," he said. " I will." Ursula's heart throbbed wildly as she returned to The Grange. If her husband were really mad could she live with him any longer ? Never ! And yet — there, she must not indulge in a wild reverie. She was as firmly manacled by the bonds of wedlock as any living woman. Death alone could set her free. One afternoon, later on, Ursula went as^ain to Worms' Head, there 296 'Twas in Beaumaris Bay once more to meet St. John. This time she allowed him to clasp her in his arms, to kiss her once for the old love's sake. Just one dear delirious afternoon, after long years of pain, of heartache, of sorrow. St. John might have tempted her to forsake her husband, but he did not. He w\as too chivalrous for that. Yet, when she sought his help to find out the cause of her husband's absences, he willingly assisted. His love for her had never waned ; hers for him had increased through the years. Yet never was there a more noble, honourable affection than that which existed between Ursula and St. John. "Many men w^ould ask you to forsake Sir Lloyd," said St. John, " but I could not. Such a sin would be monstrous. Darling — my lost love — yon are Sir Lloyd's vrife. Nothing but death must divide you both." Then they parted. "Good-bye, my love," said St. John, as he watched Ursula going down the ridges. " May Heaven protect her through the dreary and — perhaps dangerous future. It is well she should know, lest, in a sudden seizure, he might be tempted to harm her. Dr. Grifiith was right. She ought to know the truth for her own safety's sake." Ursula, after descending from Worms' Head What Horror was before Her? 297 by the sheep-walks of old, paused where the road led to the village. " It's only four o'clock now," she said, looking at her watcb. "A walk will do me good. I shall only be an hour later." The risiuo^ breeze was life-o^ivingf, and it brousfht fresh vio^our to the woman who breasted it. Ursula walked on. Not that she had jDleasure in doing so, but because she was urged by a terrible unrest that would no longer let her remain in one jDlace for any length of time. Her husband a " madman ! " It seemed too terrible, but was there any truth in it ? Perhaps it was only a ruse on St. John's part to get her away from her husband. Yet, so far, she never had reason to doubt St. John. At all events, she must be on her cruard. Suddenly a wild piercing cry, like that of an animal run to earth, only much more terrible, sent a horror through her blood and made her recoil. As she did so something darted at her, and a man's fingers gripped her throat. '^ Let me go," she gasped, seizing the man's hands with a grijD of iron. "Never again !" yelled the man, whose arms she had seized. What horror was before her ! Distorted as the face looked, she knew it to be her husband's. 298 'Twas in Beaumaris Bay She knew it was him, even though the new moonlight was pale, and the passion-filled face was only partially distinct in the weird twilight. His face appeared terribly changed. The eyes seemed to protrude unnaturally from their sockets, and had in them a frenzy and terror pitiful to behold. Ursula felt she must assert her self-control. Madmen's frenzies had been assuaged by strategy. " Lloyd," she cried, '' speak to me. Tell me why I see you thus ? " Sir Lloyd released his hold upon her throat. ^^ I am your wife," she said gently, sooth- ingly. For answer, he seized her in his arms, kissed her passionately, and fled. She followed him swiftly, tearing her gar- ments among the brambles as she crossed the lonely heath. Through the weird light she ran breathlessly, though her husband was soon far ahead of her. A few seconds later and she lost sight of him. He had escaped her. Where was he hiding now ? Then she became afraid, and dreaded the snow- filled hollows on that lonely heath, lest her husband might once more wait for her among the brambles, only to spring upon her again, '' It's all over with Him " 299 and perhaps murder her ! She paused to take breath, and to consider what had better be done under the circumstances. Suddenly the click of a pistol rang through the air, and before she could reach the hollow where her husband had disappeared, three men stood beside him as he lay prone on the snow. '' It's seldom he has such a bout as this," said one of the men, when Ursula came to the spot where they stood ; '' and he's never run off before." '' What is the matter ? " asked Ursula. ''This gentleman (he's quiet now) met us in Swansea, then escaped. He's been wandering for a couple of days. We've found him here at last, having tracked him all the way from Swansea." A gentleman rode up. '' I see you've found him," he said to the men. " Yes, sir ; but he's quiet now. It's all over with him." ''All over!" exclaimed Ursula. "What do you mean \ " " That— that " " Speak out, man. Is the fit over ? " asked the gentleman. "Madam," he added, address- ing Ursula, " this unfortunate baronet escaped my care. He is subject to fits of temporary o oo ' Twas in Beaumaris Bay insanity. This attack has been sharper than usual. Indeed, I fear it is not yet over, though the men assure me it is. This poor gentleman ought to live a life free from any excitement, either pleasant or otherwise." '' He is married," said Ursula, in a dazed way. " Married ! " echoed the doctor. " He is my husband," added Ursula. '' Did he never tell you of his marriage ? " *' No ; it's the first time I've had him under my care," said the doctor. " I merely took charge of him for Dr. Griffitli, who has attended him for years, but just now my friend is some- what seriously indisposed." " It's all up with him, sir," said the men. The doctor went to tlie baronet, who still lay prostrate on the snow. " He's shot himself," they said. Ursula shuddered. " My good madam," said the doctor. " All his wanderinof fits have come to an end. Sir Lloyd Pryce is dead — he has died by his own hand ! " The click of the pistol that Ursula had heard a few minutes previously proclaimed her hus- band's death-warrant. *'God be thanked that he has not injured anybody else," said the doctor. " And to think A Tragic Ending 301 he was married too — might have shot you, dear lady." Ursula crept to her husband's side aud kissed his forehead, while her tears fell keavily and fast upon the frozen snow. When least expected, death had divided them, and in the early days of her widowhood, Ursula felt deeply grieved that her handsome husband's history was so sad, and had such a tragic ending. In a year and three months after Sir Lloyd Pryce's death, St. John and Ursula renewed the troth they had plighted in Beaumaris Bay. Zhc Scarlet IRibbon -SH ! " muttered Ditty Morgan, rock- ing herself before the fire. " Why ? " asked the slumberous girl sitting^ on the settle. " ' Teir nos ysprydion,' " murmured Ditty under her breath. " ' One of the three spirit nights,' " echoed Winnie. " Tick ! — tick ! — tick ! " went the eight-day clock, while every lattice rattled, and snow fell so heavily, that it promised to be deep for the New Year's Eve service. "Why are you listening'?" asked Winnie, starting. " It is only the gwynt traed y meirw !" (wind blowing over the feet of the corpses). " Pw — no!" said Ditty solemnly, as she leaned her elbows on her knees, and buried her withered face between her hands. '' What is it then, boba ? " (grandmother) asked Winnie. ' * Nothing comes of It'' 303 " anwyl ! anwyl ! " added Ditty, moaning and looking into the fire. " 'Twas the cyhyraeth. Didn't you hear it comiii' with the wind ? " "No," responded Winnie. " Whew ! whew ! " whistled the wind, respond- ing to the roaring waves among the desolate cliffs and crags of Glamorganshire. " There 'tis agen," sighed Ditty, '' the cyhy- raeth moanin' up an' down the road. W^e shall have sickness in the place, or some trouble." " Boba ! " exclaimed Winnie. " Fy mlentyn, fy mlentyn bach ! " (my child, my little child) replied Ditty, " I do never feel afeared of the Almighty's warnin' ? Something will surely happen before loog." " You always tell us something will happen," remarked Winnie, " but nothing comes of it." " Nothin' ! what about years ago 'fore you was born \ " " What happened then \ " " Well, I was comin' home from chapel with your mother, an' I did see with my own eyes an angel going in front of us. ' Leave it pass,' ses I to your mother. ' What pass ? ' ses she. ' The angel,' ses I." '* Did mother see it ? " " I b'lieve so, only she wouldn't own to it." " And then ? " " As I was tellin' you, the angel went in front 304 The Scarlet Ribbon of us an crossed the bridge. She had beautiful shinin' wings, an was carryin' a babe in her arms. ' Look,' ses I to your mother, and 'fore we could turn, the angel went up an opened our window, an the next minit she did come out by the front door." " What of that ? " asked Wimne. " Well, the angel didn't come out alone." " Who came with her ? " " She was leadin' a young ooman out — 'twas your own mother, an' 'fore the week's end, you was born, an she was dead." Winnie, shivering, crept closer to the fire. It was a relief to her to hear a distant voice sing- ing one of the sougs that used to be sung while ploughing with oxen in Wales. "It's Llewellyn," said Ditty. " Llewellyn, indeed !" exclaimed Winnie. " I'd know Llewellyn's voice a mile off," and tripplDg lightly to the door she saDg a milking song. " Well done, Winifred — well done !" shouted Ishmael Williams, the bard, as he paused to shake the snowflakes from his coat. " Where's your father ? " " Gone to chapel." " Are you going too ? " asked Ishmael. "Yes," said Ditty, and presently the trio were trudging through deeply drifting snow to the service held on New Year's Eve, to watch the The Cyhyraeth 305 coming of another year. What a service ! Simple yet grand, a service of song and thanks- oivino[ in the cold loneliness of nio;ht and wintei*. in desolate, snow-bound Wales. " H — sh ! " cried Dittv, as her orand-dauo^hter led her up to her own home, where refreshments would be ready for everybody. "Why?" asked AVinnie. " The cyhyraeth — the cyhyraeth ! " cried Ditty. Winnie paused and listened. The wind whistled throus^h leafless trees ; wild waves roared, and the river rushed dark, almost black, between its margins of snow. As a voice from the dead — a hollow sepul- chral voice, came Ditty's half sobbing tones in broken accents — '' The cyhyraeth moanin' on the shore do mean more corpses ; on land, fever or trouble— trouble to a many of ns. H — sh ! there 'tis agen 1 " " Whew ! wh — eh ! " whistled the relentless wind. " Dewi (David) Jones, perhaps you'll favour us with a song," said Isaac Morgan, the sexton, rapping the table with his unstrung bow. " Ton my word, I did never try a song but two times in my life," was the reply. " When did you try % " asked the rector, seizing his flute. 3o6 The Scmdet Ribbon " Wlieu Ned my brother was married, and when Job my cousin did come home from sea. No : I keiit sing," said Dewi, mopping his face with a red kerchief, and looking sheepishly towards the table whereon Winnie placed glasses of metheglin and bowls of flummery for her father's guests. Observing Dewi's glance, Winnie offered him refreshment. " Dewi bach," said Ishmael Williams, known among bards as ''Eos Morganwg" (Nightingale of Grlam organ), " why, man alive, don't eat flummery before you sing." "More you do fill me the better 1 ken sing," said Dewd, encouraged by Winnie's glances. " Nobody can sing with a throatful," said Isaac Morgan. " Come you," said Ditty, " don't you mind 'em. After a long ride, a drop o' meth will warm you a bit," so she poured out a glassful, and Dewi drank it at a draught. "That's uncommon good," said he, mopping his face. " Now then, now then," clamoured the in- creasing company. " What is it to be ? " asked the sexton. '' Well, to be shure— an' if I must sing I must. Now, what d'ye say to Merch Megan ? " " Dewi," exclaimed Ishmael Williams ; " do you want us to lose our hearing ? " Songs and Hymns 307 " I ken sing that better nor no thin'," persisted Dewi. " But the song is not the right pitch for your voice," remarked the rector. " Well, I ken sing it high — high up or low down, down in a whisper if you do like," said Dewi. *' You've a marvellously convenient voice," said Ishmael, "but, Dewi, my boy, if you sing that, you'll " '•' Show how anshient you be sometimes in tellin' of people who kent sing, an never a word 'bout them as ken sing." What did they know of his singing ! Then to the accompaniment of the sexton's fiddle, the parson's flute, and the bard's harp, Dewi began. Leaning forward in his seat, he clasped the table with a clutch that seemed immovable. Loudly and powerfully he sang — his roar rattled the windows, and shook the rafters. That this song should be followed by a hymn was by no means an unusual event, for Welsh gaiety is never unbridled, its gravity is seldom lu2fubrious. o "Will you give out a hymn?" asked the rector, addressing a dissenting farmer. " If you will be good enough to join in, I will give out a hymn, an' help as far as I can," said the farmer, standiug up and leaning his hands 3o8 The Scarlet Ribbon on the back of a neighbour's chair. '' Next paage to the Kiver, common mater (metre)," said he, for the benefit of those who possessed hymn-books. Then he recited the whole hymn, and repeated the first verse a second time. Lustily the thirty or more persons present sang the popular hymn, while the farmer swayed his body to and fro "like a sea-lion," as the sexton remarked. The hymn was re-demanded, then followed songs and sweet peimillious with- out number. ''Winifred," said the rector, "come here. It is your turn now." Winnie was missing. Not a few seconds previously she was among the girls, clustering around the three-legged oaken table. " Winifred !" shouted Ishmael Williams, open- ing the kitchen door. " Winifred ! " cried the women from the porch. "Winnie — Winnie Morgan!" shouted the girls, going out into the snowy roadway. One of the girls lingering after the others beyond the gate uttered a cry of surprise. " What is the matter — what is it ? " asked her companions. " The scarlet ribbon ! " How they fluttered around it. Is it You f " 309 To whom did it belono^? There was no time for sfuessinor. Voices and revelry echoed through the midnight air, and presently the girls rushed into the house to escape the Mari Llwyd and its revellers. No further heed w^as taken of Winnie's absence by the guests that night, only the rector going homeward through the churchyard fancied he saw her flitting down the riverside. Turning his lantern light across her path, he said, *' Winifred Morgan, is it you? You here at this time of night, and alone ? " Quick as lightning the girl, without replying, darted past, leaving him to wonder if it could be Winifred at all. '* It must be," he said, *' and yet " there was a rustling sound be- side him, as half in fear, half in bewilderment, the rector hastened home, for the small hours of the morning were advancing, and as yet high- waymen and footpads had not ceased in the land. Away, down through the churchyard, and into the lane w^ent Winifred Morgan, never pausing a moment, but running breathlessly towards the hills. At every turn along the frozen ground treacherous snowdrifts impeded her movements, still she ran and soon reached a riverside hollow. Threading her way through 3 1 o The Scarlet Ribbon a snowy thicket she entered a solitary cavern, where, in flickering torchlight, a crowd of people stood listening to a speaker who was just con- cluding his speech. His striking resemblance to Winifred could not fail to be noticed — the dark eyes and hair, the quick and active manner touched with hauteur, inherited from one of the princely tribes of Wales — revealed the kinship existing between Llewellyn Gwyn and Winifred Morgan. " We are poor," exclaimed Llewellyn, "over- worked, badly paid, our lives are altogether wretched ; we have no representation, and are oppressed by privilege and the aristocracy. Who looks after us ? So far as the State is concerned we are not looked after at all, but live neglected, despised, and crushed. The rights of man are denied us, the rights of labour are thwarted ; we are bowed down with sorrow, but are we o:oinof to continue thus ? Are we going to remain voiceless slaves ? — a race of miserable creatures, afraid to enforce the rights of labour, or to demand the People's Charter ? Why do the aristocracy and the ofiicials oppose us ? Why, lads ? Because our Charter will give us better food and wages, lighter work and liberty! Listen, lads — you that can't read English, but can speak and understand a good deal — here are the six points of the People's The People s Charter 3 1 1 Charter. Manhood suffrage, vote by ballot, annual parliaments, abolition of the property qualification, payment of members, and the divi- sion of the country into equal electoral districts. We want a share of the law-making power ; we want the middle and working classes represented ; w^e want the People s Charter made law ; and, my lads, we mean to have it. Come, my countrymen, be prompt in action, be determined, and we shall soon see the day when this mighty Charter will be part of our constitutional system ! Lads, come up without delay, and sign the People's Charter ! " Loud applause followed the speech, and in less than ten minutes thirty \Yelshmen had enrolled their names or marks to the People's Charter. Winnie eagerly listened and waited for the speaker to cease, then, stepping a pace forward, she whispered " Silence ! " In a moment the crowd became a mute group of downcast faces, over which slouching hats cast grim shadows. A moment later, extinguished torches smouldered on the ground, among snow- encumbered boughs and tangled brushwood that vainly struggled to surmount the deepening snow-drifts. With sono^ and merriment the Twelfth Nio^ht revellers and roysterers wended their way down 3 1 2 The Scarlet Ribbon liil], under the snow-crowned crag^s and beetlinor rocks fringing the riverside, and, as they passed, one of the cavern-hiders said, '^ It's only the Mari Llwyd." Until the Mari Llwyd party were well out of siHit and hearino:, . the cavern crowd re- mained silent, and were about to relight their torches, when Winnie said, " Idris, and sons of my countrymen and friends j^r^sent — beware ! Dewi Jones is in my father's house — he means no good. Go home while there is safety; I'll take care of the messages." If the Chartists had dared, clieers would have echoed and re-echoed for Winnie, but silence and mystery attended these nocturnal meetings, and only a subdued murmur of emotional applause greeted the girl. In the dark starless nig^ht the Chartists dis- persed, and Winnie returned home to find the house unexpectedly quiet, and its door locked ao^ainst her. "This is Dewi's work," she muttered, "but I'm not afraid of him.'' She rapped loudly, and soon obtained admission. "Winifred!" angrily exclaimed her father, " where have you been ?" No reply. " Answer ! " he thundered. Still she remained silent. The Angered Sexton 3 1 3 " This isn't the first time you've bin an' gODe," continued her father. " To-night every- body was wonder in' where you w^as. Winifred, if you don't tell me where you've bin, and w4iat youVe bin doin' till this time 0' mornin', I'll — I'll be the death of you ! " Winnie remained speechless. " Won't you tell me T shouted the angered sexton, dragging her to the settle. He threw a brand on the smoulderimr fire, poked it, and a lurid flame leaped upward, lighting the room with its garish glow. " Winifred," he said, looking steadily into her face, which was ujDlifted and pallid, " if you don't tell me what your night tricks an' the like be — if thou wilt not confess wdiat do take thee out o' nights uncommon often of late, I'll — there, I'll " The sexton was too exasperated to conclude that sentence, and Winifred remained unflinching while her father resumed speaking. '' It's for no good whatever, an if it had pleased the Lord to spare your poor mother to me, you'd no more be out of a night at all hours There, I'll tell Parson Llewellyn of thee. If there's one thing I kent abide, it's a ooman given to night tricks, for its a sbure sign they be goin' to the pit as fast as Satan ken take 'em. Now^ then, maid, what 'ave you got to say for yourself?" 314 The Scarlet Ribbon '^ Nothing," replied Winnie. '^ I have done no harm, and can come to no danger." " No danger,' hissed a husky voice from the stairway. Winifred started. Even her father looked surprised, for he ima- gined and hoped that Dewi Jones was asleep. Fire-flames leaped and flung long shafts of light across dark shadows beside the settle. In that light stood Dewi Jones, who, in sinister tones, repeated — " No danger in having dealings with Chartists, eh ? " " None whatever," said Winnie, confronting him. "No danger meetin' Chartists, in carryin' messages to and fro between hot-headed dema- gogues like Llewellyn Gwyn and his crew ! " Isaac Morgan stepped a pace backward, still clasping Winnie's shoulder with a firm grip, under which the girl winced. He looked into her faced and asked, " Is he speaking truth ? Art thou a friend of Chartists ? Dost thou dabble thy fingers in that black puddle of iniquity ? " '^ The scarlet ribbon ! " exclaimed Dewi. " See — she wears it ! " With a fierce gesture her father tore it from her breast. " The Lion of Freedom " 315 '' She made a banner for them," continued Dewi ; " an' what's more, there's a song of hers sung by the Chartists." "A sonsf of Winnie's ? " asked the sexton. " Iss ; ' The Lion of Freedom,' " replied Dewi. '' These are the very words — ' The Lion of Freedom is come from his den, We'll rally around him again and again ; We'll crown him with laurel our champion to be — O'Connor the patriot for sweet liberty ! ' " Dewi Jones paused. ^' Go on," said Winnie. " There are three more verses. You're a capital reciter." '' So thou art a Chartist ! " murmured Isaac Morgan, in sad, subdued tones. ''A dealer in devilry, riot, an' godless doin's. Gell, hast thou too renounced thy God to keep covenant with demons? Go, — to me thou art my daughter no longer, but Winifred Ddu now and for ever- more ! " Dewi Jones watched her between the light and shadows as a lion watches prey. " I have not renounced my God," said Wini- fred Morgan. "All Chartists are not unbe- lievers ; Llewellyn is not, neither am I." It was twilight. Ditty crooned by the fire- 3i6 The Scarlet Ribbo7i side : '' I did know trouble was comin' to many of us. The cyliyraetli do never moan for nothin' ; but O anwyl, anwyl, tliat I should liave lived to see this day, au' Winnie a Chartist ! " " Times is bad, an them Chartists do make a sight of damage an' havoc 'mong honest people who ought to be livin quiet at home, instid of jauntiu' 'bout the country," remarked Dewi Jones. '' But don't you bother about Winnie — she's right anuff." Winnie, singing a milking song, passed to the dairy. '' Come here, AVinnie," shouted Dewi, and soon from the dairy Winnie came. " Sit down here on the settle by me," said Dewi. "I do want to have a lid die talk with you." "What is it?" she asked. " Where's Llewellyn Gwyn ? " " I don't know," replied Winnie. " Don't know wdiere your lover is," said Dewi smoothly. "My lover! My cousin, you mean," said Winnie. " Iss, your lover. I do know all 'bout it. You did take a sig^ht of trouble to throw me over for him." " Throw you over ! Dewi Jones, I never Dewi Jones 31? knew you to come a-courtiu' me I " exclaimed Winnie. " Never kuew ! Pw — , Winifred Morgan . You did know all along that I was for you, an' that your father' d never go agin the match." Winifred laughed outright as Dewi continued : " If you didn't understand me, t wasn't my fault. Well now, Winnie, listen. There's the liddle farm at Gellygaer, an' properties down 'bout Aberavon, an' my mother's house to come after her in Llantrissant, an' then I was thinkin' we could go and live up in the hills. I got a tidy an respectable general shop with the butcher's business up in Dinas, an' — pw — , gell ! you don't know half what I've got ready for you. It's only for you to say the word, an' we'll be one." Ditty only half heard what was going on, and still sat crooning in the corner. " Now or never ! " said Dewi. " I'm a Chartist," replied Winnie. " Never mind," said Dewi ; " you wont be a Chartist when you're Mrs. Dewi Jones. Listen, gell." He drew forth from his prodigious pocket an equally prodigious bag, and shook it before her. How the money jingled, rang, and danced in that wonderful bag ! " Let's have more light on the subject," said Dewi, and Ditty stirred the fire. 3i8 The Scarlet Ribbon *' Here ! " exclaimed Dewi, liftiDg the round oaken table nearer the glow. " Come here, Winnie, an' count the money. There's three hundred pounds in hard cash, an' more at home in the till ; an' — wait 3'ou a bit — I've a couple of notes or so 'bout me. Look here." Dewi drew forth a roll of papers from an inner coat pocket, and placed them among the golden sovereigns that were lieaped upon the table. Winnie glanced down, peered at the notes — just a glance, no more ; before Dewi could stay her, she snatched one of the papers and threw it into the fire. " There ! " she exclaimed ; " that's my answer to your love-making ! " "Are you mad?" asked Dewi. "It's fine work to take valuable papers an' throw them in the fire. Never mind, Winnie ; you an' I'll be married yet. When you're Mrs. Jones, you'll learn to respect them bits 0' paper an' me too." For a moment he paused and fumbled with other papers in his pocket, while Winnie stood speechless and triumphant before him. Dewi proceeded to examine the contents of all his pockets. " There's the lease, an' there's the will, an' there's the mortgage deed — but shure anutf I've left it upstairs. 'Tis a mistake to make The Warrant 319 love ill the middle of business. Wait a minute, Winnie, an' I'll go an' look for it." He darted away, and returned sayiog, " It must be here, for 'tisn't upstairs. P'rhaps 'tis with the notes. Fuming and fretting he re- examined the papers, and suddenly looking up, shouted, almost raved, *' What 'ave you been an done ? — you've ruined me for life — you've — " " What is it ? what is it ? " asked Isaac Morgan, coming from his workshop, and quaking with fear. " The warrant — she's been an' destroyed the warrant," shouted Dewi. " What warrant ? " asked the sexton. "The warrant for the arrest of Llewellyn Gwyn," said Dewi. " Llewellyn Gwyn — what has he done % " " Treason," hissed Dewi. Winifred Moro^an lauo^hed. " H — sh ! " said Isaac Morgan angrily. " You may laugh if you like, but 'tis no laughing work. D'ye know what you've bin an done ? The law will have a hold on you " "As soon as Dewi tells — Oh, I am ready for that," said AVinnie merrily. " You kent be my flesh an' blood," said Isaac Morgan tartly, as Winnie, turning to Dewi, remarked, "You're helpless now." The Scarlet Ribbon He began to rave at her. "H — sh!" she said, "don't expose your loss. Take it quietly, beau up like a mau, and all will come right in the end." "Wait till morninV' said Dewi, "we'll see then." For in truth the man was too bewildered to know what to think, or tell the girl who had outwitted him. Sijow covered the Welsh mountains, and filled all sheltered nooks from deep dingles fringing the Severn Sea, to ravines penetrating the fast- nesses bordering upon Breconshire. All the dim land was snow-bound, and the coaches failed to run. The earth was one vast waste of untarnished snow, hiding hedges and even thickets with its hard-frozen foldings. Frozen so hard was it that in most places, horses and foot-passengers could travel with tolerable ease and security, but all vehicular traffic had ceased. People complained about the weather just as they would if it had been a wet winter, or an unusually mild one. Snow was tiresome, but then, so would rains and floods have been, and a milder winter would have reaped a harvest of ingratitude, for which even swallows coming earlier could not atone. It was a winter of unusual severity and Chartism 3 2 1 distress ; grumbliDg and discontent had set their cruel fangs upon the class described by the French as ProUtaire, and there seemed to be no antidote for the poisonous virus, which, going down deeper and deeper, threatened to seize hearts, and thwart their better feelings. Fierce, fitful flames of Chartism leaped and throbbed among the populace, gaining fresh vigour here and there, penetrating remote parts of Wales, bringing votaries from nearly every town, village, and hamlet in the principality. Men of education, ability, and eloquence, impassioned poets and bards, quickly gained hearers, and were surrounded by throngs of earnest and devout fanatics, all enthusiasm, yet thoroughly sincere. Feargus O'Connor, the renow^ned and once dreaded leader of Chartism, hatched plans and concocted schemes which were amplified or simplified as occasion or locality demanded, while leaders and sub-leaders led little groups of Chartists from out-of-the-way villages and towns ; and later on, when agitation had assumed a more active form, the schemes which began with Birmins^ham demonstrations and Leicester meet- ings ended in Newport riots. Even now, though the influence of Chartism has passed away, and people are enjoying three gained points of the People's Charter, many are living to tell of thrills that ran throuo^h their hearts when X 32 2 The Scarlet Ribbon Chartist secret meetings had not developed into riots ; long before Frost, Jones, and Williams paid penalty to the law, which afterwards gave them their vote by ballot, manhood suffrage, and the abolition of the property qualification. Llewellyn Gwyn was shepherd of a little Western Wales fold of Chartists, members liviiio: between Cardiff and Swansea, not higher among the mountains than Diuas, nor nearer Mon- mouthshire than Caerphilly. He had been scouriug the villages for many weeks, steadily gaining converts, while, wherever he went, people soon flocked around him. He could sway them with his eloquence, his strong biblical quotations smote their souls, causing hearers to sigh, sob, and weep, as though their hearts were broken. In his speech people discovered omens of doom, and could hear the rattle of eternal chains. Suddenly his mood would change. Freedom from shackles, pardon, prosperity, and heaven were offered, lifting listeners to heights of happiness until they would break forth into feelings of joy, gratitude, and unutterable emotion. Just six weeks after Dewi Jones entered the lists of Cupid, he made up his mind to " turn Chartist," for he declared " 'Prhaps Winnie will come to in a bit, an if I was a Chartist 'tis like Llewellyn Gwyn 323 anufF my three himdrecl pound will weigh 'gainst Llewellyn in the end." Isaac Moro-an could not formve Winnie, thouo-h he suppressed his feelings for the sake of '' peace in the house," ''but/' he added, "I do fear bad will come of it, an if so, it must rest on their own shoulders." " H— sh ! " murmured Ditty under her breath. ''The cyhyraeth- " " Whew 1 wh — ew ! " w^histled the wind. "Moanin' on the shore it do mean corpses — on land fever, trouble — trouble to many of us. H — sh ! there 'tis agen ! " Llewellyn Gwyn and Ishmael Williams entered the house. "You here, Dewi ! " said Ishmael. "Why, old man, people won't know you when you go back." " What about the business up at Dinas ? " asked Llewellj'n. " Leave off chaffin' me, both of you. If you did know what did bring me down here in such weathers you'd respect me." " Dewi," exclaimed Llewellyn, " you came here to arrest me ; can I ever respect you \ again?" " Not if I was to sign my name to that there j paper I did show you last night ? " "' • - Oh, oh ! " said Ishmael Williams, " if this is 324 The Scarlet Ribbon the way you are going on, the quicker I get away the better." Calling Llewellyn aside, he added, " You had better 0^0 in for hidins^ now for the good of your country. Spies are abroad." ''AYherer' "At present about five miles off. There is no time to be lost. Make your way to Llantris- saut, and I'll follow." '' Disguise yourself," suggested Dewi, *' or you'll be overtaken." " Eio^ht ! " exclaimed Ishmael. " Winnie to the rescue." It was but a moment's work to find apparel. "They'll think it's me," said Winnie, " only just lower your voice." " Don't talk of lowerin' his voice," said Dewi ; " you ken talk loud anuff when you do say ' No ' to a respectable man's offer of marriage." Fully equipped for his night journey Llewellyn Gwyn came out from the little parlour. "Well, to be shure, what a diff' ranee," ex- claimed Isaac Morgan. " How like Winnie ! " said Ishmael. " Good anto me well, if I was to meet you sudden round a corner I'd believe you was Winnie herself," said Dewi. "Winifred Morgan, my anwyl ! " " Winnie," said Llewellyn, " take care of your- self. I'll return when all is safe ; they won't Trouble to a Many of Us'' 325 remain here long — perhaps only pass, and not even search here." "Don't be rash," replied Winnie, uplifting a warning finger. Llewellyn was accompanied through and for a short distance beyond the town by Isaac Morgan, Ishmael Williams, and Dewi Jones, w^ho said, "We'll go just for to make 'em b'lieve 'tis Winnie." They had been gone but ten minutes when a secret messenger came, saying, " Tell Llewellyn they're come, an' will be down here in a twink- ling." " He's gone — he's safe," said Winnie, who bolted and barred the door against intruders. "Before Llewellen can reach Llantrissant he'll be caught," sighed Winnie, sitting down to think how she could best help her cousin and lover. There was little time for escape, yet if she could only plan a ruse to thwart their move- ments for one brief clay ! " H — sh ! " moaned Ditty, "the cyhyraeth — there 'tis agen. On land it do mean trouble — trouble to a many of us ? " And the wintry wind whistled, blowing over the feet of the corpses in the churchyard, where the sorrows of generations w^ere re- corded on grey melancholy stones and crowded tablets fixed against the outer walls of the quaint 326 The Scarlet Ribbon and lonely church beside the snow-swollen river, flowing dark, deep, and swiftly between its margins of snow. "Llewellyn Gwyn is taken I " was the cry, and all who had flocked to his fold were saddened and distressed. He was overtaken a mile or so beyond the town, and arrested for having fre- quently held illegal meetings, inciting persons to discontent and dissatisfaction with the Govern- ment, and charged with conspiracy and dis- obedience to all law and order. The scarlet ribbon was in his buttonhole, and upon his person several treasonable documents were found. For a night he was detained in the old town, whence he started for Llantrissant, and next morning the constable and his companions took him to Cardifl". Proceeding along the high road, with its picturesque surroundings, the con- stable and party, with the prisoner, passed through the quaint villages of Bonvilstone and St. Nicholas, and on to the lofty hill known as the Tumble, overlooking a vale almost unequalled for beauty in Glamorgan. Southward the Severn Sea glittered and gleamed in the morning sun- shine ; eastward Cardiff looked grey and cold ; to the north Llantrissant, cradled among its hills, nestled, as it were, under a coverlet of snow, while far away and beyond it, range after range " Stick to your Charter '^ 327 of snowy mountains loomed gloomily grand from among leaden clouds that promised more snow. These men coming up from the west — fearing Llewellyn Gwyn's presence in Cardiff would rouse people — took all necessary precautions during his transit, yet on reaching the river Taff he was recognised by a great crowd. '^ lilewellyn Gwyn ! " shouted the people. " Speak to us." "I dare not," he cried, "seeing that my speech is watched." The sound of his voice, though he spoke quietly, caused a wild wave of enthusiasm to pass over the multitude, and affairs began to look somewhat menacing. " Be careful," whispered the constable. "You need not warn me," replied Llewellyn. "All I can safely tell you is this: Welshmen and women, whatever you do, stick to your Charter ! " Deafening cheers and applause greeted Lle- wellyns words, and followed him as he pro- ceeded to prison. Cardiff magistrates were inclined to be very lenient. So far, they saw little harm in the "hot-headed demagogue." Perhaps he had spoken unwisely, but there was only a frail charge against him. Still investigation was necessary, and Llewellyn remanded, had to 3^8 The Scarlet Ribbon return to prison for a week — yet longer. Three weeks elapsed, and during that period the case assumed a formidable aspect. Several charges were brought against him, and eventually the prisoner was committed for trial at the next assizes. He was asked if he desired to make any statement previous to his return to prison, and, if so, to be careful. For a moment there was profound silence in court. Everybody expected a speech. Instead of which, Llewellyn stood up, and fixing his eyes upon the presiding magistrate, said, '' I am not guilty of the charges brought against me. Further, you are committing the " Dewi Jones' voice, from the far end of the court, shouted, ^^ Wrong person ! " What a scene in court ! People gazed and rubbed their eyes — even the constable who made the arrest looked dazed. The magistrates were puzzled. What could it all mean ? Dewi Jones was called forward. '' Do you know this man ? " asked the magis- trates. ''If he is not Llewellyn Gywn, who is he?" '' An deed shure," replied Dewi, after being sworn as a witness, '' you may as well ask, for my own eyes deceived me ; an' to tell you the truth plump an' plain, 'tis Winnie, Winifred Morgan, fy'ngariad anwyl ? " Winifred Morgan 329 Winnie's gravity broke down, the gravity of the court was upset, while Dewi added, " If your honours ken keep her in prison a spell till she do come to, an' promise to be Mrs. Jones, I'd thenk you kindly, but if you kent make it convenient I " " Well done, old man," shouted somebody. '' Silence in the court ! " bawled the clerk. "If this is true," said the presiding magis- trate, who feared a plot in the case, "we cannot release the person until further proof of identity is forthcomincr." " Good anto me well ; to think they won't b'lieve my word on oath that 'tis Winnie," said Dewi Jones. "Man alive,''' said Ishmael Williams, "they don't know you!' " Is that it ? An' I could 'ave taken my oath that everybody from Din as to Swansea did know Dewi Jones of the Shop. An' I be a constable too ! " "H— sh!" said IshmaeL "Don't mention that fact. It would take the gilt off the ginger- bread." There was very little time lost in identifying Winnie. Ishmael Williams, Isaac Morgan, and a host of others came forward to testify that the prisoner was not Llewellyn Gwyn. Winnie retired, and soon reappeared dressed 330 The Scarlet Ribbon in her own garments, but still wearing the scarlet ribbon. '' Are you a Chartist % " asked the magistrate, glancing at the ribbon. "I am," replied Winnie, "but I do not make speeches," whereupon the people who imagined her to be Llewellyn Gwyn, cheered lustily, remembering her speech on entering Cardiff. " David Jones, stand forward," continued the magistrate. Dewi obeyed. He doffed his hat, and as Ish- mael Williams remarked, '' revealed the anshient anshientness of his noble brow." '' If you wish to win this girl for your wife, you can do no better than turn Chartist," said the magistrate, laughing; ''but I'm afraid you'll find many rivals." " Theuk you kindly, sur, but now Llewellyn is gone, I've got hopes she'll come to. I ken bide a bit an' see how the tide'll turn." " How did you manage it ? " asked Ishmael Williams, as he accompanied Winnie home. " By putting on Llewellyn's clothes and going down the road. I knew they would take me — we are so much alike." " I do see how you ken keep a secret an' no Nos dydd Gal an 3 3 1 mistake," said Dewi. " 'Tis plain anuff you was born to be Mrs. Dewi Jones." " Perhaps the cyhyraeth prophesied the death and burial of quaint old Welsh customs ; legends are becoming hoary, angels have not been seen in the land since Ditty saw one, and here we are loyal Chartists, welcoming Her Majesty's Jubi- lee," said Ishmael Williams. "We'll keep Nos dydd Galan (New Year's Eve) at home this year," said Llewellyn Gwyn. '^And make-believe we are down in dear old Wales again," adds Winifred Gwyn. The prosperous London merchant and his wife, surrounded by numerous children and grandchildren, are welcoming their Welsh friend and guest in old Welsh fashion. Though Dewi Jones is gone over to the majority — though the sexton's fiddle and the parson's flute have long been laid aside, the bard's harp is tuoeful as ever, but as Eos Morganwg declares, " We are beo-iunino: to feel the anshient anshientness that comes with silvery hair and failing powers." Zbc %CQcni> of IRbitta tbc ©iant (Translated from the Welsh by the late Taliesin Williams^ son of loJo Morganiog.) HERE were two kiugs formerly in BritaiD, named Nymiiaw and Pei- biaw. As these two ranged the fields one starlight night, ' See/ said Nynniaw, ' what a beautiful and extensive field I possess ! ' " ' Where is it ? ' said Peibiaw. " ' The whole firmament/ said Nynniaw, ' far as vision can extend/ " ' And dost thou see/ said Peibiaw, ' what countless herds and flocks of cattle and sheep I have depasturing thy field ? ' " ' Where are they?' said Nynniaw. "'Why the whole host of stars which thou seest/ said Peibiaw, 'and each of golden efful- gence ; with the moon for their shepherdess to superintend their wanderings.' 332 The Pastures of the Heavens 333 " ' They shall not graze in my pasture/ said Nynniaw. '' ' They shall,' said Peibiaw. " ' They shall not' said one. " ' They shall,' said the other repeatedly, in banded contradiction, until at last it arose to wild contention between them, and from contention it came to furious war, until the armies and subjects of both were nearly annihi- lated in the desolation. '' Rhitta the Giant, King of Wales, hearing of the carnage committed by these two maniac kings, determined on hostility against them ; and, having previously consulted the laws and his people, he arose and marched against them, because they had, as stated, followed the courses of depopulation and devastation, under the suggestions of phrenzy. He vanquished them, and then cut off their beards. But, when the other sovereigns included in the twenty-eight kinofs of the island of Britain heard these things, they combined all their legions to re- veno;e the desfradation committed on the two disbearded kino;s, and made a fierce onset on Ehitta the Giant and his forces. And furiously bold was the engagement. But Rhitta the Giant won the day. " ' This is my extensive field,' said he. And he then immediately disbearded the other kings. 334 The Lege7id of Rhitta the Giant " When the kings of the surrounding countries heard of the disgrace inflicted on all these dis- bearded kings, they armed themselves against Ehitta the Giant and his men, and tremendous was the conflict. But Rhitta the Giant achieved a most decisive victory, and then exclaimed, 'This is my immense field.' And at once the kings were disbearded by him and his men. " Then, pointing to the irrational monarchs, 'These,' said he, 'are the animals that grazed in my field ; but I have driven them out — they shall not longer depasture there.' After that he took up all the beards, and made out of them a mantle for himself, that extended from head to heel, and Ehitta was twice as large as any other person ever seen." In a note to this legend the late Taliesin Williams says: — "It is a feature strongly in favour of the antiquity of Welsh literature, that most of the prominent characters found in old English and French romances and ballads are borrowed from it. Even the seats of Government, under the British princes, previous to the Saxon dominion, such as Carlisle, Caerlleon, &c., are selected as scenes of action. King Arthur, Queen Guenever (Gwenhwyfar), Sir Kay (Caihir), Glaskerion (Glas-Geraint), or Ki7tg Ryence 335 Ceraint fardd Glas, or Gadair (Ceraint the Blue Bard of the Chair), Mordred (Medrod), and many others, figure in frequent recurrence in these compositions." The Legend of Rhitta Gawr appears in Percy's Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, under the title of '' King Eyence's Challenge." It was sung before Queen Elizabeth, at the grand entertain- ment at Kenil worth Castle in 1575. In a letter describing these festivities, it is thus men- tioned : — " A minstrell came forth with a sollem song, warranted for story out of K. Arthur's Acts, whereof I gatt a copy, and it is this : — ' So it fell out on a Pentecost,' &c. After the song the narrative proceeds :—" At this the minstrell made a pause, and a curtezy for Primus Passus. More of the song is thear, but I gatt it not." The story in Morte Arthur, whence it is taken, runs as follows : — '' Came a messenger hastily from King Ryence, of North Wales, saying, that King Ryence had discomfited and overcome eleven kings, and everiche of them did him homage, and that was this : — they gave him their beards cleane flayne off. Where- fore the messenger came for King Arthur's beard ; for King Ryence had purfeled a mantell with kings beards, and there lacked for one a place of the mantell, wherefore he sent for his beard, or else he would enter into his lands, and 7^;^6 The Legend of RJiitta the Giant brenn and sLay, and never leave till he have thy head and thy beard. Well, said Arthur, thou hast said thy message, which is the most villainous and lewdst message that ever man heard sent to a king. Also thou mayest see my beard is full young yet for to make a purfell of, but tell thou the kino; that — or it be lons^ he shall do me homage on both knees, or else he shall leese his head." In some of the old Welsh MSS. it is stated that " Khitta Gawr struck the ground with his foot till the earth trembled ! till the skies trembled ! till the stars trembled ! till the tremor ran through all the worlds unto the uttermost depths." Mantles appear to have taken a prominent place in Welsh romance. The old ballad of "The Boy and the Mantle," in Percy's Reliques, is based on Welsh romance, although the com- piler of that work says: — ''The incidents of the ' Mantle and the Knife ' have not, that I can recollect, been borrowed from any other writer." Among the " Thirteen Treasures of the Island of Britain," was the "Mantle of Tegaw Eurfron (Beauty of the Golden Breast), that covered a chaste woman, but would not an unchaste one ; that would cover a truth - teller, but not a liar." Xab? 3ane of Sutton A STORY OF THE ANCIENT STRADLING FAMILY T is a loDely spot. There, in the midst of swampy land, where hillocks of stunted grass and patches of broad water-flags abound, daffodils bloom in the early spring days, and the flowers of the marsh-marigold gleam serenely under the changeful sky of April. There, when autumn mists and vapours steal solemnly along the earth, the will-o'-the-wisp or jack=o'-lantern performs its wildest antics and dances, and hovers deceptively over every sedgy hollow. Through the centre of that marsh-land the rains of winter form pools, and trickling streamlets, and quagmires, but in summer it is dry and parched. On the borders of this marsh or swamp stands Sutton, now a farm-house. 2,3^ L ady Jane of Sutton Even in the present day, so strongly marked are the traces of its ancient importance that it makes it a place of dreams, in which the mind can wander back through loDg and hoary centuries, and live for a season among the people of the far past. Quaint windows, great heavy and massive doors and doorways, a broad open staircase, antique hall and curious entrance — all testify to its former importance as a Manor House. It was formerly the property of the Stradlings of St. Donats, and there, as a rule, either the second son or the dowager retired when the new heir succeeded to the estates. In the days of Sir Harry Stradling — before that unfortunate baronet fell into the hands of Colyn Dolphyn — Sutton was occupied by Lady Jane, tiie mother of Sir Harry. Lady Jane was the daughter of Henry Beaufort, who afterwards became a Cardinal, and she was also the widow of Sir Edward Stradling, who, says the ancient chronicle, *'took a journey to Jerusalem, and there was made a knight according to the order of the Holy Sepulchre. On his return he brought with him from Italy a man of skilful hands in stone-carving, who made the ornamental columns that we see even to this day facing us in the walls of the Castle of St. Donats." In the Year 1739 339 Sutton was one of the manors sold to pay the ransom to Colyn Dolphyn for Sir Harry Stradlins:. Early in the last century common report declared Lady Jane to have been so enraged at the sale thereof that she died an *' unnatural death." Where, how, or when the lady died, the old women could not tell. It was only rumoured that the Lady of Sutton wandered about, especially when the wind was high or when the autumn mists enveloped the swamp. Then, of course, she always carried a lantern in her hand to guide her homeward over the morass. One October evening, in the year 1739, when the air was chill and a dreary breeze crept sluggishly in the highway, two men came along the road about a mile distant from Sutton. They were bound from Wick to Llandow. After the fashion of those days conversation turned to ghosts and the laying thereof " I'll never believe all the stories told about ghosts and haunted houses," said the younger of the two men, and the off-shoot of generations of farmer folk. ^^ If you'd ever known one you'd believe in all of them," said the stranger. "Did you ever see one?" asked the young man. 340 Lady Jane of Stttton " Did I ? " reiterated his companion in a somewhat sneerful tone. ''Ah ! " remarked the stranger, " so you want to know more about ghosts, even if you don't believe in them ! " They were now ascending rising ground that led under a thicket where firs abounded. October was scattering its coinage of gold and broDze leaves upon the sodden earth, and the brambles were bright with their banners of crim- son and amber. Even the fading ferns were momentarily gaining fresh life from the kisses of the October sunset, and, as the odours of decay were borne upon the autumnal air, there was a weirdness in the subtle smell thereof. The young man felt that mystery clung around the fir branches, and the old man felt that stern realities are sometimes more strano^e than fictions. As they went deeper into the fir shadows the young man renewed his questions. " Tell me — have you ever seen a ghost ? " " I have," replied the old man. " Where— when ? " " In Sutton, on September the twenty-seventh of last year, 1738." " Tell me all about it," said the youth. "Well — to begin at the beginning — I never before believed in ghosts. Now don't interrupt. A Humble Researcher 341 or I'll not tell you a word. You must let me tell my own story in my own way — or not at all. In January 1738, I was sent to St. Donats Castle on an errand for a distinguished archaeo- logist. Antiquai'ian research is my profession — if it may be so termed — and this new excursion had considerable attraction for me, and for more reasoDS than one. Strange to say, my name is Stradling. I was born in Coombe Hawey, over in Somerset — and this much I know, that I am one of the direct descendants of the Strad- lings of St. Donats. If you doubt it, read Mr. Pepys, and you'll find the truth. I cannot tell you how glad I was to be bound on a mission of arch geological research to the place where long generations of my ancestors had dwelt. My work would most likely occupy nine or ten months, and, as my patron was a very wealthy man, there was no reason why I should be in haste, I am only a humble researcher among all sorts of antiquities, but I love my work, though I am as poor as a church mouse. I thought the journey from Cardiff to St. Donats could not be pleasant, because I heard the roads were infested with highwaymen and footpads. Besides which — being a man well read in quaint lore, and capable of ferreting out the secrets of stone walls and faded parchment — I had upon my person several ancient documents, and sufficient money 342 Lady Jane of Sutton to keep me for at least three months. Still, you see I had the spirit of a real old Stradling. Don't I look like one ? Here I am, six feet in my stockings, and strong and broad to boot. Not one of your flattened and lean-looking gentle- men, that dejectedly and persistently droop like fallen reeds against each other in our mediseval family pictures, nor yet like those prayerful folk who wandered up and down the long corridor of the castle in melancholy Indian rank and file. I am, as you see, a stalwart Briton, ready to fight any new Colyn Dolphyn that might masquerade his piratical ancestor's pranks. And it always oc- curred to me that if my respected ancestor Sir Harry Stradling, had possessed more ' gump- tion,' he'd not have been carried off by a sea- thief. But it isn't for me to talk of other people's shortcomings. I've always had more than enough of my own. " It was late in January, and as the evening was gloomy I much longed to get to the end of my journey. The gentleman who arranged this work for me had been in communication with Sir Thomas Stradling^ — then in France — and the result was, I had to board and lodge in the castle. " Before I reached my destination, a clinging mist began to creep along the roads and a thick sea fog came up channel. A chilling rain fol- In a Strange Land 343 lowed, and as we approached St. Donats the wind arose. I was somewhat awed by the soli- tude of the place. Everywhere the great trees waved their branches, stretching them forth like restless spirit-arms, now extended down to earth, then uplifted heavenward. At times the wind sobbed mournfully in the hollows, or shrieked like a sin-burdened soul fleeting away to its doom. Away below the clifi's, the sea grieved among the wave-worn crags and rocks, and from the Nash Sands came muttered prophecies of doom. Miserable enough it must have been to those acquainted with, and had friends in the locality, but still more weird was it to a stranger in a strange land. " I was glad when my guide declared we were neariug the castle, which in a few minutes we did, my advent being announced by a wild gust of wind that caused the old oaken doors to slam violently. The servants of St. Donats gave me a very hearty welcome, and I as truly welcomed the light and warmth of the spacious hearth. I sat talking with the good folks till long after midnight, and then, wearied out, I went to bed. The next mornino^ was one of the wildest I had ever seen. All along the rock-bound coast the waves ran in tempestuous fury, and a long line of surf fringed the shore far above high- water mark. Early in the forenoon I went to work 344 Lady Jane of Stitton exploring the ancient domain. Now I tried to ferret out a peculiar piece of masonry, or endea- voured to discover the secret of some quaint old gargoyle, then I sought to learn the mysteries of the ancient Watch Tower. Those occupa- tions kept me at work, with intervals of rest, until the month of September. On the first day of that month I went to Sutton, there to inspect some ancient masonry. I slept there the night, and all next day went through the various rooms. Towards the evening of the twenty-seventh I was in what they called the ' withdrawing-room,' which looked out into the garden. The lurid sunset touched everything with its crimson light. Deeply impressed by the beautiful sunset, I lingered at the window and looked out. Evening darkened into twi- light, and the pale crescent moon gleamed coldly from the rainy sky. By-and-by I became aware of a rustling sound in the room, but I took no heed of it, and when again I heard the noise I at- tributed it to the wing-flapping of bats, or to the restlessness of owls among the ivy. Presently I heard the sound again, but this time it was more distinct. I looked across the room, which was growing dark with sombre shadows. There was little to be seen — only the least faint day- light falling softly upon the oaken floor, and the shadows growing darker as they crept away into A Tapping Noise along tJie Floor 345 far corners. Again I heard the noise, and once more I looked across the room, but without avaiL The noise became more distinct as day- light waned, and at last I began to learn what the sound resembled. Of all things in the world it fell on my ears like the trailing of silken robes — soft in sound, yet rustling. Presently I began to feel that somebody or something was entering the room. I felt the more certain of this when I heard a tapping noise along the floor. Tap, tap, tap, went the sound as the rustling garments appeared to be trailing nearer. I confess to a feeling of surprise and consider- able but subdued terror as the tapping increased. At last the weird sounds became distinct, though by no means loud. Then the tapping and the rustling came quite close to me. I could easily define the noises — high heels, silken robes. '' 'How curious,' I muttered audibly. Then I looked around. As I did so I cauo;ht sisjht of a long, trailing object in the twilight. My first idea was to peep through the window, but some unseen power appeared to pinion me helplessly beside the casement. In fact, I was impelled by some strange force to remain where I was, and to wait or even to abide by whatever conse- quences might follow. I soon became aware that a somewhat stately figure was slowly cross- ing the room, and in a few minutes I could see 346 Lady Jane of StUton that it was robed in a trailing gown of some dark colour, if not black. I obtained only a side-view of the figure. The face was averted. There was a stately grace about the form, to which I already attributed the supernaturaL " ' It must be a family ghost,' 1 muttered. ' If so, I shall be glad to make its acquaintance.' You are astonished, young man, at my compo- sure. Well, I had been used to wanderings in strange places and among strange people. I had seen halls that were reported to be haunted, and if ever a ghost had visited the earth I felt that I would be quite as ready to bring my antiquarian abilities to bear upon it as upon illegible legends and secret-keeping stones. At last I felt compelled to speak. The silence, the suspense were unbearable. ^ Who are you ? — where did you come from ? — whither are you going ? ' I asked in quick succession, but I failed to gain a reply, and, as I spoke, the figure vanished. A few minutes later I heard the sounds of tapping footsteps and the rustling robes dying in the distance of the corridor, whither I followed them. But now all was silent — not a sound to be heard but the owls hooting and the loud flapping of bats' wings in the night-air. That night and for several more I kept my counsel, fearing to be made the victim of laughter. Lady Jane s Ghost 347 " In the course of a few days I once more saw the apparition, and then I asked the inmates about it. '' ' You've seen her/ said my host. '' ' Then she's well known,' I remarked. " ' Yes ; it's Lady Jane's ghost. She always appears before a death in the family. And now there'll be no rest till the person is dead.' ^* ' Dear me,' I remarked, smiling. ' Then let us hope the individual, whoever he or she may be, will soon depart this life, for our sakes at least.' *' My remark was received by my host with a shake of the head, which denoted disapproval at my seeming levity. AVe were sitting on the quaint oaken settle before the fire. Eight across the kitchen long dark shadows fell, while smaller and more grotesque shadows crowded around the ancient furniture. Towards these the fire- light danced and leaped in maddened ecstasy. All the shadows grew smaller as the fire-flames grew fiercer, and by-and-by the fire-glow filled the room with its rich warm radiance. On the hearth three fine hounds lay basking in the warm fire-glow. Dreaming perhaps of some happy hunting grounds, or the ardour of an exciting chase, the hounds snifi'ed and snorted, and restlessly turned from side to side. " ' As a rule, when Lady Jane's ghost appears. 34^ Lady Jane of Sutton said my host, ' the hounds get restless, and some of them begin howling.' ''Even as he spoke, the dogs in the distant kennel began baying to the rising moon, and at length we could hear the hounds howling far away. ''My host shuddered and spoke in whispers. I was mute with astonishment — so weird were the sounds, and so ghostlike were the responsive bowlings of other dogs in the village close by. " ' Lady Jane's abroad, sure anufF,' said the dairymaid, coming in. 'Did you hear the dogs, master ? ' " ' Yes,' said he somewhat curtly, and in a tone that silenced the maid. " ' Do you believe in this ghost ? ' 1 asked. " ' I do,' was the reply. ' I've always known deaths to follow Lady Jane's visits.' " ' Have you ever seen her ? ' I asked. " ' Yes, yes,' said my companion, in a some- what pained and impatient tone of voice. " His manner forbade further questioning, and I went out into the courtyard with the intention of takino- a short walk. Second thouf^hts caused me to go and occupy myself in making addi- tions to the daily report upon my antiquarian research. So I returned and vA-ent to one of the upper rooms. "It was the twenty-seventh day of September. Follow Me'' 349 I noticed that, simply because I had to head my diary with the date. I had been writing for more than an hour, when I was slightly startled by the sound of footsteps on the stairway. I went and looked down, but could not see any- thing. So I resumed my writing, and continued without interruption for nearly an hour. I looked around, and there, close beside my chair, stood the stately figure of Lady Jane. Her face was pale but comely, her features were finely shaped, and her manner was at once graceful and commanding. '^ Some irresistible impulse led me to say, ' What are your desires — what are your com- mands ? ' " Then I heard a whispered, but audible, ' Follow me,' and I followed. ''Lady Jane quickly descended the stairs, and I walked swiftly after her. On, on went Lady Jane, through several corridors and chambers, until we came to the top of the oaken staircase. On and out went my ghostly leader, and her occult influence compelled me to follow her foot- steps. By this time I was perfectly calm and self-possessed. There was nothing to fear. Surely the phantom lady could not harm me, I had no dread of that. While mentally musing in this fashion, I became aware that Lady Jane was emerging from a back door on to the 3 5 o Lady Jane of S^itton swamp. Then she quickened her pace, until I found that it was almost impossible to keep up with her. " On, on, we went to the very far verge of the swampy land, upon which the autumnal moonlight gleamed sadly. " ' There ! ' exclaimed Lady Jane with a sigh, as she raised a warning finger, and pointed to a field beyond the morass. Then, in the twink- ling of an eye, she vanished. I was alone. Alone in the midst of a desolate swamp, with only owls, night-hawks, and the bewildering will-o'-the-wisp for companions. The phantom had befooled me, and led me on for no purpose. Yet, I strode on into the field indicated by Lady Jane. As I did so, I saw two men meeting. Tiie appearance of one was familiar to me. Presently, he turned round and con- fronted me. Great heavens ! It was my kins- man Sir Thomas Stradling, second and only survivinof son of the last Sir Edward Stradlins^ ! He pressed both his hands to his heart, while from a distance his companion looked — as I thought — heartlessly on. " ' Sir Thomas ! ' I cried, ' how came you here ? I thought you were in France ? ' As I did so, I heard him exclaim in tones of sup- pressed anguish, these words, 'Too late — too late — but God bless you, my kinsman ! ' And Killed in a Diiel 3 5 1 then he vanished. I was stunned. Clearly I had seen my kinsman's spirit. I strode back to SuttoD, but, before I reached the great entrance, I fell face foremost on the pathway. I remember nothing more until I found myself lying on the settle beside the fire. My host declared he had found me prostrate on the pathway. I had evidently stumbled, he said, and there, in an unconscious conditiou, I was found when he returned from Llandow. He thought I had suffered from some kind of fit. I never told him of my adventure, but allowed everybody to take it for granted that a ' kind of fit' was the cause of my bruised and black- ened eye. '' Six weeks later the news reached St. Donats that my kinsman. Sir Thomas Stradling, was killed 'in a duel' at Montpelier in France, on the 27th of September 1738. " Lady Jane's visitation was truly an omen to me of death, and I had seen the spirit of Sir Thomas as it passed away from earth. '' Before Christmas I left St. Donats Castle, only to return just now to complete a few un- finished matters, and I shall have to remain in Sutton for about a week before my departure for Coombe Hoawey." On reaching Sutton the men parted company, the younger man going onward to Llandow. 352 Lady Jane of Svtto7i " Good-bye," said the young farmer. " I hope / shall never see the ghost of Lady Jane." " I think you never will," responded the stranger, "seeing that quite recently, some godly men undertook to lay the ghost of the Lady of SuttoD." *'3for tbe Hdno, or for ©wen 6lcn^o\vcvV' 1401 ARK, and gloomy, and frowniug looked the castle and fortress of Dinas Bran. Moonbeams that glittered down in the valley failed to touch the ancient stronghold, where shadows lurked, and crows congregated, and moody-minded warriors waited the com- mands of their chieftain. Down below, in the beautiful Yale of Llan- gollen, early summer roses shed their, sweet wild petals among the tangles and thickets, and dew-drops sparkled upon the dying and dead May-blossoms, that drooped like melting snow- flakes in all the sheltered hollows. Up above, among the grim grey rocks and crags arouud the wind-blown summit of the mighty mountain, a tall and stately man paced restlessly to and fro. 354 P^or the King, or for Owen Glendower ? His men watched him with keen interest. Too well they knew what troubled him — too well they understood the confiict that was going on in his mind. Yet they did not blame liim. Mightier men than Howel Vychan had bowed down to Owen Glendower, who, in Sycharth, lived and reigned as the virtual if not the nominal King of Wales. Howel, the last of the Vychaus, or Vaughans of Dinas Bran, felt that he owed a debt of honour to Wales and the Welsh. His ancestor, Grufliydd ap Madoc, retreated to Dinas Bran from the rage of his countrymen. Gruffydd caused the Welsh to rise in arms against him because of his marrying with Emma, the daughter of James, Lord Audley, who in- stigated him to side wdth Edward the First against bis native sovereign and the princes of Wales. From that time the Welsh had never trusted the owners of Dinas Bran. Gruffydd ap Madoc had little rest in his almost inaccessible retreat. In a short time he became a weary, dispirited, remorseful, and conscience-stricken man, who eventually died of a broken heart because of his faithlessness to Wales. His descendants in another branch took up Howell Vychan 355 their residence at Diiias Bran, and firmly held the great British stronghold against Wales, and in favour of the English king. Howell Vychan was the first to exhibit any feelings against the rights of ancient usage. His heart was for Wales and freedom, but so far his sword had been for the King of England. Sorrowful feelino:s overwhelmed his soul as he restlessly paced the narrow terrace of sward under the castle walls. Down below all was peaceful. In the vale he knew the nightingales were trilling mystic roundelays to the rising moon that crowned the eastern hills with splendour, while its radiance guarded the sacred Dee as with a shield of burnished silver. Up above all was uncertain. In the castle he knew his men openly were for the King of England, but he thought that of late many of them were secretly for Owen Glendower. His thoughts perplexed him sorely, and, after pacing for some time alone up and down under the castle walls, he called his domestic bard to him. • ^'Llew," he shouted, and forthwith a man old enough to be his own father approached. ^'Llew," he said, ''I would consult with thee. Thou know'st or canst divine what is passing in my mind." 35 6 For the Kiiig, or for Ozven Glendower? " I know," replied Llew. " My mind wavers between two opinions. Sometimes, as of old, I lean towards the king, and yet — I confess my heart goes with Glen- dower. And ever and anon the question arises, Should I, a Welshman, and above all, a Yychan, stand by the King of England, or go forth and fight with Owen ? My men appear to be for the English, but " " Secretly they are for Glendower," interrupted Llew. " Dost thou in truth think so ? " asked Howell eagerly. " Shall I tell thee what hath passed within thy halls during the last few months ? Shall I deliver over the secrets of others to thy keeping ? " *' Ay ! " exclaimed Howel. " Let us wander downward to the mountain hollow where the first faint moonbeams creep, and the long crag shadows fall brokenly into the place of concealment," said the bard. " There shall we be safe from intrusion — safe from listening ears and spying eyes." " I will do as thou dost wish," said Howell pas- sively, for he loved Llew the hoary-haired bard. In silence they descended the tortuous way from Castell Dinas Bran to the friendly hollow where silvery moonbeams strayed, and long Llew the Bard 357 shadows fell from the overhanging crags and rocks. The warrior, fully clad in armour, looked a dark and sombre fio^ure in the moonlight, that was pale and faint up there on the mountain heights. Llew, fully robed in the white and flowing robes of his office, looked like one of the Druids of old. His waving and silvery hair floated over his shoulders, and his long beard fell below his waist. In a mossy corner of the hollow, a grey rock formed a pleasant and secluded seat, and there the men rested for consultation. Howel Y} chan was the first to break the silence. " AVhat hath passed in my halls of late — and what secrets have others from me ? " There was a slioht hauohtiness in his tone, but Llew was accustomed to it, and merely said, *' I will tell thee all. Since the early part of this year strange noises have been heard, and sundry tappings and rappings have disturbed the men in the armoury." Howel Vychan knit his brows. He, too, had heard strange noises, and had been disturbed by curious tappings and rappings. But he kept his counsel. '' Further," continued Llew, " in rainy twilights of January, when the cloud-rack hung heavily over Dinas Bran, and the rifts were few, and the 35^ For the King, or for Owen Gleridower ? wind groaned hoarsely around the stronghold, a stranger, or spiritual visitor and not a mortal, was frequently seen to enter the castle and never went out." " What dost thou mean ? " asked Howel. " I mean this," said Llew. '' In the dusk of a day, when the wind howled among the moun- tains, and the rain beat mercilessly upon the strono^hold, and the friditened crows in black and whirlino^ crowxls made unendins; noise and cawino^s over the towers, a stranQ^er strode under the great gateway. Without let or leave he entered the banqueting hall, and, as one accus- tomed to the castle, he crossed direct to the armoury, and there put off his visor and his armour. Howel Yychan sighed. He, too, had seen the stranger, and had watched him in the armoury. ''What next?" asked Howell, still keeping his own secret. " He never hath been seen to go out," said Llew. " Thy men like not to tell thee, but they have confided in me." " Did they give thee any word as to who the stranger might be ? " asked Howel. " They did," replied Llew. " Rhys, thy oldest man, said the stranger was the spirit-form of Gruffydd ap Madoc come up from his grave." I Gruffydd ap Madoc 359 " Gruffydd ap Madoc ? " questioned Howell. '' The same," replied Llew. " How could Rhys know Gruffydd ap Madoc, who hath been dead over a hundred years ? " asked Howel. ^^ By hearsay. My grandfather knew him well, and used to describe Lim, and the grand- mother of Khys was Gruffydd ap Madoc's cousin. Gruffydd was of medium height, thick set and muscular. His hair and eyes were as black as the raven's wing. His wife was small, fair, blue-eyed and English. Llew paused, as if in contemplation. '' What more ?" asked Howel earnestly. Llew lowered his voice as though he feared the breeze of summer might overhear him, as he said, " Rhys told me that he made up his mind to speak to the stranger. One night, when an unusually severe storm raged, and Dill as Bran was enfolded in clouds, the stranger entered. In the banqueting hall the dim light of the log-fire glowed red upon the walls. The sleuth-hounds whined in their dreams, and the watch-dogs slept and snorted in the comforting warmth. Across the fire-glow that fell broadly from the hearth towards the centre of the room, the stranger went and stood for a moment where dark shadows cono^reo'ated under the western wall. Crouching among the shadows in the 360 For the King, or for Ozven Glendower ? ball, Rhys closely watched the stranger, who appeared to be quite at home. And, as Ehys looked, he saw the stranger going forward to- wards the hearth, where he seemed to be rubbing bis hands and examining his sword. When Rhys stole quietly into the armoury, and crept to the far end thereof, and waited results, soon after, with slow and measured steps, the stranger entered, and in one corner be cast off bis visor and his armour. Taking courage, Rhys said reverently, as one who wished not to vex the visitor, ' In the name of the Holy Mother, who art thou, and what dost thou want ? ' Gravely, and in deep-voiced tones, the stranger replied, 'I was Grruffydd ap Madoc, but now I am a restless wandering spirit from the regions of the unknown.' Then there was silence. 'In the name of the blessed Virgin Mary, what dost thou want ? ' asked Rhys. In a hoarse and far-off voice be answered, ' I want rest, right, and resti- tution. Rest will not come until the Vycbans make restitution of their aid and force for AYales and the Welsh.' With that he vanished." "Did Rhys ever see him again, or accost him ? " asked Howel. "He saw him again, and sees him now," replied Llew, "but he never accosts him." "It is strange," said Howel to himself more tban to Llew. For the Honour and Freedorn of Wales 361 " It is," responded the bard. "What is the meaniiw of the stranofer's words?" asked Howeh " That is pkin to see," said Llew. " The stranger cannot rest until the Vychans of Dinas Bran lend their aid and forces for the honour and freedom of Wales." "In short," said Howel, "it means that I, the last of my race, must take a position for- " "For the king, or Glendower — and that speedily," interrupted Llew. The bard knew his words had gone home to Howel's heart like a sword-thrust, and, knowing it, he suggested that they should return to the castle. In moody, almost gloomy silence, the two men returned to the stronghold. Howel retired to a distant room, but the bard remained in the banqueting hall. The last of the Vychans felt uneasy. To break faitli with the English king was to obliterate all the old usages of the family since the days of Edward the First. To go forth as a partisan of Glendower, was to step from a pinnacle of pride and ancient lineage to the feet of a Welsh gentleman, who, after all, was regarded as more or less of a rebel. In the midst of his musing, Howel heard the voice of Llew, and, brokenly, from the distance, came the words of an ode by lolo Goch. 362 For the King, or for Owen Glendozver ? Rich nnd sonorous was the recitation, forceful and persuasive were the words. First he Lauded Owen's home in Sycharth. He described the " timber house " upon " four wooden columns," that raised his " mansion to the clouds," and, what was then most unusual, the dwelling had "smoke-ejecting chimneys" and *^ neatly glazed windows." In the words of an English trans- lator — " All houses are in this compressed — An orchard's near it of the best ; Also a park, where, void of fear, Feed antler'd herds of fallow deer, . . . Of goodly steeds a countless host. Meads where for hay the clover grows, Corn-fields which hedges trim enclose ; A mill, a rushing brook upon, And pigeon- tower framed of stone ; A fish-pond, deep and dark to see, To cast nets in when need there be. . . . Of various plumage birds abound, Herons and peacocks haunt around. AVhat luxury doth this hall adorn. Showing of cost a sovereign scorn. . . . His mansion is the minstrels' home. You'll find them there whene'er you come. . . His bairns approach me pair by pair. Oh what a nest of chieftains fair ! . . . Here difficult it is to catch A sight of either bolt or latch ; • . • And ne'er shall thirst or hunger rude In Sycharth venture to intrude ! " lolo GocJis Ode 363 Then he recited snatches of lolo Goch's ode to Glendower as " crowned King of Wales." In the words of the English translator they run thus — "All praise to him who forth doth stand To Venge his injured native land ! . . . In him are blended portents three, Their glories blended sung shall be : There's Owen, meteor of the glen, The head of princely generous men ; Owain, the lord of trenchant steel, Who makes the hostile squadrons reel ; Owain, besides, of warlike look, A conqueror who no stay will brook. . , . The scourger of the flattering race For them a dagger has his face ; Each traitor false he loves to smite, A lion is he for deeds of might. . . . Hail to the valley's belted king 1 Hail to the widely conquering — The liberal, hospitable, kind. Trusty and keen as steel refined ! . . . Of Horsa's seed on hill and plain, Four hundred thousand he has slain. . . . Hail to this partisan of war. This bursting meteor flaming far ! " A long pause succeeded the recitation, and Howel heard his men-at-arms begging Llew to sing a song. " What shall I sing ?" asked the bard. " A song of thine own," clamoured the men. 364 For the King, or for Oweii Glendower f Llew pondered awhile. Then he said, " We all remember ill-starred Hoel ap Einion." They did. Hoel a23 Eiiiion, a young bard, fell in love with the celebrated Welsh beauty, proud My- vauwy Yychan, who in 1380 lived at Dinas Bran. She was a cousin of Howel Yychan, present lord of the stronghold. Many still remembered that the beautiful and haughty Myvanwy disdain- fully treated the bard, who eventually died broken-hearted. Two of the old melodies of Wales were known as "Ffarwel Ednyfed Yychan," and " Caste) 1 Towyn." Both were in comme- moration of Hoel's death. " My heart aches when I think of Hoel," said Llew tenderly, as he dashed a few tears from his eyes, and in memory of him, I have composed my song called ' Ffarwel Myvanwy Yychan.' " The men-at-arms were touched. The}^ remembered Myvanwy at Dinas Bran, and too well they knew that her disdain caused the death of Hoel ap Einion. Llew took his harp, and after an appropriate prelude he sang — " ' Ffarwel, Myvanwy Vychan ! ' Dear The flowers are slowly dying, And in the autumn of the year Like lost hopes they are lying. '' Ffarwel, Myvanwy Vychanl'' 365 And this is what I sing all day — * My heart is sad and lonely ; The joys of life have passed away, You come in visions only ! ' ' Ffarwel, My vanwy Vychan ! ' Now The rime of winter chills me ; The snows are falling on my brow, And thy cold slighting kills me. And this is what I sing all day — ' My heart is sad and lonely ; The joys of life have passed away, You smile in visions only ! ' ' ' Ffarwel, Myvanwy Vychan ! ' Time Will heal my heart of sorrow ; But when age brings its silver rime Love's light you fain would borrow. And you will sigh througli many a day — ' My heart is sad and lonely ; But Hoel, he has passed away. He comes in visions only ! ' " In tangles of the sweet wild rose The bard has found his guerdon, There death has given him sweet repose. And eased him of love's burden. His voice is silent, and his lay Of life both sad and lonely, Like summer flowers has passed away, He lives in memory only ! " Tears followed the song, and silence deep and profound fell upon all present. 366 For the King, or for Owen Glendower f The mens emotions were roused, and even the stern soldiers sympathised with the unfor- tunate bard, whose farewell to his ladye-love had been tenderly sung by the renowned poet of Dinas Bran. During the singing of the song, Howel ap Vychan had been a moody listener, and in the silence that followed, he went without thinking into the armoury. Had he for a moment thought of the stranger, he would have retired to rest — if repose he could expect to get when bis brain throbbed and bis heart ached in an agony of great unrest. Seated on one of the carved oaken benches of that period, Howel paused to thiuk over the struggle that racked his mind, and made thought like a whirlwind for wildness. He stayed there so long, that when he looked out into the night, the full moon was high in the heavens. As he prepared to retire, the sound of footsteps coming from the banqueting-room, through the corridor leading to the armoury, arrested his attention. At first he thought it might be one of his retainers, but when the great and massive oaken door of the armoury swung open, he saw it was the stranger. Howel trembled with fear, and sank down upon the bench again. Give me Rest / " 367 He thought to address the stranger, but was tongue-tied by dread. Indescribable horror made him shake from head to foot as he watched the strano^er re- moving his visor and his sword, and then setting aside his armour. There was no necessity for Howel Vychan to speak. Slowly, deliberately, and with a stately step, the stranger advanced a pace or two towards the lord of Dinas Bran. Howel Vychan felt as though the hand of death was upon him, and that the fatal and last grip of life almost relinquished his hold. '' Give me rest ! " exclaimed the stranger. " Give me peace. There is no rest — no peace — even in the grave ! " The voice sounded as though it came from the depths of a cavern. Howel Vychan shook like an aspen leaf. " It is in thy power to give both," continued the stranger, " and both rest and peace I must and will have." The stranger's tones were decisive. Then HoAvel Vychan mustered up courage to speak, although his words were tremulous with fear. " What would'st thou have me to do ? " he asked hoarsely. 368 For the King^ or for Owen Glendower? "Fight with the Welsh for Wales and freedom," said the stranger. A loDg pause followed, during which the stranger paced the armoury as if waiting for a definite answer. Howel Vychan's will struggled with his weak- ness for the mastery. Was he to battle against his will, and in the end allow his weakness to overcome and keep him pledged to stand by the King of England, while Wales, dear Wales, fought for freedom ? " Then he said to himself, ''The time has come. It must be one thing or the other, and which is it to be — for the king, or for Glendower ? " " Answer ! " exclaimed the stranger in an almost angiy tone, at the same time lifting high above his head a sword, the blade of which glittered unnaturally in the uncertain moonlight. It appeared as if the stranger had read Howel's inmost thoughts. The uplifted sword, the stern command, awed Howel, who slowly and deliberately responded, " It shall be for Glendower and Wales." " Dost thou faithfully promise ? " asked the stranger. " I faithfully promise," responded Howel earnestly. " AVhen thou dost fulfil thy promise, I will Before the Hour of Noon 369 rest in peace, and trouble thy household no longer," said the stranger. When Howel dared to glance upward he found that the stranger had vanished, and the door of the armoury was shut. Early next moruing Howel requested Llew to see that all his men were assembled in the great courtyard before the hour of noon. The men wondered what was going to happen. Had King Henry the Fourth sent for his power- ful ally Howel Vychan ? Not a man could tell. Did Llew know why they were thus mustered together ? The bard had not the least knowledge of his lord's intentions. Just before the hour of noon Howel Vychan, clad in full armour, strode manfully into the. presence of his men. In a few words he told them of his altered feelings — how he felt that it was .his duty to aid in the protection of Wales and the Welsh against the . Kiug of England, and how Llew was to go to Sycharth forthwith and inform Glendower of his intentions. '' Now," exclaimed Ho-\vel Yychan, " I must know which it is to be with you — for Wales or England. Those who wish to remain loyal to the King of England can peaceably quit 2 A :^yo Fo7' the King, or for Owen Glendoiver ? Castell Dinas Bran during the clay. Those who are willing to stand by me, and join Glendower, will remain here. Question them, Llew." The bard ascended the horse-block, and in clear, stentorian voice cried out, " Answer now. Which is it to be — for the kino- or for Owen Glendower ?" As one man all the warriors replied, " For Howel Yychan and Owen Glendower ! " Loud cheers rang around Dinas Bran, and the echoes thereof descended into the mountain hol- lows far below. In the afternoon Llew departed for Sycharth, and two days afterwards, he returned with the request that Howel Yychan would visit the leader of the revolt. Three days later Howel Yychan was enrolled in the list of Owen Glendower's supporters. The lord of Dinas Bran was, in a remote way, a rela- tive of Owen Glendower. Of the great Welsh leader, Hollinshed's Chro- nicles contain the following particulars, which may be interesting to those who are unacquainted with the stern opponent of King Henry the Fourth: — "This Owen Glendower was son to an esquire of Wales named Griffith Wichan (Gruffydd Yychan) ; he dwelled in the parish of Conwaie (Corwen), witliin the county of Merioneth, in North Wales, in a place called Glendourdwie, which is as much as to say in " Thro2igh Art Magic " 371 Eoglisb, as the valley by the side of the water of Doe, by occasion whereof he was surDamed Glindour Dew." According to Hollinshed, ''In 1402 Owen GrlendowTjr (with Ijis WelshmeD) fought w^ith the Lord Grey of Euthin, coming forth to defend his possessions, which the same Owen wasted and destroyed ; and as the fortune of that day's work fell out, the Lord Grey was taken prisoner, and many of his men were slain. This hap lifted the Welshmen into high pride, and increased marvellously their wicked and presumptuous attempts." Soon after this Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March, was defeated, and afterwards became Owen's ally. Hollinshed then quaintly states : " About the mid of August, the king, to chastise the pre- sumptuous attempts of the Welshmen, went with a great power of men into Wales, to pur- sue the Welsh captain, Owen Glenclower, but, in fact, lost his labour ; for Owen conveyed himself out of the way into his known lurking places, and (as was thought), through art magic, he caused such foul weather of winds, tempest, rain, snow, and hail to be raised for the annoy- ance of the king's army, that the like had not been heard of." In the Chronicles of Adam of Usk — who 3 72 For the King, or for Oiveii Glendower? studied law in London with Owen Glendower, and afterwards entering the Church, went on a pilgrimage to Kome — Owen is styled " Oenus, dominus de Glendordee." Adam of Usk says about the defeat and capture of Lord Grey de Euthin : — ''At so great a blow thus given by Owen to the English rule, when I think thereon my heart trembles. For, begirt by 30,000 men, who issued from their lairs throug^hout Wales and its marches, he overthrew the castles, among which were Usk, Caerleon, and Newport, and fired the towns. In short, like a second Assy- rian, the rod of God's anger, he did deeds of unheard-of tyranny with fire and sword. These things I heard of at Rome." In other parts of the " Chronicon Adae," it is stated that Henry the Fourth intended sup- pressing the Welsh language altogether, and that in the deadly campaign of 1401, more than a thousand children were carried off into Enoiish boudag;e. After many brilliant victories, Glendower in 1402 held his celebrated assembly in the old dwelling still known as the Parliament House, in the Eastern Street, Machynlleth, and there the great leader of Welsh insurrection was crowned King: of Wales. Owen was then accompanied by the vener- able bard lolo Goch, who saw in his hero the Dafydd Gam 2i72) fulfilment of an old prophecy, in which it stated that a prince of the race of Cadwaladr should rule the Britons after emancipating them from Saxon thraldom. In that assembly Dafydd Gam, the Fluellin of Shakespeare, endeavoured to assassinate Owen, but was frustrated. For tbis ojQfence, Gam was seized and sent to a prison among tbe mountains above Sycharth. Later on Owen, passing through Breconshire, totally destroyed Gam's house called Gyring wen, situated near the river Honddu. In the autumn of 1403 Owen Glendower went to South Wales, and foremost in the battles was Howel Yychan. Cardiff, Swansea, Coity, Penmark, Llandaff, and Caerleon suffered badly from the ravages of the war. The siege of Coity was very serious. That castle was then in the possession of Alexander Berkrolles, the surviving representative of the '' fighting Turbervilles." Tidiness of this reached the king:, who ordered his sons. Prince Henry and "Lord Thomas," to raise the siege of Coity. On the thirteenth of November the king issued man- dates to the sheriffs of Warwick, Worcester, Gloucester, and other counties to provide a con- tingent each of t\Yenty men-at-arms, and two hundred archers to join the army of his sons. On March the eleventh, 1405, the celebrated 374 ^or the King, 07\for Ozven Glendower f battle of Grosmont was fought. It was one of the most disastrous events in the whole of Owen's campaign. Between 800 and 1000 brave men were slain, and most of them were rebels of Glamorgan and Brecon. Owen was not present at Grosmont, but the reverse caused him to assemble all his remaining strength as soon as possible to try and atone for the loss. This brinofs ag-ain to the front the brave and sturdy Howel ap Vychan, the lord of Dinas Bran. March 15, 1405. Swiftly through the afternoon air arrows darted in every direction, and a wild wind, bio wins: downward from the Breconshire moun- tains, fanned the faces of the warriors, who were hot and feverish with the terrible exertion caused by the fray. " The day waxes, " exclaimed Owen Glendower, still bravely standing in the front, " and I fear me the enemy will overcome." "Press on!" shouted Howel Yycban, quitting Glendower's side for a moment to give direc- tions to the men-at-arms, who were heroically struggling for the mastery. Durins: the morning^ the wind arose to a s^ale, in the afternoon its strength waned, and to- wards sunset scarcely a breeze could be felt. " On — Welshmen, on / " 375 To spare the English reader, the name of the locality is here once given, and need not be repeated. It is known in Welsh history as Mjnyddypwllmelyn, in Breconshire. Hard and fast in the ruddy sunset, Owen Glendower and his men attacked the kino;'s army. Now and again Howel Vychan turned to urge his comrades. " On — Welshmen, on ! " he cried, and with renewed inspiration the men-at-arms and the archers pressed forward. It was a wild scene of disorder. The king's army was very pow^erful, and as time passed, Owen Glendower and his sup- porters felt that the chances were going against them. When the sunset deepened into night the truth was known. Owen Glendower had lost — Henry the Fourth had won. Grand, heroic, serene under defeat, Owen Glendower, leaning on his sword, paused for a while to look upon the scene and the loss of his latest hopes. '^ Undone ! " cried the great leader of insur- rection to Howel Vychan. "Alas!" replied Howel. '*we were too weak. And yet — our men were brave ! " 376 For the King, or for Ozven Glen dower 9 Owen Glendower sighed. There in the shadows, his brother Tudor was numbered amoDg the slain. Just a 23ace beyond, Owen's son stood among the prisoners. Fifteen hundred of Glendower's men were taken prisoners or slain. It was a scene to make even the intrepid Welsh leader quail. With a great sob, and a mighty sigh, Owen Glendower, turning to Howel Yychan, ex- claimed, " It is craven-hearted to say so, but we must flee ! There is no help for us. Perhaps — but who can tell'? — in a distant day we shall arise with renewed strength and fight again for home, for Wales, and freedom ! " Howel Yychan could only grasp his friend by the hand and say — "Whither thou goest will I go. I follow wherever thou would'st lead." As the twilight deepened into night, Owen Griendower, accompanied by Howel Yychan and a few trusty and faithful followers, hastened from the scene of action. In the first of the dark days, the party remained as outcasts in Glamorganshire. They had to shelter in caves, in secluded woodlands, and other hiding-places. The Dinas Eock in the Neath Yalley, is pointed out by tradition as one of his hiding-places. Ogof Owain 377 Then came the saddest part of all. Deserted by everybody excepting Howel Yychan and a few other friends, Owen Glen- dower wandered amono^ desolate neio^hbourhoods in order to secrete himself from the kino^. Now he paused among the wild wastes of Plinlimmon, then he sought sanctuary among the rocks of Moel Hebog, and in time he reached a cave on the Merionethshire coast, about one mile north from the river Dysyniiy. That cavern has ever since been known as Oorof Owain or Owain's Cave. It was evening. On the white-crested waves of Cardigan Bay, the last flush of the crimson sunset cast rosy flecks, that contrasted vividly with the dark silver-green dejDths of the waters. White- winged birds circled under the clear blue sky, and wheeled in the wake of the por- poises that sported themselves out at sea. In Owain's Cave the shadows were dark, gloomy, and foreboding. Three men alone were there. Owen — worn with sorrow and broken-hearted — had lived to see his beloved Sycharth a fire- scathed ruin, and all his possessions seized by the king, and Howel Yychan survived to lament the loss of Dinas Bran. After days of fasting and exposure to the 2,^8 For the King, or for Owen Glejidozver? winds and weather, the brave Howel was seized by a fever, and there, in the loneliness of wain's Cave, he lay prone and lielpless under the care of his friend, the great but defeated Welsh leader, and a trusty man named Hugh. " I fear he cannot survive," said Hugh, as the tears rolled down his deeply-furrowed face. "Alas I and he hath been faithful unto death," sighed Owen. "Many a time when the sword hath been nigh to my heart, Howel hath averted it. Many a night when provision was short, Howell hath gone without to give unto me. Many a day when my lips were parched, and my tongue clave to the roof of my mouth, Howel hath foregone a much-needed draught of cooling water to give unto me ! " Glendower and Hugh sobbed together and aloud. "What is it? make speed!" cried Howel in his quick and impatient AVelsh way. Glendower and Hugh tried to soothe him. "I will fight," exclaimed Howel. "I will fight to the last. On men — on — press forward . . . For home — for Wales — for freedom !" Then he sank back exhausted. Just as the first faint rays of the rising moon glimmered across the waves of Cardigan Bay, and the shadows wxre growing deeper and darker in wain's Cave, Howel Vychan once more stirred in his feverish slumbers. The Lord of Dinas Bran 379 " On Welshmen — on ! " he cried. Press forward ! . . . Now — now . . . The fio-ht is foudit . . . The battle is won ! . . . Not for the Kino- . . . For home . . . for AVales . . . and for . . . Gleudower ! " Then, like a tired child, with a deep and weary sigh, he sank back upon his rude resting place, and died. There, in loneliness and sorrow, Owen Glen- dower wept as only a brave and strong man can weep, while Hugh mournfully and tenderly performed the last kindly offices for their dead comrade. " He is gone ! " sighed Glendower. '' And with him go my long last hopes." And once more he wept aloud. In the golden radiance of the rising moon, in sight and sound of the sea, the mortal remains of the faithful Welshman were buried. There ever the great sea sobs in winter, and the autumn wdnds chaunt their saddest requiems. There the song birds sing in the long summer days, while the dirge of the wavelets sounds like mysterious music ; and there, until *^ there shall be no more sea," the silver sands will conceal all that remains of the brave and faithful Howel Vychan of Dinas Bran. r-~— ^~, '^. N ^ 1 (^^ 1^/^ ^ 'y. -^. ^^^ ^^^ C^"'- •s^ ^c^-" ' -:i»!=::3iP^'*^~k^ ^'^^S \^r^.9> T^A \^^X^ 1^^ /-;-<) /^^S" ^^%" "LA:. ;^^ "nS^ ve- pip, 3flu9b, ant) 3flan&cr6 ^QIP is an old bouse standing on the left- hand side of the rugged road leading _ seaward. Flusli stands exactly on the opposite side of the roadway. Flanders is a hundred yards beyond its neighbours, and it has the advantage of being on sloping ground directly facing the inoiniDg sunshine. Flush and Flanders only retain their ancient names. Pip is now known as the White House. In the days of old, the three dwellings were only known as Pip, Flush, and Flanders. Even the most rare and antique MSS. and documents bearing upon the subject, fail to clear up the meaning of the word Pip. Some have said it means Peep, other authorities regard it as Pip, which term the Welsh even now apply to anything small, such as a " pip of cheese," or a " pip," meaning a little piece of butter. 380 The Flemings 381 Flush was an abbreviation of Flusliinsf, in Holland, and Flanders was so named after that province in Belgium. The three houses were origiually occupied by the Fleminos. These were the Flemings who emigrated to Eng-land, after the disastrous floods that inun- dated their own low-lying country in the twelfth century. Some of the Flemings settled at, and gave a name to, the village called Flemingstone, in Glamorgan, and quite likely the owners of Pip, Flush, and Flanders were offshoots of those families. As time rolled on the property passed into other hands, and with the exception of the name in one or two families, not a trace of the ancient Flemings remained. Vestiges of their art survived them for many centuries, but in time the weavers became ex- tinct in this part of Wales. In the seventeenth century, when witches were as plentiful as blackberries, and genuine wizards were few, an ancient dame, who bore the reputa- tion of beinof conversant with the "black art," lived in a cottage known as the thirteenth cen- tury Monastery Gate-house. All the good people dwelling in the neigh- bourhood were afraid of the old woman, who by common report was said to plague the three Pip, Flush, and Flanders Flemish houses more than any other in the town. Some declared it was because Each el Flemynge bore in her blood traces of those old settlei-s, whose descendants wasted their patri- mony, and brought the reputed witch's great- grandfather to beggary. The inhabitants of the town were ashamed of Eachel Flemynge. Llaniltyd Vawr — or the '' Sacred place of Iltyd the Great," as it is translated into English, although in the present day it is only known as Llantwit Major — was always an eminently respectable town. Somebody — English, of course — slightingly described it as a "large village or dilapidated town," and the people rose up in arms. That the town of St. Iltutus, the site of the fifth century and first Christian college in Britain, the place sanctified by the footsteps of St. Paul the Apostle, should be spoken of irre- verently was, and is, more than the inhabitants respectively of the past or present could or can endure. Pilgrims, students, and antiquarian nomads of old — tourists and archseoloo^ical societies of to-day — and visitors from all parts of the world even in these last years of a busy century — came and come simply to inspect the antiquities of the place. These include ecclesiastical structures and domestic architecture of the twelfth, thirteenth, The Llantwit Crosses 383 and fifteenth centuries, while the great age of the Llantwit crosses puzzles even the most learned antiquarians, who contradict each other with amazing pertinacity, and come to endless squabbles on the subject. To return to the three ancient houses. In the year 1668 Pip was occupied by Edward Vanne, a descendant of the Vannes of the old Manor Place at Llantwit. Flush was the resi- dence of James Adam, the ancestor of whom is thus described in Leland's Itinerary : "A little from the Pipe is Castleton, a Manor Place on a Hille ascending ... it longged to one Hugh Adam, a man of mene Landes. ..." Flanders was the abode of the widow and only son of of Thomas Giles, and of his ancestor Leland gives the following account :— " Half a mile by the West Pipe standeth a Pile or Manor Place called Gilestown and Village of the same Name. . . . One Giles, a gentleman of an ancient House yet having a Hundreth Markes of Lande by the Yere, is Lorde of it." Towards sunset, on the eve of the ist of May 1668, those who still were accustomed to kindle the Beal, Baal, or Beltane fire, in honour of Beli, the Emperor of the Sun, repaired to the great British encampment known as the Castle Ditches, overlooking Colhugh Point, the rocks 384 Pip, Fhtsh, and Flanders of which stretch forth hungrily into the Severn Sea. One of the men who helped in the work was a dreamy individual, who either rejoiced or lamented in being gifted with second sight. Stephen Gamage, as he collected driftwood on the solitary shore, looked westward towards the sunset. His thoughts reverted to druidical. lore, and the ancient days when the Druids paid adoration to Dwyvan and Dwyvach, the only survivors of the apocryphal Deluge ; to Hu Gadarn, " who first showed the race of the Cymry the method of cultivating the ground ; " to Ceridwen and her mystic cauldron, to Gwyn ap Nudd, master of the great Unknown, and to Beli, the Monarch of the Sun. He pictured to himself the long-bearded Druids clothed in snowy vestments, and followed by the Eoman warriors with their short and sharp two-edged swords and glittering helmets. In imagination, he heard the mino:led sounds of wretched groans, shouts of rage, and the dull awful noise of bardic bodies hurled over preci- pices and rocks. Fancy led, he thought that the black staves of an ancient landing place or stage were the remains of Eoman soldiers, who in ages gone w^ere turned into stone for having persecuted the Druids. In his days, as in ours, those hardy wooden staves standing in the Stepheiis Reverie 385 teeth of the storms, were known by some as the "Eoman soldiers," by others as the "Black Men." Stephen's thoughts went back to still more remote ages, of which he had heard much, and, in an imperfect way, had read a little ; of days when, in Wales, as an old chronicler records, " Dark forests of spruce and pine frowned on the mountains, save where the peaks wxre so elevated that they wore all winter long a mantle of snow. Savage and desolate heaths w^ere spread out here, undulating and richly- clothed prairies there. The beaver constructed his dams across the streams ; the tail-less hare of Siberia sported over the plains ; the Lithuanian bison and the forest ox . . . fed in countless herds. Deer of incredible stretch of antlers w^ere in the wastes ; the reindeer, the Artie elephant . . . the Siberian rhinoceros . . . roamed through the country in the winter time. Horses like those of the Tartarian steppes, foxes and wolves, w^ild boars and bears, shared with them the possession of the soil. . . . With every advancing summer came droves of migratory animals from the South, amongst which the Hod, a kind of leopard now unknown, and hyaenas . . . bore the sway." Stephen was aroused from his reverie by Eichard Flemynge, brother to Kachel, the re- 2 B 86 Pip, Flush, and Flanders puted witch, who said abruptly, "Thee dost see, or pretend to see, the future. Now, dost thou know what manner of death I myself shalt die ? " " I do," replied Stephen. "What is it ? " asked Eichard. " A death that thou and thy people would think the least likely," replied Stephen. Eichard Flemynge endeavoured to get Stephen Gamage to explain his meaning, but the man would not. Then they toiled upward along the heights to the British encampment. In those days the steep eastern hill above Colhugh was almost covered with dense thickets of hazel, through wliich winding pathways led to the summit. Among the deep entrenchments where the blackberry brambles fell in long trails, the may-blossoms looked like snow upon the thorn bushes, and the fresh green leaves of the hazels appeared like emeralds in the glow of sunset. On the summit of the hill, between the en- trenchments and the western cliff-line, there is a broad plateau of grass, and in the centre thereof the people prepared the Beltane fire. Tow and tar-smeared faggots were highly piled together, and surrounded by dry drift- wood, of which willing hands brought a large store. The Beltane Fire 387 Then the people Wcaited, gazing eagerly as the sun, like a ball of liquid fire, sank behind the western hills. Slowly, like weary pilgrims, the last rays of the setting sun descended into the horizon, and as the carmine lioiit faded amono^ tlie distant cloud-folds, Stephen Gam age lighted the Beltane fire. Almost simultaneously, on each neighbour- ing eminence and j)i"omontory along the Severn Sea, on the heights of Porlock and the Quantock ranges on the English side, and on every high hill throughout Wales, Beltane fires burned and blazed in the waning daylight. Just before twilight deepened into night, and as the May moon arose slowly from the east, those who congregated around the Beltane fire commenced dancing and singing wild rounde- lays. Old and young alike joined in the rem- nants of those mysterious rites and orgies with which the ancient Britons propitiated the sun. In the seventeenth century these festivities consisted chiefly of weird songs and morris dances, and orgies more or less ludicrous and grotesque. When the revelry was in its zenith, a dark, thin, and small figure ascended the ridges and approached the crowd. It was Rachel Flemynge, the reputed witch. At her coming those who saw her instantly turned the thumbs of each hand inward, and Pip, Flush, and Flanders closed their fingers firmly uj^on them. Eachel, muttering and shrugging her shoulders, hurried towards the fire. As she passed on, the crowd made way for her, so that their garments should not toucli hers. In the strange and weird light of the Beltane fiie, those who stood nearest the blaze appeared to be magnified, and the most marked figure in the multitude was that of Eachel Flemynge. She was a small, thin woman, whose features still bore many traces of former beauty, though the nose and chin were pointed, and promised to draw nearer with age. Her eyes were bright and sparkling, and her movements were still active, although she was sixty. In her hands she held a stick, which she carried more to help her over the ruo^aed heio^hts and rouoli roads than for the support of age. As she approached the fire some of the men started suddenly from her. '' Ye needn't draw back as if a snake had stung the lot of you," said Rachel sharply, as she went forward, and, taking up a large stick, poked the Beltane fire therewith. Suddenly, from the centre of the pyre, the flames shot upward, and a shower of sparks fell like hail upon the multitude. In a moment dancing and song ceased, and the people stood spellbound, as a dark column of smoke ascended '' B tern her for a Witch!'' 389 to the sky, wliere the May moon, veiled by soft evening mists, shone in chastened splendour. Another shower of sparks fell among the crowd, and then half-a-dozen men rushed towards Kachel Flemynge. " Burn her ! " shouted the multitude. " Burn her for a witch ! " The people crowded around her, and two of the men seized the unfortunate woman, who was powerless in their grasp. " Scratch her ! " cried some of the women. '' Get a few drops of the beldame's blood." " Ay ! " almost yelled the youths as in one voice ; " a few drops of her black blood would be a boon." "And stop her baneful workings," shouted the old men. It was a wild and startling scene. Dense clouds of smoke darkened the air, and bright sparks of fire fell in almost ceaseless showers of mingled red and yellow colours. In the midst of the confusion the crowd surged hither and thither. Now the people swayed around Kachel Flemynge, then they surged in dangerous proximity to the Beltane fire. Yells, hisses, and hootings rang through the evening air, and as the multitude clamoured around the woman, every voice was raised against her. 390 Pip, Fhtsh, and Flanders " Burn her ! Burn her for a witch ! " was the cry. At that moment, slowly, but determinedly, Stephen Gamage pushed his way through the crowd. '' Let the woman alone ! " he exclaimed, and the men instantly relinquished their hold of Rachel Flemynge. "Let her alone !" he repeated in a stentorian voice, before which all the people present quailed. " She but thrust a log into the fire, and thereby, with spirited touch, did what those of old would have done had they been in her place. It is considered ill-luck to let the Beltane fire smoulder or go out. Rachel Flemynge, I beseech thee, follow me." Rachel obeyed, and the crowd parting, made a pathway for the reputed witch and her pro- tector Stephen Gamage. Wending their way downward from the Castle Ditches, Rachel and Stephen were soon concealed from sight by the hazels that filled the ridges sloping towards the meadow^s. Meanwhile, the people resumed their dances and sinoino- and some of the rouo^her classes indulged in strange but harmless buff'oonery. It was midnight before the crowd dispersed, and wearied out, went homeward. " Wrongly and Shamefully Treated'' 391 Soon afterwards, Stephen Gamage returned to watch with the others, and replenish the Beltane fire, which was not allowed to expire. ''Why dost thou always take the part of the witch ? " asked one of the company, ad- dressing Stephen. '' Because I think her wrongly and shamefully treated," replied Stephen. " And partly because thou'rt something like kin of hers," remarked Kichard Flemynge. '' How so ? " questioned a neighbour. "The people call Eachel a witch, and all of us know that Stephen is a man of second sight," responded Eichard. " True, true," said the company in a chorus. ''It is not because of that," said Stephen decidedly. " How would ye all like your women-kind served so ? We are all sons of mothers ; some of ye are husbands of wives and brothers of good sisters. Would we like them to be hustled and held in inhuman grip, and well-nigh thrust living into the Beltane fire?" Stephen spoke almost savagely as he knit his bushy brows, and tightly compressed his lips. In silence, the other men stirred and re- plenished the fire, and then stretched their bodies forth on the grass, therefrom to see that the embers should not expire. 392 Pip, Fhish , and Fla n ders While the moon was still in its zenith, the watchers fell soundly asleep, and Stephen Gam age was left to keep his vigil alone. He sauntered away from the verge of the lofty cliffs wherefrom he could gaze downward to and across the Severn Sea, and at the same time watch the Beltane fire. In the soft haze of nisfht and moonlio-ht, Stephen became, as was his wont, dreamy and thoughtful. Fancy portrayed the past, when Druids wandered on new-moon nights through the groves of oak, or went in search of the healing and magical vervain, or dewy selago, and the three - leaved samolus, or paused to plant and transplant roots and herbs, together with seeds sown when the moon was on the increase. He thought of dim, mysterious nights, when the air was heavy with the breath of battle, and the Druids invoked Taranis in the grim shadows that surrounded rude and primitive altars. His mind reverted to frosty nights in winter when the stars glittered in the dark blue heavens, and the Druids, Bards, and Ovates, with priestly pomp and ceremony, went forth to cut down the sacred mistletoe, the juice of which was supposed to cure the most deadly wound of spear or arrow. Then he recalled what he had read about the strange ceremonies and rites in connection with " The DrtncTs Dirge " 393 tlie anguinium or serpent's ^gg, which, according to tradition, protected the finder from danger, and in some instances from death. Sometimes he paused in his reverie to re- plenish the Beltane fire, or to gaze dreamily at the moon as it went slowly westward. To him there were magic and witchery in the scene, as the setting moon dropped like a silver ball behind the dark western hills, and the pale, tremulous light of morning made a rift in the eastern cloud-folds. Stephen Gamage, the man of second sight, standing on the verge of the grey cliflfs over- looking the grey sea, recited to himself the "Druid's Dirge" and the " Bard's Lament." Part I. THE DIRGE. "It is too late ! for twilight's solemn splendour Is waning, and the moments in their flight, Like weary warriors, full sadly render Their numbers to the roll-call of the night. It is too late ! My soul is weary, yearning For the grey gleam of dawn upon the rills ; It is too late ! behold the gloom is turning To golden sunrise on the morning hills. My soul is sad ! a gentle sound of sighing Tells me the world is lost — the fight unwon ; Yet death upon his way here to me winging, Catches a sweet smile from the rising sun. ,94 Pip-) Flush, and Flanders My soul is sad ! How many hours beside ye I have gone forth, but now must go alone, With none to utter welcome, none to guide me Through the dark star-ways to a realm unknown. So ends my life ! From thee and all I sever In anguish too sublime for earthly plaint. So ends my life ! Alone, now and for ever ! Farewell ! The world recedes ! My soul grows faint !" Part II. THE LAMENT. " Long years, ay many, we have roam'd beside him, O'er ways and paths that we anew must tread, And though wide realms of mystery divide him Now from our sight, we cannot deem him dead ! We held him in our arms while life was failing, In close embrace, and watch'd his fluttering breath, While the dim moonbeams in the west were paling, And day-dawn veiled the awful calm of death ! In morning light we saw then and for ever, The grandeur of his spirit and its power. E'en as his mortal vestment seem'd to sever. We saw the immortal bursting into flower ! " When Stephen concluded the recitation of these lines, he covered his face with his hands and wept aloud. As he looked up, the East was glowing with rose-colour and gold, and the king-like sun arose in all his splendour as a triumphant In Quest of May Dew 395 and victorious warrior, who had vanquished the monarch Nio'ht and his minions. o With tlie first gleam of sunshine the Beltane fire expired, and soon afterwards only a heap of smouldering embers remained to mark the place where, with strange orgies, grotesque dances, and wild songs, the people had celebrated the eve of the first of May. Stephen Gamage roused the sleepers, and could not refrain from taunting them as to the manner in which they had fulfilled the vigil. Descending from the Castle Ditches, the com- pany entered the meadows, and were going homeward, when they suddenly encountered a bevy of merry maidens gaily trooping seaward, apparently in quest of something. '*What do they seek?" queried one of the Beltane fire watchers. '' Dost thou not know what their quest is ? " asked Stephen Gamage. " How should I ? 'Tis not long since I came to these parts," was the retort. " Then know, once and for all," replied Stephen, '* that these fair maidens are come in quest of May dew. 'Tis said that the dew collected on the first morning of May is a greater beautifier than all the dew of the month, although dew at any time, especially in the spring and summer solstices, is wonderfully efificacious in clearing the 39^ Pip^ Fhtsh, and Flanders skin of all imperfections, especially of freckles. Besides which, it makes the skin smooth and fair." " Thou should'st write a ' Book of Beauty,' " said one of the girls, overhearing him. *^ Or else give directions for a small fee, after the fashion of the leech," remarked another. " Th}^ skin is fair for a Welshman, Stephen. P'rhaps thee dost use May dew, and can per- sonally testify as to its virtue," joked one of the men. " My skin is fair, because, on my mother's side, I claim descent from the Scotch, while my brown hair is obtained from my father's people, who were all dark, and, in some cases, swarthy." Thus talking and musing, the men went to their homes, where generous repasts waited their coming^. a Meanwhile the maidens bathed their faces freely in the May dew, which was allowed to dry on the skin instead of being washed off. The troop of merry girls had another object in view, in sauntering through the meadows early on that beautiful May morning. It was an old woman's story, that if a maiden took a piece of the charred w^ood remaining after the Beltane fire, and set it under her pillow at night, she would see her future husband, either in a vision or in a dream. Dorothy Valine 397 Therefore, when the May dew had dried upon the faces of the maidens, they ascended the Castle Ditches, and from around the still smoul- dering Beltane fire, each one gathered a piece of charred wood, and therewith returned home. Upon reaching the town, they parted, but not before each maiden had faithfully promised to relate the result of the mystic vision or dream of May. Pip. In one of the upper rooms of the house, over which a vine cast its traceries of pale green leaves and curling tendrils, Dorothy Yanne was busy at work preparing a wonderful skin lotion, and on the table before her was the following written recipe : — Of elder-flower water brewed last year, . 3 parts. jNIay dew, ...... i part. Of water in which bruised almonds hath been steeped for six days . . . . i part. Eose water, i part. As Dorothy carefully amalgamated these in- gredients in a large white ware bowl, she thought deeply of Owen Giles of Flanders. Unfortunately, many maidens shared her sentiments. Owen Giles was a finely built man, standing Pip, Fhtsh, and Flanders about six feet without his shoes. He was fair- baired, and grey-eyed, and, above all, his gay and lively gallantry were almost a proverb in the neighbourhood. He, a childless widower, lived alone with his widowed mother. Dorothy Vaune was a dark-eyed brunette beauty, whose pride and hauteur were matters of remark. But her friends and partisans ex- cused lier pride, on the ground that her ancestors were formerly owners of a dwelling then known as the Manor, the ruins of which are still called the Old Place. Fallen fortunes during the Civil AYar had brought her father to Pip, which, though a house of some importance, was, after all, not quite the residence for " one of the Yannes." When Dorothy had prepared the lotion for which Stephen Gamage had given her the recipe, she lingered looking out into the moonlight of the first of May. Her desires and hopes were satisfied, when downward from the town on his way home came Owen Giles of Flanders. He saw the beauty, and gaily doffed his hat, and waved his hand in passing. Before retiring to rest that night, Dorothy carefully took the piece of charred wood she had secured from the Beltane fire, and placed it in a soft white kerchief which was duly concealed under her pillow. That night, each girl of the merry May-dew seekers did the same, with the A Bewitched Household 399 exception of the kerchief, which the other maidens regarded as detrimental to the spell. Dorothy fell asleep loog before the May moon reached the zenith, and, in her dreams, she found herself in a pleasant park where deer abounded, and elms and chestnuts made pleasant shade. Yet, in all her wanderings, her one trouble was, that Owen Giles came not. She waited for him where the leaves of the chestnut-trees fluttering cast lightly-flecked shadows upon the whispering and quaking grasses, and she lingered until twi- light came, but without avail. Then the dream scene changed, and Dorothy was on a lonely heath, far from any human habitation, and there she was met by Stephen Gamage, the man of second sight. When Dorothy awoke she fairly sobbed, because Stephen Gamage, instead of Owen Giles, was the man of her dreams. The morning of the second of May was an eventful one for the occujDants of Pip. Three of the cows refused to yield milk ; the cream could not be churned, and all the con- tents of the dairy utensils had turned quite sour ! Dorothy herself, somewhat soured in temper, because of the unpleasant dream, and the man of second sight appearing thereiu, readily with others declared that Kachel Flemynge had bewitched the household. 400 Pip^ Flush ^ and Flanders Flush. At sunrise on the second of May, Marjorie Adam awoke after the most pleasant dream she could possibly wish to have, simply because the hero was Owen Griles. Marjorie went about her work with right good- will after breakfast. She sorted the linen, scattering between the folds thereof sprigs of fragrant lavender, then she set the huge chest in order, and afterwards, singing merrily, went to the kitchen to help her mother in matters of housewifery. On reaching the domestic department Marjorie observed that the maids were silent, and the mistress looked as though something had fretted her. ''What is the matter?" asked Marjorie, ceas- iug her sons;. " Has the bell of St. lltutus been stolen, or has it rained black rain ? " " Neither," said her mother fretfully. " But all the milk in the dairy has turned sour, and the cream refuses to churn. What we shall do, / don't know." Marjorie did not wholly doubt her mother, and yet she could not quite believe that matters were so much awry. But when she saw for herself that the milk was curdled, and the cream refused to be churned, she exclaimed, Madam Giles 401 ''This is Eachel Flemynge's work." In which supposition the inmates of Flush agreed. Flanders. Madam Giles, standing in tlie sloping garden, looked down through the closely clipped arch- way of arbutus and sweet-scented bay, and called her son to her side. "What means all this commotion down at Pip and Flush ? " she asked. " Our neighbours yonder are running hither and thither like people bewitched." ''And so in truth, they are," replied Owen, who related the experiences of the respective households. " The milk in our dairy is not curdled," said Madam Giles, " and the churning was accom- plished before breakfast." " Do you know why ? " asked Owen. ''Nay," replied his mother. "Nicholas our ploughman, remembering the tricks of witches about the ist of May, set small twigs of mountain -ash here and there around our premises. He says, as we all know, that the smallest twio- of mountain-ash crossinsf the path of a witch will stop her career, no matter how wild she may be going." Even as Owen Giles spoke, Rachel Flemynge, 2 c 402 Pip, Flush, and Flanders curtseying, opened the gate, and ascended the pathway. " What hast thou been doing % " asked Madam Giles sternly. "Nothing, madam, nothing," replied Rachel, trembling and wincing under the old lady's glances. " Dost thou call it ' nothing ' to curdle the milk in the dairies of thy neighbours and betters, and to prevent the cream being churned ? " " It is not my work, madam," said Rachel, nervously clasping her hands. " Is the milk in Flanders curdled, and doth the cream refuse to churn ? " "Nay," replied Madam Giles, "and in good sooth there is a cause for the exemption. Nicholas our ploughman used his arts magic against the witch." Owen smiled, and turned gaily away on his heel. Rachel Flemynge looked very grave. " Thou know'st thou'rt guilty," said madam, looking piercingly into Rachel's eyes when the women were alone. " I speak truly. Madam Giles," said Rachel, " when I say that I did not, and know not how to curdle milk, or to prevent any one churning." Madam Giles was angry, and expressed it by striking the path with her gold-headed stick. Rachel Flemynge 403 For years the lady of Flanders had tried to induce Eachel Flemynge to confess to her know- ledge of witchcraft, but had always failed. " Why then doth the reputation of witchcraft cling to thee, and not to me ? " asked madam, in a penetrating toue. "Madam Giles," said Eachel seriously, "I know no more of witchcraft than of any other art or craft. As to the bad reputation clinging to me, it came in this wise. Many years ago I foretold the manner of death of one of the Flemynges of Flemyngstone. I was then a maid in Flemyngstone Court, and I practised the art of fortune telling and palmistry for simple amusement. Somehow or other I got into the habit of foretellinor comino; events. In a later generation they will call that foresight, and the power of judging from causes of the present the results of the future. Fate hath gifted me thus, and can I help it ? " Madam Giles, after pondering awhile, said, " It may be that thou art gifted with a strange art, but there is no need to exercise an evil gift. Why dost thou do so ? " " I seldom do," replied Eachel. Then, lower- ing her voice, she added, " I augment my poor pittance by telling fortunes for silly maidens ; by selling charms, and reading the lines of the hand, but I do no harm." 404 Pip, Flush^ and Flanders " No harm, indeed ! " reiterated madam. " I call it vast harm to delude maidens and make them believe all sorts and conditions of non- sense. Wliy not give up thy evil work ? " " Because I would starve. It is hard even now for a poor lone widow to get in these bad times a bare crust. What with losses by the great civil wars, and the fines to be paid, the county gentlefolks have little to give, and what is more, most of them have discharged many servants, and do with less workpeople than formerly. I used to get three, or even six days work a-week, when first I was widowed, but latterly I only got one or two out of the seven days, and of late I have not got one single hour, let alone a day." " I know the times are bad, but they do not make a legitimate excuse for evil practices," said Madam Giles, adding, '' Thou dost know the end of the sinner ? " ''As described by other sinners," replied Eachel quickly and sharply. ''Dost add irreverence to thy other heinous oifences ? " exclaimed madam sternly. " Nay, madam, nay," said Eachel. "But time and fate, and human kind, have embittered my soul, so that generally the little life that is lefc in me is like wormwood and gall." " In the depths of my heart, I pity thee, Eachel Flemynge, but bad as thou art, even now it is Into Galilee'' 405 not too late for repentance. They would receive thee into G-alilee, if I favourably mentioned thy name," said Madam Giles. " Into Galilee ! " exclaimed Rachel. " There will I never submit to go. Why, madam, if I went there, I would at once openly confess and proclaim myself to be a wicked woman, and a witch also ! Galilee will never see me ! " " Then thou must remain past redemption," said madam gravely. '* Ay ! Perhaps so," responded Rachel. The term Galilee was applied to that part of the parish church which was set at the service of the excommunicated. There, clothed in sack- cloth and ashes, the offender was allowed to stand and hear the services, and afterwards pray for absolution, but, to gain complete forgiveness, he was obliged to humiliate himself on three different occasions. Then, as a rule, in Lent he was shriven, and duly received by the priest, after which he was reinstated among the wor- shippers in the church. The Galilee of Llantwit Major parish church is, even in the present day, in a fair state of preservation, although time has rendered it roofless. *' Dost thou clearly understand what I say ?" asked Madam Giles. '^That I do," replied Rachel. ''Thou say'st 4o6 Pip, Fhish, mid Flanders I must remain past redemption unless I consent to enter Galilee, and that I will never do. Why should I, madam ? " " To rid thy name of the stain and taint of \Yitchcraft," replied Madam Giles. " Could the priest, or any mortal, rid me of either?" asked Eachel. "The priest, as agent of the Most High, could do so, and the world would thus believe thee to be absolved. Otherwise thou must remain con- tent to bear the opprobrious cognomen of witch," said Madam Giles. "So be it," said Eachel. " I had rather falsely bear the reputation of being a witch, than enter into Galilee. But I am detaininsf madam. o The morning passes, and I must be gone." Then, curtseying deeply, Eachel turned to depart. " Stay," said madam in a kindly voice, " go around to the kitchen. Bad as thou art, thou shalt have a basketful of scraps at least." Eachel did as she was bidden, and Madam Giles filled the basket w^itli contents better and more than mere scraps, after which the old woman thankfully went her way. Goino: homeward throuo:h the fields behind Flanders, Eachel encountered several maidens, who, doubtless knowino' the old woman had been to see Madam Giles, had waited her coming. C harried Wood 407 "Here, Eachel/' said one of the sauciest maidens, " I thought if we each obtained a piece of charred wood from the embers of the Beltane fire, and placed it under our pillows, the hus- band to be would appear in a vision or dream of the nio-ht." o " It comes to pass thus sometimes," said Rachel. " I don't always place faith in that act. What did'st thou see in thy dream ?" "Oh 1 " exclaimed the merry maiden, " I saw a horrid little old man with bair quite white, and he leaned upon a staff and leered at me most provokingly. Besides which he had a great bag full — of bones, I expect. From that I suppose I am to marry a beggar or a sexton." "Nay," replied Rachel "Let me see thy hand." The girl laughingly revealed her left palm. " Thou'lt marry a man many years older than thee. And he will be exceedingly rich. He was the man of thy dream," said Rachel. " Oh ! oh ! " shouted the other girls, laughing heartily. " A rich old man ! Fie for shame ! Thou'rt a money hunter ! " " What did'st thou dream ? " asked Rachel, addressing Dorothy Yanne. " Nothing particular," said the proud beauty, with a toss of her head. " Not of Owen Giles ? " queried one of the girls saucily. 4o8 Pip^ Flush, and Flanders " The man of FJanders is nothing whatever to me," said Dorothy. " Since when ? " asked one. " What a change ! " remarked another. "No change at all," said Dorothy. "I don't care a rap for Owen Giles ! " But, although she sharply snapped her fingers, burning blushes Heeted over her cheeks, and her dark eyes sparkled wonderfully. "What did'st thou dream?" asked Eachel. "/have a right to know." " Well, there's no harm telling, since 'tis certain I shall never marry the man of my dream. I saw Stephen Gam age." "Stephen Gamage ! " exclaimed one of the girls. " The man of second sight ! " said another. " That was not a bad omen," remarked Eachel. " It is good to dream of a man gifted with second sight. It means a romantic courtship, and pos- sibly a strange and lofty marriage." " There now," said one of the girls. " Perhaps thou shalt marry a fine lord and be a grand lady — far grander than to be mistress of Flanders." " It may be so," said Dorothy. " Perhaps I shall have grandeur without happiness." There was a slightly sneerful tone in her voice, and the maidens believed she could only gain happiness with Owen Giles. Majorie Adam 409 ''Thou art very quiet," remarked Eachel to Marjorie Adam. '' What was thy dream ? " Marjorie hesitated. She did not like to relate her dream because of Dorothy Yanne. Seeing her reluctant to tell, the girls beseeched her. ''Thou must let us know," they cried. " We all have promised, and w^ill not let thee be an exception." Blushing deeply, even to the roots of her hair, Marjorie Adam said, "The man of my dream was " " Speak out," interrupted the girls, almost in one voice. " Owen Giles," said Marjorie ; then she hid her face in her hands. " Tall and stately Owen Giles of Flanders," said Eachel slowly. " Owen Giles will never marry again while his mother lives," exclaimed Dorothy Vaune, with a toss of her head, "and Madam Giles is only sixty this year. So anybody who waits for him will wait till their hair turns grey." Then she tripped gaily homewards through the fields. " She's jealous," said the girls to Marjorie, who, in reply, remarked, " That is why I liked not to tell, but all uro^ed me." 4IO Pip, Fhish, and Flanders "Ay," said Kachel, "a promise is a promise, aud all agreed to abide by it." Rachel Flemynge, after bidding her auditors a pleasant "good morning," proceeded to the gate-house, and the maidens fluttered like white doves towards the sea, singing as they went one of the songs of the period. In sweet and perfect unison the maidens sang — "The fairest hopes fulfihiient find In May ! in May ! All clouds and gloom are left behind In May ! in May ! The hours are bright, the days are long, And gladness comes with love and song In May ! in May ! O maidens all, 'tis sweet to live In May ! in May ! For love its rarest tokens give In May ! in May I And life is like a blissful dream. When song-birds sing and sunbeams gleam In May ! in May ! In all the years that are in store, Our fairest May Will live in memory evermore ! And when the flowers and white thorns bloom, In dreams will come, through care and gloom. The voice that thrill'd, the words that brought Love's magic spell to us unsought. In May ! in May ! " The Eve of All Saints 41 1 The Monastery Gate-House. If Rachel FJemynge hoped to be alone on the eve of All Saints she was disappointed. Several visitors came to see her, and the herb concoctions with which she had busied herself during the afternoon were set aside for " customers." A dense and dripping fog came ghostlike through the long meadows and ascended the hills. With its filmy warp and woof it encircled the fifth century university town, and totally obliterated the distance. In the fog, the ancient monastery gate-house looked like a sentinel guarding the mysteries of the past. There, hoary with age, that last remnant of the thirteenth-century monastic buildings stood in the seventeenth century, and there it still stands in the present day. It is now in a condition of semi-decadence, unin- habited, but still fairly preserved with its out- side stairway, and porch now covered with ivy. Down below the hill on which the gate-house stands is the church dedicated to St. II tutus. En the churchyard are the celebrated crosses, some of which are supposed to have been erected so early as the fifth century. Beyond the church, and in the centre of 4 1 2 Pip, Fhish, and Flanders the town, stands the hall of justice, with its gilded weathercock and ancient bell bearing the motto — " Ora pro nobis sancte Iltute." Beside the Town Hall, quaint and antique Tudor-built houses appear with their curious doorways and windows, and even in the present day numerous traces of its former importance are to be found in the fifth century university town of Llantwit Major, where, in the winter nights, the curfew bell has been rung from the days of the Norman Conqueror until the present year of grace. Just as the curfew proclaimed the hour of eight, in the year 1668, Stephen Gamage passed through the churchyard and ascended the steep and rugged roadway leading to the gate-house. When he rapped at the door, Kachel Flemynge immediately responded. ''Hast thou had any callers this evening?" asked Stephen Gamage, taking the fireside corner of one of the worm-eaten oaken settles. " A few, but not so many as last year," replied Rachel. " The fog is bad, times are poor, and money is scarce." Then they talked the general town gossip, in the midst of which somebody knocked at the door. " Come in," said Rachel without moving, and Owen Giles entered. '^ Come Home with Me at once^^ 413 " Good night to you," said Owen. Eachel and Stephen simultaneously returned the greeting. '' I have come up to question thee," said OweD, addressing Eachel. " What about ? " she asked. " The horses in the stables refuse to move ; the cattle have not touched or tasted food for forty-eight hours, and one of the farm-boys has slept for tweuty-four hours without waking," said Owen. " And that is brought home to my doors, I suppose," said Eachel bitterly. " It is of course my fault. Dost thou believe so ? " " I do not," said Owen. " But strange things have occurred of late, and there appears to be no explanation, even if thou can st supply remedies. My mother begs thee to come home with me at once." '' On the supposition that only a witch can heal the effects of witchcraft," said Stephen mirthfully. Eachel readily accompanied Owen Giles to Flanders, although the fog was dense, and the November night air was raw and chill. Madam Giles waited for them in the kitchen. " What hast thee been doing ? " she asked of Eachel. "I have done naught," replied Eachel. 4 1 4 Pip^ Flush, and Flanders " In May last I spoke seriously to thee, but all to no purpose," said madam severely, " and now the twigs of the mountain-ash have failed to prove preventatives against thy witchcraft. Go now and treat the victims of thy art." Each el obeyed, and before she quitted Flan- ders the horses moved, the cattle began to eat, and the farm-boy, at the old woman's touch, quickly awoke. Owen Giles accompanied Rachel home, and paused a moment at the door of the gate-house. "Come in with me," said Rachel. "Not again," replied Owen. " Hast thou ever tried thy luck, or had thy fate revealed ? " asked Rachel. "Nay," replied Owen. " Come in, then, and have one or the other," said Rachel. "None but Stephen Gamage shall hear or know of it." Owen, by no means reluctant, entered. " This is one of the three spirit-nights," re- marked Rachel, as she poked the fire. " I. know," replied Owen, slightly shiveriug. Rachel, observing this, begged him to draw nearer the fire, then she proceeded to read the lines upon his hand. " The line of fortune promises some fame, but not great riches," said Rachel. " Thy fate will be fortunate, but some trouble precedes success. Stately Owen Giles 415 Thou wilt be lured by beauty, and sometimes by pleasure of short duration, but thou wilt be gifted with prudence and wisdom, and will be happy again in thy later affections." " Shall I marry again ? " asked Owen. " The woman that is to be thy second wife must first be married to another man. When she is widowed, and thou art in thy prime, the marriage will take place," said Rachel. *' Better twice than never," remarked Stephen. Owen laughed. While Rachel entertained Owen Giles in the monastery gate-house, merry parties of youths and maidens in Pip and Flush were burning nuts upon the hearths, or trying to snatch apples floating in tubs of water, or using every art to bite the apple instead of the end of tallow sus- pended by a cord from the rafters. Some of the girls, more venturesome than the others, tried the knife and sheath spell. In the History of Llangynivyd, by Mr. T. C. Evans, better known in Wales as " Cadrawd," this curious and ancient spell is thus described : — " If the operator was a girl she was to place a knife, stuck on end, in the corner of the leek-bed in the garden, retain- ing the sheath in her hand, on a dark night, and after ten o'clock, in absolute secrecy, she was then to walk backwards around the bed, carry- ing the sheath in her right hand. She was on no 4 1 6 Pip^ Flush, and Flanders account to look behind her, and was to be very careful not to stumble. If her destiny was to be matrimony, her lover's shade would appear, take out the knife from the earth, and place it in the sheath. It is said that a young girl, on one occa- sion, in performing this trick, was beset by two shades at once. The consequence was that she became the victim of the wicked wiles of one of them, and eventually the wife of the other." All the arts and practices recommended by Rachel, the witch, or by Stephen, the man of second sigrht, were tried to the utmost, and towards midnight, a crowd of boys went to peep through the keyhole of the church door to see the spiritual forms of those who were to depart this life during the ensuing year. Some maidens following the ancient custom, ate apples while dressing their hair, in the hope that their future husbands would come and look over their shoulders, and into their mirrors (if they had any) before which they stood. More than one girl set her body linen on a chair before the fire, and seated herself in a quiet corner, where, seeing and yet not being seen, she mioht watch the lover that was to come and o turn the garment. But not one of the girls ventured to place a piece of charred wood from the Beltane fire under their pillows again, since the report had gone Arrested 417 forth, that when, in the May time, they did so, some witchery and mischief were connected therewith, else how was it that the milk in the dairies curdled and the cream refused to churn ? All the parish revolted against the use of the charred wood, which had been destroyed by com- mon consent and j&re before the Town Hall. Love philtres and charms were the order of that eve of All Saints, and " first foot of winter," and late hours, even in the best regulated houses, were the rule in the whole district. Fourteen days later Eachel Flemyuge was arrested for witchcraft. The accuser was Madam Giles of Flanders, and the offence was that Eachel Flemynge had, in the presence of Edward Vanne of Pip, James Adam of Flush, Owen Giles of Flanders, and John Turberville, declared she could fly. What was more daring, in Madam Giles' opinion, the witch assured them she was able to fly without the aid of wings, which even the smallest bird would have found impossible. It was a great day w^hen ''Eachel was put on her trial." People came long distances to attend the trial, and men, women, youths, and maidens congre- gated around the Town Hall long before the hour appointed for the assembly of the court. 2 D 41 8 Pip^ Flush, and Flanders Sir Thomas Stradling, of St. Donats Castle, was to judge the case, and, accompanied by several local magnates, he took his seat. Witnesses were called upon both sides, and Madam Giles appeared in person. When all the evidence had been obtained, Sir Thomas Stradling called out, " Eachel Flemynge, stand forth," and the reputed witch promptly obeyed. "Thou hast declared to these witnesses that thou canst fly, and they believe it is impossible for thee to do so. Now I ask thee, on thy oath, and before these thy neighbours — canst thou fly?" " I said so, sir," replied Eachel, curtseying low. '' Then do so as soon as thou dost like," said Sir Thomas Stradling. '' There is no law against flying. I therefore dismiss the case with costs." All present were surprised, but Madam Giles was angry, and went home in hot haste. '' I never could have believed it, never," she exclaimed to her son. '' A Stradling leagued with a witch ! He may be a patron of witch- craft, or even a wizard himself." "Mother!" exclaimed Owen Giles. "Yes; I blush to think that my countryman, Sir Thomas Stradling, Colonel of Infantry to King Charles the Second, should release a witch, who plays meg's diversions with all the parish, Te7i Years Later 419 and confesses that she can fly, when anybody with sense knows such a statement to be pre- posterous," said Madam Giles. '' Sir Thomas always discountenances the mischievous and often fatal practice of trying- persons for the off'ence of witchcraft," remarked Owen. ''Eachel will come to a bad end, mark my words ! " exclaimed Madam Giles. "Never fear," said Ow^en. "Eachel can mind herself, I'll warrant." 1678 Ten years bad flown since the memorable May time, wdien the maidens of Pip and Flush had "tried their fortune" by means of the charred wood from the Beltane fire. Two years after Rachel's trial, Marjorie Adam left Wales as the wife of Captain Meredith, an English officer in King Charles the Second's Guards. Soon afterwards, Dorothy Yanne was married to one of the Stradlings, and went to the Devonshire estate of Coombe Hawey. Captain Meredith died in 1676, and Marjorie returned to live with her parents. She had but one child, a daughter, who soon found her way to Flanders, where she w^as petted and spoiled by stately Owen Giles. 420 Pip, Flush^ and Flanders It was the eve of May 1678. As of old, those who were accustomed to kindle the Beal or Beltane fire, went to the Castle Ditches. There the people as usual con- gregated, and sang and danced as in the days gone by. In the twilight of that day Marjorie Meredith thought of her May dream ten years before. Her marriage, entered upon to please her parents, had been loveless. Still in her mind, and always in her reverie of the p)ast, stately Owen Giles took the place of honour. Musing in this manner, just where the grey wavelets of the Severn Sea came rippling over the yellow sands, Marjorie Meredith was not aware of the approach of a second or third jDerson. One was Owen Giles, the other was Dorothy Meredith. The merry laughter of her little daughter dis- turbed Marjorie in her reverie, and she got up from the rock on which she was seated to greet Owen Giles. Looking up, she was almost awed by his stately stature, but she readily entered into conversa- tion with him, and they soon wended their way homeward. As they went along the meadows, just as of old, a group of merry maidens came singing the customary song of May, which, with others, she May Memories 421 sang in the long ago. The song thrilled her heart, and every word seemed to sink into her soul. She thought of her ''fairest" May, and only wished that her hopes could find fulfilment in the month of blossoms, or, for the matter of that, any other time, provided it would be soon — yes soon, very soon. Owen Giles, observing that Marjorie was in a thoughtful mood, talked with Dorothy, and paused now and again to reach branches thick with May-blossoms for the child. That night, when the people who took part in the Beltane festivities reached the highest point of excitement, and the dancers, hand in hand, went almost madly around the fire, Rachel Flemynge darted through the crowd as of old, and with her staff stirred the driftwood. In a harsh croakino^ voice she sanor — " Through good and evil, through weal and woe, From life to death we all must go." Then seizing a burning brand she held it aloft, and swayed it to and fro in the sight of the frightened multitude. Mothers and maidens screamed with terror ; men and youths looked amazed at the witch, who appeared to have taken leave of her senses. While the vast crowd stood speechless and spellbound, Richard Flemynge excitedly pushed 42 2 Pip, Flush, and Flanders his way towards Eachel, and endeavoured to take the brand from his sister's hand. With almost supernatural strength Rachel, still brandishing the faggot, fiercely thrust her brother from her side. What happened next everybody witnessed, but not a person could tell how the disaster came about. As the terror-stricken people gazed speech- lessly at the witch, Richard Flemynge was seen to sway to and fro like one drunken ; then he stao-o^ered face forward into the midst of the Beltane fire, and there was no help for him ! Human hands failed to save him, and the crowd turned helplessly away from the sickening sight of flames fed by mortal agony. In the commotion and subsequent astonish- ment Rachel Flemynge disappeared. " She did the deed. ! " cried one in the crowd. "The witch thrust her brother into the Beltane fire." " Stay ! " shouted Stephen Gamage. '' I fore- told his death." " Ay ! ay ! " responded several men, as in one breath ; "we remember." "What didst thou say?" demanded the others simultaneously. " That he would die a death which he and his people deemed the least likely. I meant he would be accidentally burnt alive," said Stephen. " The Witch is Gidlty I'' 423 The crowd fairly groaned. Then those who were maliouant towards Eachel grew excited, and the spokesman of the party shouted, '' She did it 1 The witch is guilty ! She thrust her brother into the fire, and she shall suffer for it ! An eye for an eye — a tooth for a tooth ! " With that, the infuriated multitude, whom no human force or persuasion could stay, rushed downwards from the Castle Ditches and hastened to the monastery gate-house, hopiug to find and secure Eachel, but she was not there. Scared by the terrible fate of her brother, and knowino^ that her enemies would accuse her of murder, Eachel escaped the town, but ultimately, lack of funds, and, most of all, expo- sure, hindered her progress, so that one day she was discovered in the woodlands around Llantrythid and brought home to Llantwit and to justice. All the old schemes against her for witchcraft were set aside, in the new and more feasible charore against her. She was tried and found guilty of " a most unnatural and inhuman form of murder, fratricidal," and the reputed witch was sentenced to be "burned alive." Accordingly a stake was erected near the ancient town cross, and thereto Eachel was led for execution. 424 Pip-, Flush, and Flanders On ODe side of her stood Edward Vanne of Pip, on the other was James Adam of Flush, both of whom were among the jurors. Sir Thomas Stradling purposely absented him- self from both the trial and the execution, and his place, as judge, was filled by Richard Basset of Beaupre. ''May I speak?" asked Rachel calmly when she approached the stake. " Thou may'st," said the judge compassion- ately, as he silenced the mob that hissed and yelled unmercifully. Rachel Flemynge folded her hands and looked prayerfully to the sk}^ Her poor pale face was painfully attenuated, her once bright eyes were tear-dimmed and deeply sunken in their sockets, her thin and wasted body was shattered by imprisonment and lack of nutriment, and her parched lips quivered with heart agony and strong emotion. Clearly, and in distinct tones, Rachel Flemynge addressed the multitude — " In the sight of heaven, aiid in hearing of my fellow-mortals, I solemnly declare that I am innocent of the crime with which I have been charged and proclaimed guilty. But I would say one word to those among whom I have lived a long life-time — ^ Let him ivho is tvithout sin cast the first stoned' '' A Sip of Water ' 425 She paused, and the multitude hissed and hooted amid cries of '' Away with her ! " — ''Despatch the Witch ! " — '' Burning is too good for her I " ''Silence!" sternly commanded the judge, adding, "Let the woman liave opportunity of speech for the last time." Then he directed Rachel to continue. "I go," she said, "the last of the Flemynges, to the regions of the Unknown; but before T depart, I prophesy that the last of the Yannes, and the last of the Adams, stand beside me. Their names shall die in the dust, and their gravestones shall be pavement for men's feet. I go — tlie innocent, the persecuted — to mv martyrdom, not as a saint, but as a mortal con- demned by sinners, and as a woman to whom fate hath been cruelly harsh. Farewell ! I forgive you all ! Now ' let him ivho is ivithout sin cast the first stoneJ " Yanne of Pip and Adam of Flush drew back a pace. The men around the stake quailed. The crowd remained silent. "Before I go hence, I would fain have a sip of water," said Rachel humbly. For a moment there was no response, but while Rachel looked sadly yet eagerly around, Owen Giles pressed through the crowd, and with 426 Pip, Flush, and Flanders his own hand gave the poor woman a cup of cold water. It w^as little to give, but given freely and in deepest sympathy. ^' A dying woman's blessings on thee and thine for ever," said Eachel, when her fevered thirst was slaked. "The name of Giles shall suivive throuo^h Ion or centuries when other names have passed away." In the brief silence that followed, the men around the stake were busily engaged in disen- tangling the ropes that were to bind the victim for the burning. Once more Eachel Flemynge lifted up her voice, and as the scalding; tears fell like rain upon her pallid cheeks, she cried aloud, ^^ Let him ivho is ivithout sin cast the first stone'/' Then, trembling with emotion, and staggering backward, Rachel fell into the outstretched arms of stately Owen Giles. " She is dead ! " cried Owen Giles, in a hoarse but subdued tone, as he directed one of the by- standers to stretch his mantle upon the road beside the cross, and they laid Eachel Flemynge's body thereon. No need now of ropes wherewith to bind the poor frail remnant of mortality ; no need now of tow, and hemp, and tarred faggots, for the burn- ing ; no need now of tinder and spark, or flame of fire. I Old L Ian iltyd Vawr 427 Death in sinless sympathy had " cast the first stone ! " Quaint and quiet, in the midst of their old- time gardens, Pip, Flush, and Flanders still stand, but the Vaimes and the Adams are gone, and their gravestones have become '' pavements for men's feet." But the name of the seventeenth century owner of Flanders, by the union of Owen Giles, widower, with Marjorie Meredith, widow, de- scended through long generations, and still survives in the surrounding country, although it has become extinct in Llantwit Major, for- merly known as Old Llauiltyd Vawr, or the " Sacred Place of Iltyd the Great." INDEX Admiral Nutt, 241. After loug years, 205. All in all to him, 207. Ancient customs, 416. farm-houses, 98. ■ town cross, 423. Arnold St. John, 277. Arrested, 417. Asti'onomers, three blessed, 48. Aubreys, one of the, 119. Baal Fire, 383. Bala, 130. Bards, 392. Bard's Lament," " The, 394. Barnstaple Bay, 228. Beli, 384. Bell of St. Iltutus, 400. Beltane festivities, 383. fire, the, 387. Belyn and Elined, 67. ap Madoc, 48, Bendith-y-Mamau, the, 38. Berwyn mountains, the, 50. Bethel, in, 191. Betty Barebones, 129. Bewitched household, a, 399. Blessed astronomers, three, 48. Bouvilstone, 117. Breaksea Point, 93. Breconshire, Builth, 103. Brenin Llwyd, the, 53, Bridegroom's madness, a, 295. Bride and bridegroom, 263. , the beautiful, 175. Bridgend, 46. Brynach ap Howe], 171. Brychan Brycheiniog, 69, Builth, Breconshire, 103. " Burn her for a witch ! " 389. Button, Morgan, 41. of Sheepcote, Miles, 40, Cadwalade, 373. Caerleon, 373. Caerweu, 249. Candle, dead man's, 89. Captivity, in, 85. Cardiff, 373. Cardigan Bay, 61. Carnarvon, 253. Castell Carreg, 36. Towyn, 364. Castle ditches, 383. Cattraeth, the lord of, 59. Ceridwen, 384. Chair of Idris, in the, 53. Charred wood, 407. Charter, the People's, 311. Chartism, 321. Cheeses, the, 235. Christian college, the first, 382. Christmas Eve, 135. Church Llantysilio, 23. Cloud of feathers, a, 271. Cogan Pill, 38. Coity, 373. Colhugh Point, 383. Colyn Dolphyn, t^. Coming home, 255. Cowbridge, 117. Croeswylau, 179. Crosses, ancient, 383. Cross, the valley of the, 96. Crwn annwn, the, 138. Curfew bell, the, 412. Curse from the altar, the, 25. Cyhyraeth, the, 305. Cyril's return, 43. Cyveiliog Owain, 57. Ddu, Eobin, 16. Ddu's warning, Robin, 29. Dead man's candle, 89. Dee, the sacred, 13. Deliverance from peril, in. Devil's chimney, the, 235. Devil's limekiln, the, 235. Dewryn, 74. Digging the snow away, 153. 429 430 Index. Dinah David, Aunt, 187. Dinas, Bran, 353. Dinas rock, 376. Ditty Morgan, 303. Dolgelly, 49. Dominica, the, 291. Dorothy Vanne, 397. Dream, the master's, 27. Drovers, among the, 131 Druids, 392. Druid's Dirge," "The, 393. Duffryn, 39. Dunraven, 83. Dynwen, 69. Dynwen's bow of destiny, 69. Dyuwen's cave, 69. Dysynni, the river, 377. Dwyvach, 384. Dwyvan, 384. Edward the First, 57. Elined, 65. Elizabeth, Lady Stradling, 75. End is Comin','' "The, 155. Eve of All Saints, 411. Faith in fairy folk, old, 99. Feliii hen, 211. Fells, the, 189. Ffarwel, Myvanwy Vychan I 365. Fifth century university towu, 382. Firefly's pace, 45. Firelight, in the, 289. Flanders, 381. Flemings, the, 381. Flemyngstone, 403. Flemyngstone court, 403. Flemynge's work, Kachel, 401. Flush, 381. Folk story of Castell Carreg, a, 36. " Follow me," 349. ''For your life go back," 105. Freeh "Wen, the, 219. Funeral procession, the, 33. Gam Dafydd, 373. Galilee, the, 405. Gannet Coombe, 229. Garland, Captain, 169. Ghost, Lady's Jane's, 351. Ghostly annoyance, the heritage of, 21, Ghostly visitant, a, 23. Giles, the name of, 427. "Give me rest ! " 367. Glamorgan, the vale of, 37. Glendower in South Wales, Owen, 373- Owen, 49. Golden Bay, 228. Mile, the, 46. Gower, in the land of, 283. Grand sight, a, 151. Grey King, the, 53, Grim shadow, a, 32. Gronwy, 58. Gruffydd ap Madoc, the harpist, 59. Gruesome scene, a strange and, 145. Gwenllian of Craig-y-Mwyn, 171. Gwilvm ap Howel, 64. Gwlad ar Hav, 78. Gwrach-y-rhybin, the, 138. Gwydion, the son of Don, 48. Gwygyr, 57. Gwyn ap Nudd, 384. son of Nudd, 48. Gwj'nedd, Owen, 96. Harlech Castle, 63. Henry the Fourth, 61. the Sixth, King, 73. Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, Wil- liam, 75. Herdsman's cottage, the, 143. Hirlais horn, the, 58. Holms Flat, 79. Holm, the steep, 36. Honddu, the rivei-, 373. Horse Shoe Weir, the, 13. Idris Gawr, 51. Idris the Great, 48. Iltyd the Great, sacred place of, 427. In the Sea-SicaUoiv, 79. " Into Galilee," 405. lolo Goch's ode, 363. Morgan wg, 87. Ivor the cowboy, 137. Joshua Morgan, 183. Killed in a duel, 351. King of Wales, 372. Lady Jane's ghost, 347. Lake Llynclys, 181. Lametor, the peninsula of, 226, Laver-gatherers, 68. Lelaud's Itinerary, 77. "Let by-gones be by-gones," 31. ^ Index 431 Lewis Thomas, 91. Lidmoor, 39. Lion of Freedom," " The, 315. Lisworiiey, 160. Living alone, 161. Llandaff, 373. Llandow, 339. Llandovery, 265. Llanfabon, 185. Llanfyllyn, 125. Llangollen, no. Llangynwyn," " History of , 415. Llaniltyd Vawr, 382. Llanymynach Rocks, 179. Llantrythid, 119. Llanwddyn, 125. Llantwit crosses, 383. Major, 382. Llantysilio church. 23. hall, 14. Llew, the bard, 357. Llewellyn Gwyn, 323. Prince, 104. Lord of Dinas Bran, the, 379. of Lundy, the, 241. Lundy, 226. Machynlleth, at, loi. Madam Giles, 417. Madoc, Belyn ap, 48. Mallt-y-Nos, 73. Manor, the lord of the, 165. Mari Llwyd, the, 309. Marisco Castle, 227. Marjorie Adam, 409. Master's death, the, 33. Master of Llantysilio, the, 15. Matilda of the night, 'JZ- IMay-day, 259. May-dew, 395. IMay the lirst, 401. May memories, 421. Meifod, 105. Merch Megan, 307. Merionethshire coast, 377. Meyrick of Northcliffe, Roger, 39. Michael Giles, 163. Midnight, born at, 26. Moat house, the, 161. Moel Hebog, 377, Monarch of the sun, 384. Monastery gate house, the, 411. Moreiddig, 58. Morris dancers, 224. Mountain-ash, twigs of, 401. Mumbles man-o'-war, the, 241. Mynyddawe, the guards of, 59. Mysterious voices, 55. N ANT- Y- Garth, 127. Nash sands, 343. Neath valley, 376. Nos Galan, 331. Ogof Owain, 377. Ogof, the cave of, 179. Old Llaniltyd Vawr, 427. ■' Old post," the, 117. Olwen of Carno, 171. "On — "Welshmen — on ! " 375. Orchard, in the, 193. Our AVatkin, 247. Ovates, 392. Owain ap Brynach, 173. Owain's Cave, 377. Owen Giles, stately, 415. Owen Glendower, 49. Owen Gwynedd, 96. Owain Cyveiliog, 57. Parliament house, the, 103. Pastures of the heavens, 333. Peep into the future," "a, 49. Penraark, 373. Perilous errand, a, 147. Peterstone, 115, Pharaoh Llewelyn, 236. Philtres, love, 417. Pip, 381. Pirate's invocation, 87. Plinliinmon, 377. Porlock, 387. Port Diuorwic, 211. Powys, the poet-prince of, 57 Pronoville, Captain, 227. Prosser Davy, 241. Pryce, Sir Lloyd, 285. Quakers' Yard, 185. Quantock ranges, 387. Rachel Flemynge, 403. Rat Island, 227. Rattles Bay, 236. Rebecca riots, 114. Reuben Llewelyn, 236, Reynold's cave, 69. Rhossilly's barometer, 293. Rliys Griffith, 253, Rhys the Red, 221. Robber's leaj), the, 223. Robin Ddu, 16. Robin Ddu's warning, 29. 432 Index Koger's companion, 41. Ryence, King, 335. Sacred place of Iltyd the Great, the, 427. Salem, the minister of, 251. Sclyt the Fearless, 57. Severn Sea, the, 36, Sexton, the angered, 313. Shadow, a grim, 32. Ship in distress, a, 93. Shutter Rock, the, 235, Sip of water," " a, 425. Sir Harry's beacon," " Good, 83. Sker, 93. Small pox, the, 217. Snowdon, 245. Snowy grave, a, 157. Solitary coast, Solitary travellers, 97. Song of the period, a, 410. Songs and hymns, 307. Spectral figures, three, 24. Spirit singer, the, iii. Spring cleaning, the, 213. Stag, the, 273. Stars, watching the, 51. Stairs, Lewis Thomas's, 95. St. Barbe, the, 78. St. Donat's castle, 71. St. Fagan's, the battle of, 39. St. Iltutus, 382. St. John, the eve of, 22. St. Lythan's Down, 37. St. Nicholas, 37. Stradling family, the, 71. Stradling, Sir Harry, 71- Stradling, Sir Peter, 72. Stradling, Sir Thomas, 90. Strange sounds and footsteps, 139. Stranger's arrival, the, 33. Stei)hen's reverie, 385. Steep Holm, the, 36, " Stick to your Charter," 327. Supernatural, experiences of the, 96. Sutton manor house, 338. 39- Swansea, 373. bay, in, 243. Sycharth, 362. Talgarth, 58. Tailor and madam, the, 19. Taliesiu, son of lolo Morganwg, 87. Taranis, 392. Templar Rock, the 235. Ten years later, 419. Thomas Lewis, 91. " Through art magic," 371. Tinkiu's wood, 42. " To-morrow ! " 257. Town hall, Llantwit Major, 412. Tragic ending, a, 301. Tre-Gwilym, 81. Tresiliau, 69. Trial of the witch, the, 417. Tudwr, 57. Tuscar, the, 83. Twm o' Garth, 133. Tylwyth Teg, the, 38. Tyrwhit, 90. Under Owen Glendower, 61. Ursula the bride, 287. j Vale of worship, 37. ' of Glamorgan, the, 37. I Valley of the cross, 96. Valle Crucis Abbev, 105. I Vawr, Old Llaniltyd, 427. j Vychan Howell, 355. j Vyrnwy waterworks, 159. "Wales, for the honour and free- dom of, 361. king of, 372. ■ in the past, 385. Watching for the " sea-thief," 81. Warning, Robin's, 29. Welsh buccaneers, 231. language, suppression of, 372. mountains, the, 147. Quakers, the, 183. Wenvoe Castle, 38. What a feast was there ! 267. What horror was before her? 297. Wick, 339. Winifred Morgan, 309. AVitch is guilty! " "the, 423. the death of the, 426, Witchcraft, the offence of, 419. Worms' Head, 293. Worship, the vale of, 37. Wylan, the monk, 177. Ynyr, two sons of, 57. Printed by Ballantvne, Hanson & Co., Edinburgh attd London ft.