INTRODUCTION.

IT was merely a commonplace ruin of the kind so plentifully scattered over the Welsh mountains; lichen-covered, weed-grown, and weather-beaten, here and there bulging till it threatened to tumble into shapeless confusion. There was nothing at all about its appearance to indicate, even remotely, the grim chain of events hanging by the name it bore, — "The House of the Twisted Sapling."

      Lonely and far from all other habitations that ruin stood and still stands. No other homestead has dared to climb so high out of the narrow valley beneath. This long ridge of Cefn Du, stretching its huge bulk from the shoulders of Aran y Ddinas in the west to the broad vale of Cildeg on the east, lies lone and unpeopled save for the fowls of the air and the beasts of the field and waste. Southward, across the hemmed-in valley at our feet, extends the parallel mass of Drumhir. These two giant outliers are the reaching buttresses that prop the crowning glory of Aran, whose lightning-riven peak, shuts in the valley to the west and soars, unchallenged king, over all the other mountains in the group. The conformation of the spot upon which we stand, being the top of a hummocky spur projecting southward a little way from the main ridge behind, gives the few acres of tolerably level plateau necessary for the existence of a hill farm, — but at the same time it hides all sight of anything in the immediate world below, thus leaving no faintest sign of human interest or association, save when, upon a rare day in summer, far away and far below, a thin haze of smoke rises lazily to indicate the position of the sleepy little market town of Cildeg.

      As to the place itself, it had been simply one of those small holdings almost peculiar to mountainous counties. Farm it could scarcely be called, for the few small and irregularly shaped crofts which surrounded the building hardly merited or justified the dignified title of "land." True enough, being next the open mountain, it had certain rights of turf and pasturage, — so many head of cattle and young stock, so many sheep, etc., but even then it was a poor place.

      The actual building had differed in no wise from thousands of others upon the mountain sides of Wales, — a simple oblong erection with a dividing wall across the centre cutting it into equal halves. The eastern half was again sub-divided so that it yielded two rooms upon the ground floor, with a low attic over each; while the western half furnished the scanty housing which is all that seems necessary for the hardy products, animal or vegetable, peculiar to such upland holdings.

      For something like sixty years that ruin has stood thus; braver and more steadfast at first in preserving the outline and semblance of its original estate, but latterly, as if becoming decrepit with increasing age, hurrying with increasing speed towards oblivion. Haply these stones had once been lovely to the gaze of some wandering nature worshipper, but that was in the long ago, before the hand of man had wrenched them up from where they lay, half buried in the soft green moss, or showing their grey surfaces through the warm, clustering purple of the knee-deep heather. Some of them, too, the hammered corner stones and sills for instance, had seemed even more beautiful perhaps, before drill and gad and bar had shattered and displaced them from the sheer front of the cliff that rose a few yards behind; covering now the scars in its bosom by a bushy mantle of the deepest hued ivy.

      It may be that they have still some remnant of pleasingness or interest remaining even yet, if not to the eye, then at least through it to the mind behind. Some even-souled seeker after the varied manifestations of "The King in His Beauty," pausing to rest here in this green spot, green still after these sixty years of desertion, might perchance feel a soothing influence permeating his spirit in contemplating these poor walls. Lying here with the arch of God's Throne above him and the swelling lines of His Footstool around him, the Pilgrim might pass a restful hour, weaving, according to his mood, the web of human interest in this spot. If the sky above him bent blue and cloudless and the world around him glowed purple with heather, while the sun kissed his cheek caressingly, then would the south wind whisper soft fancies in his ear; tales of fond lovers who would be alone and out of the world, "far from the madding crowd," where they might pass their lives in one dream of long delight, with nothing to interfere in their enjoyment of each other's presence, lovers to whom God was a Benign Being who delighted to share the happiness of His creatures.

      Or again if the sky above and the mountains around were hidden alike in one wandering, drifting obscuration of noiseless, all enwrapping cloud; if everything were wet and dripping wet, and every short while some near rock or peak emerged from its ghostly shroud to gaze gloomily at him for an instant ere it disappeared in nebulous obliteration, — then would he catch from the strange moaning of the west some sad, unbrightened story of folk to whom the world was but a dreary struggle against a passionless, unfeeling destiny, and God but a pitiless chooser amongst the creatures of His Hand, a stern weigher of souls, a hard eyer of justifications and balances. Or he, this Pilgrim, might seek shelter here when the world was choked in the black pall of a thunder cloud, split and seamed and shattered into a thousand sections by the blue gleaming of continuous, awful lightning; when the solid earth seemed to quake beneath him, and the air and heavens together to quiver and throb from the ceaseless blows of the thunder, leaping from peak to peak and point to point. Then would he learn, beaten into his mind at every peal, of folk who lived in fear and trembling; to whom the night was full of evil shapes and the day thick with misfortunes; to whom God was stern and terrible; to whom birth was the threshold of the anteroom of hell, and death the opening of its gates and the casting headlong within. Or again, did our Pilgrim find himself here when the deep blue curtain of the night was edged and outlined by the darker borderings of the sleeping hills, — when fair Luna kept her court in the southern heavens, attended by her beauteous galaxy of starry maids; when the deep breathings of resting nature stole through and through his heart and hushed his pulses into unison with them; then would he feel, stealing through every nerve like balm, that here people had lived to whom the past, the present, and the future; life, death, and eternity; were in the hand of an all-wise and all-feeling God, who would unfold all things to His children in His own good time.

      But, in lazy contrast, did some Sybaritic one, by mistake, come here in the sunshine and, having gotten so far, paused to wonder why, then would the voices of the daws, lazily settling amongst the gnarled stems of the ivy bush on the cliff, or floating and wheeling in and out of its shadows, call up hosts of pleasant memories; crowding so closely and subtilely upon him as to carry him away to other scenes in total forgetfulness of his present surroundings.

      For surely the jackdaw is the gentleman and J.P. of the feathered kingdom. His habitations, when he chooses to dwell in the closely settled haunts of men, are always in keeping with the dignity and exclusiveness of his manners. The airy pinnacles and sacred niches of hoary cathedrals are his chosen sites. The strong decay of rugged castles affords him a home, whence he may watch the endless strivings and useless unrest of humankind. For he does but regard man with a scarcely concealed contempt. He never attempts to tickle the creature's ears with a song in order to justify his own existence; neither begs mercy upon a pretence of usefulness by grubbing and probing amongst nastinesses to the assistance of the cultivator. No! he ignores all such subterfuges and simply tolerates man in a lofty sort of way, saving when that unfeathered biped, impelled by a restlessness utterly inexplicable to respectable jackdaws, — sight-seeing to wit, — climbs too near to that loophole or that gargoyle where the grey wigged and black continuationed legislators do dwell.

      Yea, to our Sybarite, what reposeful associations would those sleepy, sweet-timbred voices of theirs call up; those notes so full of decorous wisdom; such lordly content. What visions of golden afternoons and calm, cool shaded retreats, spent and enjoyed amidst the builded monuments of old, — of gentle mannered hours and places wherethrough the foot falls softly and hurry is unknown; where laughter is like tinkling silver and the thoughts of the heart are mellowed, while the brain moves reverently in a pearly mist of memories of the pleasant days of old. A soft, sweet stealing world it is, my masters, whose echoes blend in the liquid, admonitory drawl of the grey headed daw.

      Thus might our Pilgrim or our Sybarite have found a pleasure or a profit in this spot, but for us —

      Aye, these particular daws know nothing of dim monuments of man's pride or ambition, least of all of his reverence, unless, mayhap, from sire to son, through all the ages, they have passed down the story of the cromlech and the dead city at the foot of Aran y Ddinas, or of the stone circles by the shores of Llyn Du. Who knows? Perhaps they have done so, and the weight of knowledge thus treasured may have engendered their philosophic carriage. The sadness, too, that sits with them upon the cliff-top; may not that be from the same source? But, an if it need any other or more modern cause, they surely require to look no farther than the rude ruin of this poor cottage before them.

      Here is none of that majesty of ruin which marks the massive walls and strong towers of the old castle, whose storm-worn battlements and crumbling gateways voice, deep and sonorous, the tale of a stirring past, — there is no sadness in that trumpet tale. Nor is there here any of that beautiful in ruin, such as clothes the mouldering fragments of the old abbey or cloistered retreat, whose sculptured tendernesses whisper of high and holy things upheld in the dim dawn of history, — there is too much of hope and comfort in the breathing repose of them to have aught in common with this rough congeries of stone. For neither majesty of beauty, nor hope and comfort have any place in its story unless, — unless, that is, you count the dark struggle of a naked soul, striving to interpret the attributes of Eternal God, as being majestically beautiful, or reckon the consummation of long nursed and deep cherished revenge to be the attainment of hope and comfort. In which case you shall find all of these, before you come to the end of this story.

      Perhaps it was the sad-voiced curlews that told me the soft and melancholy parts of this relation. Perhaps the hoary raven from the rocky peaks of Aran croaked the red and black parts of this into my ears, the while he chapped his great beak in horrible satisfaction at the memory of the rich stream which bubbled and spurted over these stones in the hour that he remembers.

      And, lastly, perhaps the unmoved daws sat over all and from their rocky vantage played the chorus, crying from end to end in monotone, — "Aho. Aho. The well-springs of man's nature are deep and unchangeable. The surface tints may vary, but not the depths; the depths that are grim and dark from the beginning, — which we saw; the depths that will continue grim and dark to the end; which we shall see. Grim and dark, aho! aho!"

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CHAPTER I.
OLD GELERT KNEW.

BACK, then, to a warm afternoon some fifty or sixty years ago, and look at this place of Havod y Garreg before the blue turf smoke had ceased to curl from its wide chimney or the snow had ever mantled its hearth. Strong and substantial seeming it stood; a narrow border on its south front gay with the sweet, old-fashioned posies that mountain folk affect. From this border, too, a hardy climbing rose spread upwards, festooning the two small windows and, peeping in and seeing how clean and tidy things looked there, went reaching higher, not pausing at the eaves even, but swarming ever upward over the slated roof till it could wreathe the tiny attic casements and compare their interiors with those below. In front of this border, and between it and the wall of the kitchen-garden, ran the broad, paved way to the barn end of the building, whence the sweet smell of new hay diffused itself. Around lay the harvest-tinted acres of the crofts, whose fences seemed more like stone embankments than anything else, for the easiest way of clearing the ground originally for cultivation was by piling the stones into fences; so rugged had the surface been.

      The crowning glory of the place, however, was the green dome of an ash tree that lifted a few yards from the house door. Not old and bare limbed and gaunt looking was it, but vigorous and sturdy and graceful. It was evidently a favourite, for around its base ran a pleasant bench, comfortable indeed and inviting to repose after a hard climb in summer or a bustling spell of work inside the house. Therefore old Hawys Ddu loved to seek this bench with her knitting whenever there was a spare hour on hand.

      Hawys Ddu had been her name since ever she was old enough to go to market, and when she was married no one thought of changing it, — surnames being a luxury appertaining only to great folk in the valley then-a-day. That was long ago though, and now she might better be called Hawys Wen, for the once raven locks were grown white as the snows of Aran. Ague, hardship, and turf smoke had dimmed the bright black eyes; rheumatism had bent the supple form, and the woman's work of the place was getting beyond her. She knew all this; she had known it for some time, and with a sharper and closer knowledge than ever since last winter, so that, as she sat and knitted beneath the ash this pleasant afternoon, she made up her mind to speak to Tom this very evening of the plan she had been cogitating.

      Tom was the only other inhabitant of the place; human, that is. He was "the only son of his mother, and she was a widow." Just now he was away on the mountain with a turf slicer, but he would be back soon, driving the cows in to the milking as he came. Then, when the work was finished and supper ended, she would begin.

      The sharp bark of a dog from the upland roused her. Tom was coming already. She hastened away to rinse out the milk pails and prepare for the milking. And here came the cows; the long horned one that was always so restless leading, and after her the heifer and the short legged one, with the old, slow moving, contented, star-fronted favourite bringing up the rear. This last one and the dog had made a treaty, long ago, to the effect that, so long as movement did not absolutely cease, no heels were to be nibbled, and, due allowance being made for pausing to lick off an obstinate fly, no check or stop was to be made for sampling tempting tufts of grass. This treaty had always been honourably kept save once, when a fly opened his account just as his luncheon was passing through a patch of lush grass, and the mistake thus caused made a coolness for a week.

      These two had contrived somehow to acquaint Tom with the compact, therefore, he, having, as a wise man should have, great regard for the feelings of four-footed folk, contented himself with walking, as he did to-day, at an accommodating pace, so that, as he comes, you can see and note well what manner of man he is. The thing that strikes you chiefly about him is that he is built for strength, and after that, — nothing in particular. No fancy lines whatever about him, — long arms and deep chest, columnar neck and free carriage, making just a man fit for hard living and rough times. Perhaps on looking closer you may decide that the deep light of the grey eye and the clean cut line of the lower jaw betoken a will that may be as strong as the body; but there is nothing hard about the mouth, and over the whole face is an expression of peaceful, trusting strength, caught, maybe, from the majesty of the hills, an expression that instinctively begets the confidence of all true men.

      Such is Tom Hawys, the hero, or chief person rather, of this unvarnished tale.

      And now, the cows being milked and turned out again, the sun gone down and darkness drawing on, the supper ended and the chairs drawn close to the fire, all nights being chilly at this altitude, — old Hawys Ddu begins her speech, the flickering turf throwing a strengthening gleam into the pleading of the dim eyes.

      Perhaps we had better premise that she was the daughter of a father famous in his day over a wide district for his possession of the poetic awen, and that during her long widowhood, spent lonelily up here on the mountain with no human companionship save that of her son, she had grown to think and speak in the fanciful and figurative fashion to which she had been accustomed at her father's hearth. Her son, of course, knew no other.

      Further, since neither she nor he knew a word of English, it will be necessary for us to put their words and that of all the other characters in this relation, into approximate English, strained though it may appear.

      To return.

      "Tom," she says, laying a wrinkled hand upon the strong one on his knee, "I have been thinking a good deal lately about many things, for I am getting old and may hear the death call at any moment."

      She paused and looked at her son for assistance, but he keeping silence, she brought out the point at once, —

      "Why won't you get married?"

      Then the man smiled.

      "And indeed, my mother, that is so ready to her own funeral, why should I get married? Are you so eager to knuckle under to another woman that you would have me marry so suddenly? And in any case, whom should I marry?"

      Then the mother laughed softly while she stroked the strong hand beneath her own.

      "Whom should you marry? Whom should you not marry? What woman is there might not be proud of such a man? Ah! who, indeed?"

      It was a pleasant joke; so pleasant that the son continued it.

      "West wind! do you hear this mother of mine with her praise of a man as handsome and as pleasant featured as a stone shattered fresh from a quarry? Ah, mother, the evening star is smiling at your speech; see how merrily it twinkles through the window. Even the sleepy roses are nodding, — watch them!"

      Old Hawys grew bold at the jest, so that she pushed the matter with a pleasant smile which yet was deeply earnest.

      They twinkle and they nod, the stars and the roses; and the west wind laughs, but not at the old mother. Nay! nay! 'tis at the son, for they say to themselves, — 'Look you; sweet gossips, at the scornful man, but presently he will be brushing and brushing his beaver and will not be pleased with the cock of it at all, though he look in the glass never so oft. Nor with the set of the neck tie that never troubled him before, or the shape of the hands that he knew naught of till then. And he will look at the fit of his coat, and tie a ribbon of a taking colour at his knee, and wonder how many wethers he must sell in Cildeg market before he shall have money enough to see the tailor again. Scornful now, but we shall see.' Yea! well may they nod and twinkle and laugh, but not at the old wife. Tom, which one have you thought of?"

      The suddenness of this last caused the man's playful smile to broaden.

      "Why, mother, I never thought at all."

      Then he stopped and wondered, and the smile faded out, and his mental eyes, looking inwards, saw what brought a faint blush to his cheek. Had he never thought indeed? And the mother from beneath her eyebrows and from the bottom of her heart saw and noted all of this, as she sat nodding gently to the hand in hers; while the stars and roses and the west wind grew riotous in their merriment.

      "Hark! what is that?" said Tom, suddenly rising. "I must go out and see. Come Gelert! I heard something."

      Then the man went out into the night and saw that all the stars were smiling; probably because he took the dog with him. When a man tells a secret to anyone he likes to keep that one under his immediate eye, therefore Tom kept the dog beside him. Not that it had ever struck him as being a secret when he used to be telling it to the dog, or to have been anything in particular even; but now! it seemed to swell up into something which must be jealously guarded and not so much as hinted at to anyone else. Incidentally he glanced up at the clear darkness of the sky and around at the murkier blackness of the rocks and mountains, remembering with a dubious satisfaction that they were not likely to tell; only he was sorry that he had ever talked to them at all about such things. But then, what man would ever have thought that it mattered? Anyhow he would say no more, either to the rocks or the sky, the breeze or the dog and —

      At this point his thoughts took another turn, for he had reached the gate of the lower croft, where the rough cart track, leading down into the valley, began. From here his eye, ranging downward, could discern a faint twinkle, far below, like a dropped star shining upwards.

      "Yes! that is it," he said softly, under his breath, as he leaned with folded arms on the gate. The dog knew that position and that station; nay, he evidently knew it very well, for he at once curled round and endeavoured to appear comfortable. Nevertheless he emitted something very like a huge sigh as he settled his head; he most indubitably knew, — and found no great pleasure in his knowledge. Then, — wonderful, or other — wise, accordingly as you knew, or, did not know, the cause, — the dog's resigned sigh was answered by a deep strong sigh from the man; a wholly unconscious, swelling chested sigh. Which also seemed to be a thing familiar to the dog, for he merely flicked his ears at an imaginary fly, and in the darkness winked his brown eyes at a blue harebell that nodded in sleep a foot from his nose.

      How long the man stayed leaning on the gate does not matter, but inside, the old mother threw fresh turf on the fire and, smiling at the flame at first, relapsed into dreaming again upon the happenings of years ago, when a jaunt to fair or market was a pleasant thing to take.

      When at last the man came in again, he said, — shortly and would-be off-handedly, — "It was nothing after all. I think I'll go to bed now. Good night, mother dear! good night!"

      "Good night, Tom."

      But when he was gone old Hawys nodded to the red turf as she raked the ashes over it to preserve the seed of the fire for next morning. "It is all right! there's another fire had the ashes raked over it to-night, and there'll be another woman's hand will rake them off it to-morrow, or a near day, please God! It is all right! good night, hearth, it is all right."

      Then she, too, took a rushlight and started for bed; the dog, without a rushlight, finding his bed close enough to the warm ashes to contrast favourably with the ground by the lower gate.

      And, outside, the roses shut their ears to the west wind's scandalous whisperings, while the star, suddenly remembering, glided swiftly upward in a pretty attempt to make up for this shocking delay.

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CHAPTER II.
AND OTHER FOLK HAD A SHREWD IDEA OF IT.

NEXT morning, Tom was up and starting to fetch the cows much earlier than usual. Whether the cows knew anything or not cannot for certain be insisted upon, but the fact remains that, instead of wearing out the pads of Gelert's paws by being half way to Llyn Du, they were quietly chewing the cud at the gate of the upper croft; the long-horned one now and again rubbing her neck and dewlaps violently upon the topmost bar by way of simulating a mild excitement.

      Gelert did not appear at all surprised; in fact, instead of barking a good morning to the four in general, he simply cocked his ear in a very knowing fashion when old "Star" lowered her nose to him in greeting. Likely as not he had arranged things before the two-legged folk were astir. The jackdaws, too, seemed to have some new subject of gossip, and wheeled closer to the group than was common with them. Nay, later, at breakfast time, one of the younger daws, of the more curious sex perhaps, even perched upon the kitchen garden gate, and then not being able to discern much through the window of the house, boldly alighted on the bench under the ash, from whence the open door gave an interrupted view of the interior.

      Mother and son, however, did not again refer to the subject of their thoughts until, the meal being finished, the latter, in a manner intended to be casual, said, — "This is market day, mother. I think I'll just go down and see how things are going."

      And old Hawys, not surprised to hear it, but mightily pleased, nodded merely while she intimated that it would be a very sensible thing to do. It generally required about ten minutes for Tom to dress for market, but this day it took well on for half an hour. Evidently the beaver brushing had commenced; and severely too.

      He smiled shamefacedly at his mother as he attempted to hasten through the room to gain the door, and the sight of him overcame her prudent resolves.

      "Tell me, Tom, is it Megan o Will Evans, with the black eyes and saucy ways? Or is it Nanno Griffiths?"

      "Megan of Will Evans," repeated the other, half scornfully. "Megan, with the long tongue and short temper? Or is it Nanno Griffiths? say you; when Griffith Gloff and I fell out over that ewe, till only his twisted leg saved him from a fight? Megan and Nanno, indeed, of them all!"

      "Caty o'r Nant then?"

      "Caty! Caty, with the mother all drawn and twisted with the rheumatism? And what would Caty's young brothers and sisters do if I took Caty away now? No indeed! Caty is a rare good girl, but —" and he shook his head in disdainful superiority.

      "She is the best girl goes into Cildeg Market," rejoined old Hawys with assumed warmth.

      "Is she? She cannot even look the way of Gwennie Cradoc," — he saw the trap after he was in it, and, nettled at his mother's triumph, pulled his hat over his eyes and strode with a long swing out and down to the lower gate. There he smiled at his own pettishness and turned his face to call a kind parting word to the mother shading her eyes in the doorway. Two minutes more and he was out of sight, while old Hawys was still smiling over her success, telling old Gelert the while that Gwennie Cradoc was a good girl and a handsome, but none too good for her Tom.

      And Tom, a hundred yards down the track was stooping to tie a bright ribbon on either knee in place of the sober coloured one which usually hung there. Beaver brushing in earnest!

      Moving onward a little while he came to a sharp curve where the way led round the foot of an overhanging rock, and here at the turn he paused to glance to the right and left. For from where he was standing the whole line of the valley came into the sweep of the eye. A snug and beautiful valley it was for the more part, ranging from the tender hued sterility of Pen Dyffryn on the right, in graceful and ever richening gradations, to the fat lands and bosky hedgerows of Mynachty on the left, whose rich acres filled the southern side of the valley's mouth and even spread into the great vale of Cildeg itself.

      A pleasant prospect, truly, for the eye of any man, much more for that of a dweller on the heath-clad uplands. But it was not so much the valley in general that claimed Tom's eye so long and held his feet. His quick glance to right and left had stayed itself into a long fond look upon a point midway in the scene beneath him, where the roofs and white walls of a cluster of farm buildings showed, nestling in a sheltered grove. That was Glwysva, from whose window the star of his vigil last night had shone. Rightly was it named Glwysva, thought the man watching it 80 earnestly; it was a "pretty place" indeed, — and again he fetched the huge sigh that had bored the dog last night. For Glwysva was the home of Gwennie Cradoc, "his Gwennie."

      "His Gwennie!" Ah no! not that. Such an one as he, a rough hillsider, could have no chance with such a distracting perfection as she. The clouds knew that, and the bees knew it as they hung in the harebells or drowsed amongst the purple sheeted heather. He had told them so, over and over again; just as he had told old Gelert and the rocks. Yea! how earnestly he had argued it with the south wind, when that sweet nymph had whispered so winningly into his ear that prettiest of all names "Gwennie, Gwennie," reiterating it with enchanting persistence, in spite of his deprecations, till the tips of his very ears rivalled the heath blooms in colour. Aye, even when at last the south wind passed on and told the bees that it was an assured thing, and they, starting gleefully up, followed with her while she kissed it into the delicate lips of the harebells, or drew softly amongst the grey old rocks, breathing it forth with such pretty pretence of sighs, as though she wished she had a lover too, and escaping so roguishly away when a bold rock would have held her, proffering himself for a leal and languishing lover, — at such a time Tom would stand up and cry out "No! I tell you no!"; startling the sheep, and the old dog, and himself into the bargain, so that he would grasp his ashen staff and start for a vigorous climb up the nearest steep.

      Therefore, surely, he must know now that he had no chance at all, — she would only laugh at his uncouthness. He repeated this over and over again to himself as he stood here at the turn of the way; so often that, at last, with a little quiver of the corner of the mouth, he stooped slowly down and withdrew the bright ribbons that bound his knee, replacing them with the sober coloured ones of a little while ago. Sorrowfully, as he rose up, he cast the glistening vanities away into the steep ravine beside him. There they caught upon a bramble, fluttering timidly in the little breeze, while he strode gloomily on his way. But no! his heart smote him; he had donned those ribbons to set off what of shapeliness his limbs might boast, that so they might assist him to the favour of his lady's eye. It was not right that they, having been thus associated with her image, should lie thus cast-off, till some thievish magpie should snap them up in screeching glee to line his nest. He would fetch those ribbons back.

      Very quickly did he put the thought into execution, and then, with the recovered ornaments safe in his pockets once more, he started forward again.

      The track he was following joined the valley road a little below Glwysva, but he would not trust his feet so near even as that, but would take across more to his left and so strike the road still farther below. And ever as he went his spirits sank lower until he caught himself saying sadly, — "Is it to be Megan Wills then, after all? or Caty, or Nanno?" And his sighs were crowding so closely and so furiously as almost to scare the birds in the bushes. He had crossed the stream and reached a gate, to climb which would let him into the road, when, just as he threw one long leg over the top bar, — and with the sad coloured ribbons at the knee, mind you, — whom should he see, sitting upon a mossy bank beneath an arching tree, but Gwennie Cradoc herself.

      Truly this was Gwennie; no other could have made half so enchanting a picture. What other could have sat there, with the skin that was like the waxen honeysuckle for texture, and with the brown eyes as clear and bright as no other maiden's eyes ever were? Not the primrose in the shady nooks had an expression of more sweet and wondering innocence; not the violet in the bank at her knee could hang its head more modestly, nor the delicate wood-anemone rise with a more grace-lit pose and carriage than this engaging disturber of Tom's happiness.

      Nor yet could the ragged-robin from the brambled nooks light up with such a shy sauciness as this with which she greeted Tom's confusion. Fie on you, Tom Hawys. This is the picture which, for months past, has excluded all else from your thoughts by day and your dreams by night, and yet, no longer since than last night, you dared to say "you never thought at all of any woman!"

      No! that was only, "Good morning, Tom Hawys!" but how prettily she did say it! And Tom, shifting his beaver helplessly on his head, replied that it was indeed a fair morning; but, — and then stopped for lack of what next to say.

      How merrily she laughed at that, and how archly she glanced at the heavy basket that lay upon the stone at her foot. Was it the basket though, or was it the pretty foot? Certainly it was the latter that Tom saw, to such a visible increase of his confusion that its owner coyly withdrew it and, nodding towards the basket, said, with a little grimace that completely finished the man, — "Oh it is so heavy!"

      The basket, at least, was a solid point in this rising sea of witchery. Here was firm footing and security from the power which was tossing him to and fro like a cork. Grateful beyond measure he stooped and lifted the basket.

      "I'll carry it for you — Gwennie," he blurted out. "Oh, and will you indeed? That is so nice of you."

      That upturned face with the ripe, love-apple lips! He was just about to drop the basket and seize the pretty rogue when she, quick fencer that she was, sprang forward as if in a desperate hurry.

      "Oh! we must hasten so, or we shall be late for the market and then what should I do?"

      Tom did not know. He could not see as far as the market just now. He could not see an inch beyond that shapely head and lissome figure. He knew nothing saving that he would give more than he should ever possess, just once to hold that sheaf of all the charms and graces in the fast hold of his eager arms and end his confusion for ever in a kiss of the lips that caused it.

      And she, knowing all this, reading it in everything about him, from the crown of his hat to the fall of his foot, and feeling it too in the depths of her heart, talked with a very demure animation of things at Havod y Garreg; enquiring closely about the health of old Hawys, and praising the wonderful knowledge of Gelert, and the points of the cows, and the fertility of the crofts; together with the hundred and one other things that appertain to the smallest farm, till Tom grew astonished that he should be connected at all with such a wonderful place, so different did it seem when Gwennie talked of it.

      And then, by and by, when the tumult in his brain had swung itself into a regular movement, he began to wonder after all if it were true that he had no chance. Would Gwennie walk with him and talk with him like that if she didn't think of him just a little; a very little? And here she was asking him to sit down and rest a moment in this leafy road to market. Certainly it looked somewhat encouraging. He half regretted now the taking off of the bright ribbons; and the fumbling had turned the nap of his beaver all awry. And yet, too, his hands did look large by contrast with that hand there picking the posy.

      And yet — and yet —

      But the maiden, watching his face and reading it, knowing whitherward his cogitations tended, rose up always, or started some new way or subject, just before the man's reasonings could reach their logical conclusion, leaving him ever in a state of new wonder and fresh inward reasonings. Only he wished, fervently and devoutly to the bottom of his soul, that this so pleasant road would never reach any market, that they might go on thus for ever, he bearing her burden and she smiling and talking to him and bewildering him completely with her witcheries. He forgot everything in the wide world save only how all desirable she was, and how utterly, to the farthest reach of his soul, he loved her.

      Then the black shadow fell. They had reached the mouth of the valley and were come to where the road, from east, trended south-east across the level vale of Cildeg to the town, a mile away. The last field of Mynachty was on their right, and here the lane from its homestead joined the road they were following. In the midst of her raillery Gwennie stopped short and, without a word, took the basket from him.

      Utterly surprised, Tom looked up, and saw, standing by the gate at the entrance to the lane, the tall form and dark visage of Will Addis, Uchelwr of Mynachty.

---

CHAPTER III.
AND THE FREEHOLDER WAS TAUGHT IT.

WILL ADDIS, Uchelwr, — or freeholder, — of Mynachty, was the last of a line of freeholders which had held the place since the days of the Eighth Harry. At present he was a man of about thirty and, unlike his predecessors, no favourite in the vale. Not that he had done anything positive or tangible in support of such a character, but he held himself above tenant farmers and was given to offensive insinuations concerning his own comparative wealth. It was his peculiar use of the word, in one such insinuation, which had caused him to be dubbed Uchelwr.

      Of late he had added to this, in the opinion of the younger men in the neighbourhood, by publicly boasting his intention of marrying Gwennie Cradoc whenever he should tire of the single state. So sure, indeed, was he himself upon this point, that it was little short of a knock down blow to him to find how Gwennie received his advances. This was when he at last decided upon going and claiming his chattel, which was about his view of the maiden in the case. He put on his Sunday best, — without brushing the beaver or changing the ribbon at his knee, — and, mounting the black mare, rode whistling up the valley to Glwysva.

      There he found the object of his choice driving the cows down to the milking from the upper pasture and, without dismounting, he came alongside, opening the conversation from the saddle. But when he spoke of love, she merely tossed her head and sang an old song about a maiden who loved unwisely and sorely rued her bargain.

      Whereupon he touched her impatiently with his riding whip to check her and bring her to a proper consideration of the honour proffered her, and, — so smartly that he scarce knew how it was done, — received a stinging blow across the face from the hazel-wand in her hand which raised a long blue weal from cheek to chin, and brought the salt water to his eyes.

      He would have horsewhipped her upon the spot, but a second blow across his horse's nose caused it to rear so violently as to keep him exceedingly busy in trying to retain his seat. Nor would any amount of urging from so bad a horseman bring the animal to face that wand again, while the teeth of the two dogs warned him against dismounting to essay his purpose on foot.

      Then he had sworn a round oath and a black that no other man but himself should marry the maid who stood so scornfully regarding him and his efforts to master his horse; further promising to make her pay dearly for this when they were married.

      Here she broke in, telling him sarcastically to learn to master his horse before he talked of mastering a wife; ending by shaking her wand so vigorously in the face of the animal that it fairly turned and bolted, nearly unseating its passenger as it took the low wall out of the pasture.

      That was a month ago nearly, and the tale of it was gone about the country so widely that all the land was laughing over it; save only Tom Hawys, who never heard it at Havod y Garreg; and the freeholder himself, who never left Mynachty, but kept close and cursed every hair of Gwennie's head.

      No wonder then that at this meeting the freeholder scowled at the two; no wonder that Gwennie grew pale and took the basket. Above all, no wonder Tom misunderstood and sank at once to the lowest gulfs of misery.

      The rest of the way to the town was painful, and Tom was glad of the absence of trees which allowed him to pull the hat over his eyes and look the other way. So wretched did he feel that, upon crossing the bridge which led over the river into the town, he seized the opportunity of stopping to converse with an acquaintance, while Gwennie went on into the market.

      Ten minutes later he dimly awoke to the fact that the acquaintance he was so busy conversing with was none other than Griffith Gloff, whom he had previously so inveighed against.

      All that morning Tom hung about the outskirts of the town, unable to muster up courage to venture into the market square lest he should again meet Gwennie. Nor was it hunger that drove him, about noon, by devious ways and back passages, to the low raftered sitting room of the Red Dragon.

      His first mug of ale he took off at a gulp, — though a minute ago the thought of it had threatened to choke him, and he lost no time in ordering another. A cheery voice at his elbow however, prevented his serving that likewise, for here was Huw Auctioneer with a merry tale to tell and challenging a laugh in reply.

      That tale was the tale of the freeholder's wooing; with sundry comments added, and, at its conclusion, the teller's hand was seized with a grip that made the knuckles crack, while Tom tried hard to decide upon something to say. Then Huw Auctioneer, looking at the lighted face before him, let his limp hand fall unheeded upon the table until he had taken a long slow draught from his beaker, staring hard at the bottom the while. Putting down the measure, he gave vent to a queer sounding whistle, but whether that referred to the hand he was looking at or the man who had damaged it, he did not say.

      "Good day." He nodded to Tom, who was already risen and going.

      "Good day," he repeated to himself, nodding again when Tom had disappeared through the thronged doorway in the direction of the square. "Good day! and I think the Freeholder will curse you yet, Tom Hawys; and curse you for many a day."

      Outside in the square Tom was looking eagerly, yet cautiously, round on every side, hoping to catch a sight of "his Gwennie." Yes, it was his Gwennie again, else why had she taken the basket from him at sight of Will Addis? She had done that, his breast swelled proudly at the thought, and his heart grew big in the space, — for fear of what harm the Freeholder might work him, in accordance with his sworn oath to her. Ah, she was tender of himself; because her heart was soft towards him; he, the hillsider! But he would tell her now that she need never take the basket from him more for dread of aught the Freeholder might do. Bah! he could hammer the fellow any day, for all his longer length and despite his broad acres and good cheer; he would do it; would that he were here now.

      Who knew! perhaps he was here? Perhaps he had followed to the town in order to spy upon and terrorize the maiden. The thought was like strong wine to Tom, making his pulses leap and his nerves tingle.

      But immediately his mood took another turn, for yonder at the corner stood the dear form of "his" love. How fair she looked! How incomparable! How tame and little favoured seemed all the other maids in the market beside her!

      Yea, he would just step into a shop and buy a beautiful ribbon for her brown hair, and another for his own knee, — the ones in his pocket belonged to that far off time when he only worshipped her and went in fear apart, — and then he would go straight up to her and wait till she should say that she was ready to go home again. Then he would measure his pace to hers until they came to the place where she had taken the basket. There he would tell her that she need have no further fear, for that, when she was safely home, he himself would go to Mynachty and hammer its owner till that unspeakable cur should cry for mercy and promise good behaviour for the rest of his life.

      Many an acquaintance, receiving no answer to the passing salutation, looked into Tom's eyes and wondered at the light in them. But he saw nothing of them or their wonder; the picture of one sweet face shutting out all else from his view.

      He turned into the nearest shop, — it happened to be that of his own landlord.

      "Jacob! Jacob! serve me quick! I want a length of pretty ribbon!"

      Jacob was brisk to serve his tenant; putting the other folk in the shop to wait, for not every man had so good and ready a tenant as Tom Hawys. Still he would have delayed and dawdled a little in measuring, while he asked about the crops and the stock, only the other's mood was so keen that it brooked no fumbling.

      Hardly was there time to say "Good day," after counting the money banged so recklessly upon the counter, before the customer was out in the street.

      "Ho! ho!" said Jacob Shop, winking slyly to the stout farmer's wife waiting her turn.

      "Ha! ha!" laughed that merry person, nodding her head vigorously.

      "And why shouldn't he buy a ribbon for a maid, if he chooses to?" said another, sagely.

      In the street Tom had missed the form of Gwennie from the place where she had been standing, and now went eagerly to and fro seeking her in the crowd. Not finding her he started along the way leading over the river and to the road home. There he caught a glimpse of a red cloak just vanishing over the crown of the bridge.

      The town and the road were full of red cloaks, but he knew that that one was hers; whose else carried so gracefully? He would have known her's amongst a thousand. Ah, well; he would soon overtake her.

      Gripping his staff manfully, he set forth with a long swinging stride, whistling as he went. A merry foot and a merry heart move handsomely together, and the pace set his brain a-bubbling till a whistle was all too thin for expression and he burst into the lilt of an old love song. The staff in his hand was no longer content to soberly measure the paces in the dust; it too, had caught the infection and waved and swung about in irrepressible fashion. It must have been in the secret also, for, instead of bestowing the old hard, uncompromising knocks upon the road, as at the incoming that morning, it met it now with roguish taps and winking touches; as though it digged it in the ribs and cried, — "Ho! you know. A sad dog this. A bonny maid we'll have for mistress soon, ha! ha!"

      And the road stretched into a knowing grin and laughed its reply, — "A bonny maid, indeed! Do I not know the prettiest foot that travels my length and the lightest? — it scarcely leaves a print. A bonny maid, indeed!"

      The hat upon his head too, the beaver that was first brushed and then fumbled, do you think that did not know all about it? Just look at it; with a strong rake aft; a fetching cock over one ear, and the brim flapping signals to the wind that joked with it. Not know, indeed! perhaps you will be saying next that the sober coloured ribbons did not know, and merely hung so limply because they were sad-coloured!

      From the bridge the staff and the hat could see the red cloak ahead, and judge by how much the distance between was lessened. They went along in a more rollicking fashion than ever. Indeed these two might thank their stars that their master was in love, or else he would have detected their goings on before this. Other folk did, and stared uncommonly at the sight, but these two took no heed to them and winked at each other the more since Tom saw nothing; not even the folk staring.

      Soon they were getting a good deal closer to the red cloak, and the hat and the staff were warned by the slacking of the stride and the lowering of the lilt that they must behave more circumspectly. Therefore the hat was not unduly cast down to find itself set squarely and firmly upon the head, and even pulled down a little, for it knew that this betokened a determination with regard to the business in hand; and it set itself accordingly to lose nothing of what was to come. The stick, too, did not miss more than one pace in four now, and even then only swung itself in a sort of subdued and circumscribed motion, with hardly an opportunity of any attempt upon the hat's new decorum.

      The lilt stopped completely, and the breath began to come queerly through the tight lips. The red cloak is just out of sight round that bend; when we turn it, a couple of minutes will bring us up with the maiden.

      Tom paused now for a second, and fingered his cravat while he cleared his throat. Then he felt in his pocket for the cherished ribbon, gripped his staff more firmly still, and started forward once again. Now or never!

      Once round the bend, something caused him to start forward at a run. There, a few paces in front, stood Will Addis, striving to take the basket from Gwennie's arm; while she was struggling to retain it. Before either was aware Tom was beside them, gripping the basket.

      "I'll carry it, Gwennie," he said from behind his teeth.

      White to his very lips with anger, the surprised Freeholder fell back a pace, loosing his hold as he did so. Thus, for a moment, the two men stood regarding each other, as though calculating the chances, and then, simultaneously dropping their staves, without a word rushed upon one another.

      Gwennie turned sick as she heard the hissing breath and cracking sinews of the two men rolling over and over in the rocky road, locked in a grip that made every muscle stand out as hard as iron.

      Love, hate, and the natural savagery of man, strained and wrestled confusedly in the vice-like clutches and stubborn writhings of the fighters; shorter and shorter grew their breathings and more convulsive their gaspings. The air wheezed in their wind-pipes, and the dust caked the dry tongues whenever the hard shut line of the mouths relaxed. It was too fierce to last, and both knew it; the Freeholder first and most. His hand moved suddenly upward and gripped the other's throat.

      Tom knew what that meant, but life, and love, and victory are sweet. Gathering his remaining strength in one mighty lift, he flung the other beneath him with a force that completely stunned him.

      On hands and knees; head down and eyes closed; striving for the breath that came in husky wheezes and whistles, the victor lay for two or three minutes before he could muster power enough to struggle to his feet. It was still longer before he could stand upright, with somebody's one white hand upon his arm, and another reaching up to his shoulder to steady him from reeling, and then something in a pair of brown eyes, in a trembling mouth, and a white, frightened face, struck in upon his attention. Between his gasps he tried to assure her, in broken words, that everything was all right, and that he was neither hurt to death, nor would be hung for killing another.

      Perhaps five minutes of this; with never a glance behind at the one left lying there. Then a cry from Gwennie, and a sharp sough from behind, caused him to turn quickly, so as neatly to receive upon the forehead the sharp edge of a long, jagged stone, wielded club fashion by the staggering Freeholder.

      Down went Tom like a beeve in the shambles but ere the blow could be repeated, Gwennie had thrown herself like a tigress upon the would-be murderer. The shock threw the reeling villain, not yet fully recovered, sprawling beneath the hedge, and, as he attempted to regain his feet, a blow from the stone which Gwennie had seized rendered his right arm useless. With a horrible oath he attempted to clutch her with his left hand, but a second blow across the back of that left it also useless. Foaming now with ungovernable rage he made a savage kick at her, and, in his still tottery state losing his balance, fell full length across the road. In his fall his head came in contact with a stone, once more stunning him, but this time only slightly. It was sufficient, however, to cow him upon his coming to, and Gwennie's threat to use the club upon him again, as also her ready posture with the terrible weapon uplifted in both hands, induced the baffled villain to decamp with what speed he could muster, lest Tom Hawys should recover consciousness and repay the dastard blow.

---

CHAPTER IV.
WHILE AS FOR GWENNIE.

BARELY was he vanished before Gwennie fell upon her knees beside the prostrate form of Tom. Was he really dead then after all? — the strong Tom Hawys with the bashful ways. Would those honest grey eyes never open again? Ah, yes! that sigh! he was coming round again. With feverish haste she wiped away the blood from the ragged gash upon the brow. In the hollow of her shapely hands she carried water from the tiny rill by the roadside, and bathed the wound; first laving the dry, parted lips with the cooling drops. Then, with a little sob that shook the unconscious tears from her cheek, she watched the deep eyes slowly open; saw the hands move feebly up to the head, and heard the unsteady voice cry quaveringly, — "Where am I?"

      "Ah, safe! Tom. Safe, dear heart, with me; and the black Uchelwr gone. Oh! I am so glad. Thank God! Thank God!"

      The tears were falling all unheeded now; falling upon cheek and chin of the man below till the vague look slowly gathered purpose, and one weak arm tremblingly uplifted to clasp the ivory neck and draw it down. Another minute and the voice, with a touch of the old deep ring, came forth again, — "My Gwennie! My Gwennie!"

      His Gwennie! The tears were struggling with the smiles now, and her words came in a sheer incoherence of thankfulness.

      He made no attempt to study her meaning, nor yet to move as she pushed back his hair or patted his cheek with the hand that was not engaged in holding the kerchief to the wound, lying quite still in dreamy pleasure, and murmuring every little while the burden of his happiness, — "My Gwennie! My Gwennie!"

      At length she moved sufficiently far to dip the kerchief into the runlet and wring out the blood from it. The act roused his thoughts, and brought him back to a vigorous self-consciousness. He had risen to his knees with the intention of standing upright ere she, with a little cry, could check and forbid him. Kneeling beside him she carefully folded the damp kerchief into a pad to place upon the wound. The shapely hands were beginning to tremble, the brave brown eyes to hide themselves beneath the long lashes, and the blushes to ebb and flow in waves of delicate colour. This was no longer a helpless man; this man had a plain purpose in his face. Hardly could she control her confusion sufficiently to place the pad in position. Tom helped her. This was not the Tom Hawys who had grown so confused and helpless before her this morning; the positions were reversed. This man was strong with the patient strength of the master. Without hurry or awkwardness he, — this man who had fumbled his beaver, — loosed his necktie, and gave it to her to bind round his brow and keep the pad in place. When that was ended, — it is so difficult to tie a bandage properly when the face will droop and the eyelids drop down over the eyes in spite of one's self, — she made an attempt to rise and get away. His arm held her; his arm that had at some time stolen round that trim waist. She knew that it was useless to struggle any more; she knew what was coming, — the new paths, the new ends and aims, the new life all one glorious mist of rosy happiness. She bowed herself and waited. And he laid his hand, — the hand that had seemed so large and unhandsome to himself, — upon hers; and gently, with a strong tenderness, lifted her face till he could look into the shining eyes. Then softly, his heart's own voice came, deep and vibrating, —

      "My Gwennie? Is it so, dear heart? Sweet love? My Gwennie?"

      And low and sweet, hardly catchable above the sighing breath of perfect happiness, came the answer, —

      "Yes, Tom! Your Gwennie."

      Dear reader, — but nay, pass we on, with only one other glimpse of these two, as, some half-hour afterwards, they went slowly along the road up the valley to Glwysva. Then the basket was on Tom's left arm, and his right round the form that was the world itself to him. And at Gwennie's throat showed a ribbon that had its fellow at Tom's knee.

---

CHAPTER V.
"RAVENS OF ARAN; WITNESS."

MEANWHILE what of Will Addis?

      When he first fled, it was along the lane towards his own house. Dully, and with a savage ferocity of hate gnawing at his heart, he stumbled on till he reached a point half way along his path. Here an oak, blasted and riven by lightning, rose upon one side of the road. All its top was gone, and all its branches also save one; splintered and wrecked by the destroying stroke. The one bough remained stretched, gaunt and bare, across the path, where its end also was broken off. Some foot or more from the end, however, a slender and leafless branch dangled by a strip of bark. The sight of this tree, so like to a gallows, arrested the eye of the man beneath, and he paused. What if he had killed his rival? Fear clutched at the springs of his heart, and turned the living blood in him to crawling, clammy slime. The lava flood in his brain, that had dashed its waves so fiercely against his temples as if to burst through, died stilly, slowly down to frozen lead. He put his hands out and caught the top bar of a gate beside him. Laying the new weight of his forehead between his hands upon the wood, he strove to think.

      What if he had killed his rival? That would be murder, and murder meant hanging. Swift despair bred sudden defiance. He raised his head and stood upright again. What of it? If Tom Hawys were dead, he couldn't marry Gwennie. True enough; but some other man might; and she would be elated to know that he, — Will Addis, — was hung.

      Anything rather than that; she must not live to triumph over him from the witness box. The last thought decided him; he would go back and finish her, too.

      He did not use the lane in returning, but, passing through the gate under his hand, stole across the fields until he reached the hedge, which now alone divided him from the scene of the encounter. Peering cautiously through, a sight met his view that caused him to stagger back and smite his temples with clenched fists.

      Standing in the road, locked in a fond embrace, and utterly oblivious to all outside influences, were the two lovers, the man whispering the fond foolishnesses of the position, and the maiden sighing her utter happiness in answer.

      Backward, backward went the Uchelwr, staggering like a drunken man, the blaze of his rage blinding him; bitter hatred and fierce hunger for vengeance making a tossing hell of his bosom.

      His brain was seething, humming and drumming with devilish thoughts that would not be still long enough to piece themselves in sequence. Once more he reached the gate, and, stumbling through, fell, utterly exhausted, face downward, in the grass.

      Thence, not lifting his face or moving a limb, he poured out an hour long train of curses, curses that halted for a choice of blasphemous superlatives, or paused for a more diabolical image. But through it all, until he was almost finished, he never mentioned the lovers by name. Then he stopped suddenly, and lay a short while quiescent. The thoughts were shaping themselves at last, coming under control.

      Raising his face, and propping it with his chin on the sod, he glanced darkly round to make certain he was alone. Assured of this, he rose to his knees, and turned his frienzied features to the west, where the peaks of Aran glowed or darkled against the sinking sun. A fearful shape he looked, kneeling there, bareheaded, the black hair all in a bloody tangle matted over his brows and down his livid cheeks, whence the bloodshot eyes, with their red black balls, gleamed in Satanic fury.

      Next, slowly, with wide stretched eyes and reached out, clenching fists, in a voice shrill with intensest concentration of ferocity, he proceeded to register an oath against the two objects of his hate.

      "Ravens of Aran, hear me! Birds that from your pinnacles stretch wide your wings and draw the black night across, hear me! Here, kneeling, as man should to God only, I swear to you that, sleeping or waking, dreaming or doing, night or day, I will not cease from working till I have utterly and completely revenged the doings of this day. Ravens of Aran, witness!"

      Through every word of the vow every fibre of the man had vibrated to the snapping point, and now, when it was ended, the terrible strain relaxing, he collapsed, falling forward upon his face again.

      Lying there, absolutely silent in the long grass, he showed vividly like to a corpse. Far off in the west a dark speck became visible against the light. Nearer and nearer it came, keeping between the lines of Drumhir and its northern parallel of Cefn Du, looming larger and larger, till it took the black semblance of a raven. Heavily it flapped on till it reached the mouth of the valley. There slowly it began to circle, slower still and lower, till the figure in the grass attracted it. Just for a moment it hovered, and then, with outstretched wings, descended, lighting upon the broken bough above the dangling branch just as the last red gleam of the departing sun painted tree and bird alike with a stain that nailed the horrible suggestiveness of the picture.

      "Chap! chap! rasp! rasp!" the bird was whetting its beak. "Croak!" it was challenging the thing beneath.

      With startling suddenness the man leaped upright. "What was that?" Wildly he gazed around, till the ghastly shape on the withered limb met his view. Staggering back, he clutched at the gate for support, while one hand covered his eyes to shut them from the horror above.

      When at length he dropped his hand and looked again, the raven was gone, vanished into the gathering gloom of Drumhir, taking with it the red tint from the tree and leaving him alone in the shadows.

      He shivered as if with ague, pushing back the damp locks from his brow. Looking round, the scintillating outline of Aran in the west caught his eye, and again he shivered. What did it mean? He could not tell; he would go home and rest awhile. Picking up the hat at his feet, he started stiffly along the lane, making his way towards the lights now palely beginning to shine from the windows of Mynachty.

---

CHAPTER VI.
THE YEAST OF THE OATH OF RAVENS.

THE river that wandered along the vale of Cildeg took many a turn and winding on its pleasant journey. One in particular it made, where a comparatively straight reach of some five or six miles was broken midway by a beautiful, smooth semicircle to the west. The main road along the valley, coming to this bend, disdained to follow the idle stream and kept a stubborn, matter-of-fact line on to the point where the river, its frolic ended, resumed the temporary straightness of its course. As if, however, to emphasize its disdain, the road now changed its bank, marching over a bridge and so continuing to its destination.      But to come back to the bend. Here, hemmed in by the curve of the stream on the one side and the straight of the road on the other, lay the little town of Cildeg. The road, of course, became a street, with various smaller streets leading down to the river, but only one in the other direction, and that was merely the lazy road from over the Moel mountains, which had put on airs, and now turned street because it happened to reach a town. Where these roads intersected was the market square, around which ranged the chief inns and shops of the town. Leading away from one corner of this, a narrow way ran to the grey old church, with its peaceful, yew-shaded acre of rest, on the banks of the gently flowing water, whose fringe of giant elms protected the quiet fane from the mid-day heat. One other feature of the town requires mention. Standing and looking along the eastern road a sudden curve shuts the view, a hundred yards along it. Walking to this curve one could note that the houses extended only another sixty or seventy yards, but the point that chiefly arrested the attention was a cubicle sort of erection which occupied the centre of the road at the end. Squat; massive; ugly, — that was the jail.

      Three feet thick the granite of its walls, one foot thick the flagstones of its roof, hardly high enough for a tall man to stand upright in and barely wide enough for such an one to stretch his length along its floor. Four square it stood, grim and forbidding, with a narrow doorway that forcibly suggested a coffin on end, were it not for the rough-hewn iron-banded ribs of the oaken door, which frowned in its depths and showed a key hole rivalling in size the loop hole which was supposed to admit light and air to any poor soul within.

      Like most Welsh jails, however, this one was seldom used, and at present we should find it empty did we choose to go so far. Turning away therefore, as useless to continue, we should, perhaps, not be wholly surprised to find at our right elbow a house, somewhat superior to its neighbours in aspect, with bow windows above and below, and bearing upon its door a brass plate inscribed, —

"OWEN BEVAN, SOLICITOR."

Nor, in continuing our journey back again to the square, should we probably make any comment at seeing, about half way along, another brass plate upon the door of a similar house, and bearing a somewhat similar legend, —

"EVAN BOWEN, SOLICITOR."

Evidently the dwellings of the rival solicitors of the place.

      Reaching the market place one finds the farther side of it utilized almost to its fullest extent by the front of the Red Dragon, most famous of inns, and home of most kindly cheer and potent ale. Other inns there are, King's Heads and what not, upon other sides of the square, but not one of them really competent to enter the lists with the Red Dragon; while, scattered between all these, stand the more or less modest shops, — chemists, grocers, drapers, etc., which naturally congregate in such small centres of activity.

      Having thus the town in your grasp, upon the morning next following the events of the last chapter, turn your eyes towards the bridge and note, ambling in upon a powerful black mare, the scowling visage and bulky form of Will Addis, glowering furtively to right or left, with never a smile or a "good morning" to man, woman, or child; nor ever a smile or a "good morning" from man, woman or child.

      Half through the night he had lain plotting and planning, with a brandy bottle at his elbow beside the tall candle whose rays kept at bay the vision of the raven on the tree. Thoroughly stupified at last, with, the brandy heeled well down and the candle commencing to gutter, he had fallen asleep to dream of horrible scenes and doings, waking in the morning with a head possessing an individuality and movement of its own. However, up till now, he had never been much given to spirits, and therefore it did not take long, or need any drastic measures, to induce the head to abate its new found importance, a few minutes under the well pipe limpening and bedraggling its notions wonderfully. A draught of honest ale, and a stiff climb to the nearest shoulder of Drumhir, brought him to breakfast without any greater distaste for it than might have been expected, and over the breakfast his previous night's debatings suddenly crystallized themselves into a distinctly satisfactory plan of proceedings.

      Whereas in the night his thoughts had all tended towards some manner of safely committing a double murder and averting the consequences, the morning diverted them to what to him appeared a much saner and safer line. Instead of himself coming under the heel of the law he would now use its forms and powers as a means of gratifying his own desire for revenge. Murder was a poor enough mode of vengeance, lasting no time; tasteless, too, in all probability, — since likely enough the victim would not know who did the deed; vengeance in such case becoming rather a retrospective abstraction than a present sweet morsel between the lips.

      His vengeance must last long and bite deeply in. No thing of a moment's duration, shadowed and haunted by a fear of the gallows. Clearly the morning's thoughts were wholesomer to his desires than the druggings of darkness.

      The point then was how to begin? It did not take long to decide that a first step could not be better chosen than one which would strike at the prospective marriage through its prospective home. He would buy Hafod y Garreg and thus become Tom's landlord. Jacob Shop, down in Cildeg, owned the place, and Jacob Shop would do anything for money.

      He smiled as he mentally settled this, and, rising, passed out into the corridor. He had donned his hat and was come to the front door before it struck him that the tune he whistled was Cwynfan Prydain, not a pleasant omen to be sure. Never mind, he would offset that; Megan a gollodd ei Gardas was surely fitting to the business in hand. So he kept on to the stables and told Randal Goch to saddle the black mare at once.

      Thus it is that we meet him here riding in to put his plan in motion.

      The shop from which Tom's landlord received his surname was situated half way down the square, on the right hand as you turned from the bridge road to the Red Dragon. Here he sold all manner of spun, woven, or knitted goods, with a good deal of miscellaneous else beside. Bolts of cotton goods and bales of woollen stuffs blocked up the doorway till there was barely room to pass, and not that if you had a kindly stomach. Inside, rolls of ribbons and folds of lace lay in glass cases blocking up the counter; handkerchiefs, neck kerchiefs, shoulder shawls, cravats and caps obstructed the light of the window; pasteboard boxes and brown paper parcels filled the shelves that lined the walls, and, overhead, lines of odds and ends, from tablecloths to babies' bibs, interfered with the glossiness of customers' beavers. Just the dim kind of place wherein the unscrupulous shopkeeper lies in wait to palm off wrong shades of colour and goods that are shady upon the long-suffering buyer.

      The place was nominally the place of Jacob Shop, but notoriously it was the seat of the government of Jen gwraig Jacob Shop, — who ruled her husband, her family, and the shop, with a rod of iron, or, to be more correct, a tongue of inordinate length which was hung in the middle and wagged at both ends, as the common saying went. This morning, being the day after market, she was in an especially aggravating mood, for there was cleaning to do after the throng of yesterday, and neither had she yet exhausted her homily anent her husband's mistake of the same date, when a confusion of tickets caused him to sell a tucker three half-pence below its proper price. Wisdom did not come to Jacob Shop from experience, or he would never have ventured to point out to her, as he did, that it was she herself who had pinned the wrong ticket in place and thus caused the loss. Therefore he was very properly punished by finding that a whole evening's recrimination, continuing with the bed candle, did not find its usual conclusion in a half hour's summing up over the breakfast table next morning, but bade fair to be carried on through an additional twenty four hours.

      His gratification then was proportionate when the Freeholder, — having sent this horse to the Red Dragon, — coming in at the door, overturned both piles of material upon the woman scolding inside. Decorously dissembling his glee the little man hastened to assist in the extrication of his lady ruler from the confused mass, duly receiving a vigorous box on the ear and a clutch of his scanty red hair as a reward for his gallantry. All the same the stream was turned and for the next few minutes the new comer was compelled to listen to the torrent of her objurgations, which first astounded and then amused him, finally determining him to make her sorry some day.

      When she paused to take breath, which, being well practised in her line, was not soon, he hastened to insert a word, — "Good morning, Jacob Shop! I've come to see you on a matter of important business. You had better put on your hat and come over to the Red Dragon."

      "All right," responded the person addressed, with a deprecatory glance at his wife as he started round the counter.

      But that good lady met his glance with a look that boded the downfall of the move. Setting her arms akimbo she spoke in her shrillest voice and most determined manner. "Get you back behind that counter, Jacob Shop, and don't you dare to leave it to-day. Go to the Red Dragon, indeed! upon business! Any business in this house must be told to me or stay away —"

      She didn't break off for lack of words but because it is difficult to continue if you are seized by the shoulders from behind and violently flung aside; which is what the Freeholder did to her at this moment.

      "Out of the way, woman, damn you!" he shouted; "and you, you fool! come with me at once. I'll lend you my horsewhip to come home with when we have done. Come, and it will be good money and lots of it in your pocket. Now!" The tone and masterful manner succeeded, and while Jacob Shop slunk out, Jen Jacob went into hysterics, until, finding that neither of the men turned back, she crossed over and smashed the cases on the counter and then, diving into the living room behind, seized the second boy, who had the misfortune to most resemble his father, and thrashed him till he howled again.

---

CHAPTER VII.
THE BUYING OF JACOB SHOP.

THE Red Dragon had other rooms beside the common one. Some folk, — homely, easy-going mortals, — preferred the settle nook by the kitchen hob, and the contemplation of the huge flitches of bacon hanging from the beams above. There was an atmosphere of plenty about these, backed by the mighty loaf and bulky cheese on the dresser, which was very comforting to folk who did not always find it easy to scrape along.

      Others again, small shopkeepers and such like, proud people, aired their consequence in the commercial room, where prints of prize-fighters and game cocks, in equally ferocious attitudes, ministered to the accreditedly sporting leanings of the gig driving fraternity. There was a swaggering, man-of-the-world, hanged if I don't, sort of air about this room which agreed well with the pretensions of its local frequenters.

      Different yet, some sybaritic souls swore by a drop of something short in the snuggery, where the brass candlesticks on the mantelshelf rivalled the copper ale-warmers and bed pans in polished brightness, and the new-fangled sofa strove to look less glum than nature or its fabricator had made it. The long churchwarden pipes seemed to appear more inviting here as they smiled from the chimney rack, suggesting that a whiff of good tobacco was "a dish for a king."

      But none of these had any attractions for Will Addis to-day. Leaving them all aside he kept along the passage, past the bar and snuggery on the one hand and the commercial room on the other, till he came to the sanctum of mine host himself. Lifting the latch, with never a knock or a by your leave, he walked straight in, followed by the draper, who was not a little impressed by this cavalier treatment of the privileges of the house.

      Mine host looked round smartly at this off-hand intrusion upon his privacy, but the sight of the Freeholder changed the words upon his lips.

      "Ah, Will Addis! Good day to you." He merely nodded to Shop.

      "Good day to you, Madoc. I came in here because I wanted to talk over some important business with my friend," — here he nodded condescendingly towards Shop who discreetly remained in the back ground and smiled feebly upon the scene at large, — "I thought it was best to come and ask you for the use of this room for awhile, knowing that you would not mind."

      "Oh, of course, certainly! I'll send someone to you at once if you should want anything," and barely noticing the other's thanks, mine host departed.

      Relieved of the landlord's presence, the Freeholder sat himself down at one end of the little mahogany table in front of the fire, — which the thick walls rendered grateful even at this season, — and motioning his companion to take the seat at the other end, reached out a couple of the churchwardens reposing so cosily upon the hob. Handing one of these to the draper, he proceeded in a leisurely manner to fill the other from the contents of the tobacco jar standing upon the table, doing it with a nice deliberation well calculated to impress the beholder. Satisfied at last, he pushed the jar over to the little man, bidding him help himself, while he proceeded, with the aid of a spill from the glass vase on the mantelshelf, to "light up."

      With the first whiff of smoke the door opened, almost causing Shop to knock the head off the pipe he was filling, in a hasty attempt to hide it under the table, lest something should happen to him for his audacity in thus preparing to smoke the Dragon's tobacco from the Dragon's own pipe, and in the Dragon's own den, too.

      It was no Dragon, however, that entered, but a trim, white-aproned maid wanting to know what the gentlemen would take.

      "Brandy," said the Uchelwr from behind a blue cloud.

      The little man protested; holding the pipe well under the table while he did so. Ale was quite good enough for him.

      The maid's cheek dimpled at this; she knew! The truth was, that, in the surreptitious visits which were all he could usually manage to the Red Dragon, Jacob Shop was in the habit of taking brandy, neat, as thereby compassing the effect of much ale and long sitting, while only wearing really some three minutes from back door to back door and back again.

      Therefore now, when he would have chosen to enjoy himself over some good nut-brown, his record was against him and he was forced to take what, he shrewdly suspected, would land him in ultimate sorrow.

      The Freeholder, watching the maid's smile and the other's confused protestings, cut the matter short at once.

      "Brandy! bring brandy. Never mind the ale."

      Then while the order was being executed he handed the other a spill. "Light up! never mind who comes. I'll be your warranty."

      With the first curling cloud Jacob emitted a long sigh of satisfaction; he did not often get such an indulgence; his wife saw to that. He had no right to waste money in smoke, said she. Then the brandy came in, and he stretched himself back with another sigh at the prospect of the coming pleasure, watching his companion the while he mixed the first double jorum.

      "Try that," said the other presently, handing him a tumbler which reeked with the pleasant odour of its contents. Closing both eyes, he took a long, slow pull, gently waving the pipe in his left hand the while. Then, smacking his lips as he caught breath, — "Ha-a! that is something like a drink," he said, putting down the tumbler with a tender hand.

      The other smiled in a satisfied sort of way, and, taking his own tumbler, — "Here's to us both," he quoth, tossing off half its contents at a gulp.

      A pleasant foundation being thus laid, the Freeholder took up his churchwarden again, and after a few preliminary puffs, opened the business.

      "I've been thinking for a long time now, Jacob, that I should like to go in for doing a big business in wool and mutton; raising a good many more sheep, in fact, than I have done. Now to do that I shall want more land." Here he broke off and looked hard at his companion. That personage, by way of comment, took up his tumbler and emptied it.

      The speaker resumed, —

      "All the land in the vale, and most of the valley to boot, belongs to Llysowen, and he, of course, wouldn't part with an acre. That doesn't matter so much, though, because I don't want the bottom lands; what I want is more the upland places, places with rights of pasture on the open mountain. I want to get a footing round about Llyn Du and Y Garnedd, with a run from there to Aran. See?"

      Again he broke off, and looked across the table at his companion. This time the comment was a double puff of smoke and a stare at the empty glass. He took the hint and filled the latter.

      "Well, Jacob?"

      But Jacob didn't rise to it yet; he was wary. Sampling the new tumblerful, he merely answered with a monosyllable,

      "Well?"

      "What do you say to my buying Hafod y Garreg?"

      The draper's eyes flashed wide open. Then they half closed again, and he chinked his pipe bowl against the tumbler for a moment ere he replied, with deliberate weighing of each word, —

      "I don't think I want to sell it."

      The other struck an impatient tattoo on the table with his fingers.

      "Of course you don't! But what price don't you want to sell at?"

      "Well," slowly, "you see it's been in the family so long."

      "Exactly. In fact ever since your father cheated Tom Hawys' father out of it."

      "He did no such thing."

      "No, certainly not! He stole it fairly and honestly. I've always understood that!"

      The Uchelwr couldn't resist the temptation, but he saw that it was going too far; the other shewed signs of getting up and leaving. Therefore he changed his tactics.

      "Letting the joking lie, tell me honestly, Jacob, what price you will take for the place? I know what rent it brings you in every year, and I'll give you a figure at a better rate than that. Now, what do you say?"

      Here he named the sum. That sum was far in excess of the draper's dreams. So much so that he had to take a long pull at the brandy in order to steady himself and give him time to think. Still in no hurry, he knocked the ashes and the "heel" out of his pipe, and proceeded to recharge it, while the other mixed another jorum to keep himself from betraying his impatience.

      Spreading the "heel" over the new bowlful, and topping that with the old ashes, the little man lit up afresh, and then, from behind the screen of smoke, named a sum still higher than the bid; trembling the while, however, lest that should be withdrawn.

      Then the haggling commenced, the two figures drawing nearer together, the lower one rising about twice as fast as the upper one sank, till, after about half an hour and nearly a pint, by clock and bottle, the point of mutual agreement was reached, and the two hands came together. By this time, owing to the Freeholder's crafty manipulations of the bottle, the draper was in an exceedingly enterprising mood, and accordingly the former deemed it a propitious moment for coming to the real point of his intentions.

      "Now, Jacob, would you like to add fifty pounds hard cash to the sum I'm going to give you, shining yellow sovereigns like these," he went on, pulling out a clenched handful of golden coin and jingling them on to the table.

      The eyes of the man at the other end glistened greedily. He thrust his hand forward to clutch the tempting pile, but the other stopped him. "Wait a minute, I say; would you like to earn fifty of these in addition to the other?"

      "In what way?"

      "Would you?" persisted the man, guarding the heap, "the way will be easy enough. I warrant you 'twill be the quickest money you ever thought of earning."

      Fairly itching to grasp the coins the little man replied, — "I should. Tell me how?"

      Then the Uchelwr drew away his guard, and, waiting till Jacob's hand was fondling and caressing the gold, he leaned forward and began, keenly watching the other's expression as he proceeded.

      "It's been on my mind to buy Hafod y Garreg for some time, but a couple of days ago I found that, if I could get possession of the place at once, I could do a very good stroke of business; in fact, if I couldn't get the place at the coming rent-day, it was no use to think anything further about the matter at all. So I made up my mind to come down and buy it of you yesterday, and afterwards to see Tom Hawys, and agree with him to give up possession without the year's notice.

      "I intended to offer him a receipt for the year's rent, and perhaps as much again in cash to boot, besides either helping him to another farm or keeping him on as bailiff and shepherd, if he liked, till something turned up.

      "Very well! yesterday, in the afternoon, I started this way; thinking the busy time for you would be pretty well over by that time. When I struck the road, however, whom should I meet but Tom Hawys, and with him Gwennie Cradoc. They're going to be married, you know."

      The draper, looking up, detected never a tremor in the speaker's face or voice as he said this, and he wondered accordingly. The words continued, —

      "When I saw them I cast about in my mind how to begin, and, knowing I should have no difficulty in buying from you, and thinking. further, that I was likely to have considerable difficulty in bargaining with him, I decided that it was best to appear to have the upper hand, but yet to be ready to see that he lost nothing in spite of that."

      Here both men drank solemnly.

      "Therefore," pursued the Freeholder, "I told him quietly, after greeting him kindly-wise, that I hadn't heard him say anything about it, or noticed him make any move in the matter, but I supposed he hadn't forgotten the notice to quit his landlord gave him last rent day."

      The hearer sat bolt upright at this, but the speaker motioned him to be patient, and continued in a steady voice, —

      "'What, notice to quit, Uchelwr?' says he. 'Why,' said I, as though surprised out of myself, 'you don't mean to say that Jacob Shop forgot to give you notice last rent day?'

      "'I got no notice last rent day or any,' answered he, 'and what has my notice or not got to do with you in any case, that you should hope I haven't forgotten it?'

      "Then I said, speaking strongly, as if I was annoyed and sure of my ground, 'It has this to do with me. Three days before last rent day I agreed to buy Hafod y Garreg, and Jacob Shop was to give you notice to quit, but not to say anything about my buying until he turned the place over to me, clear and vacant, this coming rent day, when we were to sign the papers and he was to pocket the money.' You know, Jacob," the Freeholder was nodding sagely to his hearer and making a brave attempt at a wink, "Gwennie Cradoc used to think I wanted her because I talked foolish when I had taken too much to drink, and we fell out over that. Perhaps she was thinking of the difference between Hafod y Garreg and Mynachty, but anyway she cried out that I was lying, all because she wouldn't have me, and flung a great stone at my head. When I was dodging that, Tom Hawys, taking me unawares, knocked me senseless with his ash staff, and then the two went off, leaving me lying there, and not waiting to hear the offer I had intended to make."

      The speaker paused and took up his glass. The draper had too much brandy in his head and too much gold in his fingers to think coherently or weigh matters with any of his usual shrewdness, therefore he saw nothing improbable in this sudden and fictitious value of an upland farm, nor yet in the narrative of the meeting in the road, while as for the Freeholder's so cool assumption of ownership and consequent lying, he saw in that only a very clever move. He began also to discern the path of the fifty pounds. Said he by way of comment, — "That was sharp work!"

      "It was, as you say, sharp work, and because it was such sharp work I want you to earn that fifty pounds."

      "How?"

      "Like this. You see if I don't get Hafod y Garreg this rent day it's no good to me, and therefore I shouldn't close the bargain with you; and you'd lose the money. I want the place and you want the money. I would have paid Tom Hawys well, and seen that he lost nothing; in fact I'll do so yet. But after what he did yesterday I want to make sure, so that he'll be sorry, and glad to take what I offer him, and think better of me than he does. Now, you remember, I said I told him I'd agreed with you a year ago, and you'd agreed to give him notice."

      "I remember."

      "Very well. All you've got to do is to stick to that story, and swear that you and I had drawn up and signed a memorandum to that effect, — sale, purchase, notice, and all, — three days before last rent day, intending that Evan Bowen should use it in getting out the deeds and documents when we actually transferred it, clear place for clear cash, on the next rent day following.

      "You'll swear, too, that you gave him the notice in writing at the same time with the rent receipt, and that all he said to that was that he wasn't going to leave the place he was born in for any man living. Then, don't you see! having spread this story well, — he'll never hear of it till rent day; no one ever goes up there, — you won't be at home when he comes to pay the rent; you'll be spending the day with me somewhere away. Your wife will refer him to Evan Bowen. That lawyer will take the rent and see to the proper way of explaining the situation.

      "He'll tell him that as he, Tom Hawys, doesn't seem to be acting upon his notice to quit, that it now becomes the duty of himself, the lawyer, to serve him with an ejectment notice, or whatever the law paper is, and if that doesn't shift him, the Sheriff's officer will, after the usual time is up, — twenty one days or some such length it is. Next day I'll come upon the scene, and offer Tom Hawys the terms I spoke of, and so the thing will be settled without any further trouble, or anybody one penny the worse, — except myself, who pays for it all, while as for you, you'll be fifty bright sovereigns in pocket over and above the lumping price of Hafod y Garreg, — fifty bright yellow sovereigns, think of that!"

      The tempter was watching his victim narrowly. Greed for the gold, fear of the consequences, and some lingering respect for the ten commandments, kept the victim silent while they struggled for mastery in his bosom. Gauging the balance to a hair's breadth, the Freeholder refilled the other's glass, and then began, slowly and coin by coin, counting out an additional handful of gold.

      Chink! chink! clang! one fell to the floor and rolled towards the other's feet. He stooped and picked it up. That settled it.

      "Give me the fifty pounds."

      "Shake hands on it then."

      They shook.

      Then while the other counted the sum, Jacob Shop tried to salve his conscience. "Tom Hawys will not suffer really for it, will he? You're sure of that? Won't he be really better off because of it? You see he's been a good tenant and — and he might want to find me with that staff of his."

      The other grinned, a grey grin all savage like a steel trap. "Of course he'll be the better, and we'll see that you don't come near that staff. Why man, when it's all over we'll have him here and you shall tell him the whole story, and he'll laugh and thank us both. You know it's all owing to that Gwenie Cradoc and her lies, the little vixen!"

      Yet, in spite of this, Jacob thought uncomfortably of Judas — and the rope.

---

CHAPTER VIII.
THREE CORBIES — WIND UP WITH SOME HILARITY.

"NOW," said the Freeholder, as he finished counting, "here is the money, and, when you've counted it over yourself, let me hear the story of how you bargained a year ago with the man who wanted to buy your farm."

      "One, two, three — (Jacob was counting) — . . . . twenty six, twenty seven," — the fears were vanishing fast, swallowed up in the spell of the clinking coin, — "thirty, forty," — Judas and the rope were both forgotten. — "forty five, forty six," — his heart grew light, forty eight, forty nine," he was an honest man doing good by stealth, a philanthropist unaware, — "fifty! Ah! The story of the bargaining! Why, of course, that was this way."

      With a cunning leer, the now thoroughly self-satisfied draper set himself to fill in the lights and shades of the other's outlined plot. He was thoroughly at home in this sort of thing, lingering over and elaborating the details, touching up the essential features, and strengthening the whole with the loving care of an artist in prevarication. His bosom swelled with honest pride as he rolled off the telling points, supporting them with such minuteness of unnecessary dates as brought the hearer to protest.

      "No! no! not down so fine as that; not quite so close, else you will be forgetting and confusing your story. Better stick to generous breadth, there's more room to turn in a meadow than on a midden, give yourself rope to face about according to circumstances."

      But the artist, confident in the skill born of long practice upon the incredulity of his wife, stuck to his interpretation stoutly. "Trust me," he grinned, "I'll pull you through."

      Then they proceeded to lay the foundation stone of a most respectable edifice.

      "Have you got any of your shop paper with you?" queried the architect of this edifice of the builder of it.

      The builder had. By good luck there were two or three sheets of it in his pocket.

      Very well; here upon the desk in this corner were pens and ink with which to write out the notice to quit, which wrong-headed Tom Hawys had received a year ago. First, be sure that the date is correct, and then fold it and put it under the broad bottom of the desk, sitting upon that to sharply line the folds. That done to satisfaction, next smudge it by damping it and working it well into the corners of a dusty pocket. There! the appearance of age is perfect! Behold! the very document which an insolent tenant threw back in defiance at his meek landlord, complete even to the aggrieved endorsement in the lower right hand corner, to the effect that the document had thus been scorned.

      Now open it again, and place it where it will be exposed to the gentle heat of the fire, in order that the ink may deepen in colour and appearance, as far as circumstances permit, while we proceed to concoct and indite the memorandum of agreement between Will Addis, freeholder of Mynachty on the one part, and Jacob Bolland, Siop Rataf, Cildeg, on the other part, regarding and regulating the points of the sale and purchase of the house and lands known as Hafod y Garreg, with all the rights, appurtenances, etc., thereunto belonging, the said place being now in the occupation of Mr. Tom Hawys, at the yearly rental of, etc. It continued further upon the lines previously indicated by the architect, stipulating in precise terms the notice to quit, and also the date upon which possession was to be given and the money paid, and mentioning in tail the amount of the bargain money to be paid down by the purchaser at this present instant; the seller also binding himself to a forfeiture of like amount should he fail to carry out his part of the contract. This precious document was signed by both parties, and also, as appeared, by two witnesses, of whom one was an evil-minded labourer at Mynachty, who could be trusted to swear to x his mark, — at a price, and the other, a cousin of Jacob Shop's, since unregrettably deceased.

      This paper also was dealt with in like manner to the first, and then the brace of worthy workmen leaned back to enjoy the prospect of their handiwork, as it lay baking by the gently glowing fire.

      The penmanship was the penmanship of Jacob, but the tobacco ashes, caught here and there in the lines of the ink like blotting sand, were the ashes of the pipe of the Uchelwr, dropped in moments of especial self satisfaction at the thought of the beautifully smooth working of his plot; more particularly in that part of it which consisted of a purposeful liar deluding a mere enthusiastic liar, like the one over whose shoulder himself and his long churchwarden were leaning.

      The one thing that disturbed him for a moment was as to the amount necessary to ensure the co-operation of a third and professional liar, — Evan Bowen, attorney, to wit, — but he put that by for the moment, till he should have sufficiently enjoyed the present point won.

      After about ten minutes of such contemplative happiness, the architect thought they had now better adjourn to the office of the lawyer, first, however, going over their erection to make sure it lacked nothing and showed no shakiness.

      In great glee the builder ran it over, even sufficiently well to satisfy his principal, who searched keenly for possible flaws, well knowing that the man of law would only act upon a plausible case. That he would be deceived, as Jacob Shop had been, the Freeholder did not for a moment believe; but he was certain that so long as things were not too violently wrested he would be ready enough to assist, — for a commensurate fee. And also all along pretend to believe the story, even to impressing that pretence upon Jacob Shop. Otherwise that person might grow weak in the knees.

      With the two papers safely stowed in the inner pocket of the draper's coat, the conspirators next departed to find the office and person of Mr. Evan Bowen.

      Crossing the square, the sight of his shop brought to Jacob's mind the vision of the half hour he was likely to pass inside it, when he should hereafter acquaint his gentle spouse with the fact that he had sold Hafod y Garreg. He well knew that even the price obtained would not protect him, nay, rather would it prove an unpardonable aggravation of his offence, since it would for ever remain a standing witness against her favourite taunt to the effect that he would have been a beggar long ago had it not been for her business capacity. And now for him to go and behind her back make such a rare stroke of business!

      It was too much for him. Touching his companion's arm, he timidly suggested acquainting Mrs. Shop with the proposal for the transfer of the farm.

      The answer to this suggestion was not loud, but it made the receiver jump and nervously hasten his steps. The dread lest his wife should herself set aside the Freeholder's decision, by coming out and collaring him in mid passage, to the endangerment of the treaty and the money in his pocket, quickened his pace to a half run, and it was with a sigh of fervent relief that he found himself entering the house of the solicitor, and turning into the room which served as an office. Once inside he locked the door behind him, bringing a grim smile to the countenance of his companion.

      Evan Bowen himself set chairs for them, and the trio was complete; you could see that at a glance. Every line and movement of the attorney showed why the Freeholder had chosen to come to him. Not much taller than the draper, he was even thinner, and his hair, instead of being red, was dust colour. The small, steel-blue eyes matched well with the thin lips and sharp square chin, while the nose, like a hawk's beak, made the sunken and sallow cheeks look almost cadaverous. A very pretty man indeed, — for the Freeholder's purpose.

      At present he was his own clerk and office boy, the lanky young gentleman who had previously fulfilled these duties having at length been driven, by hunger and unpaid arrears, to seek the nearest recruiting sergeant. Such a man as the attorney would, of course, be far too mean to support a wife and family, and therefore we find him an ingrained bachelor, with one lean old servant nagging him day by day for the balance of some years' wages, — a pity the recruiting sergeant wouldn't take her too, thought her master.

      For his impecuniosity was become chronic. Business had never been over thriving with him, simple folk mistrusting him and his ways, and gentlefolk taking their business to his rival further on across the way. Only when two persons indulged in the lunatic luxury of going to law, and one had been so fortunate as to secure the services of Mr. Owen Bevan, there was nothing for the other but to fall back upon Mr. Evan Bowen, with what prayers to heaven for help against his enemy and his own lawyer he might deem needful.

      Thus came, and only thus, the few flies that usually supported life in the spider whose web these two had now entered.

      Such being the rule, it was significant that the exception obtained in the case of such gentry as these now sitting with him.

      Having, as we said, set chairs for them, he now proceeded to generalities upon the subject of the crops and weather, until one or other of the two should introduce whatever business they might have in hand.

      After a few minutes of preliminary skirmishing, during which the Uchelwr in vain attempted to look behind those jingling little eyes and read the man, Jacob Shop began fumbling in his pockets, until at length he drew forth the two papers.

      "Ah! that's it, Jacob," said the other. "Give them to me."

      "You see," he went on, turning to the lawyer, and holding the papers towards him with a finger and thumb, "it's a matter these papers will best explain that we've come to you about. Read this one first," handing him the spurious agreement.

      Carefully spreading it out on the table before him, the attorney proceeded to give it his best attention, going through it with an impressive hum from end to end, which rarely betrayed itself into a catchable word.

      When the last word was reached the hum mounted. "Ha-m-m!" He was looking full square at the Freeholder. That person therefore handed him the notice to quit, calling his particular attention to the endorsement thereof.

      The hum began again, and again mounted. "Ha-m-m?"

      "You've read that endorsement? Well, the notice will be up shortly, and he doesn't make the slightest move towards vacating."

      "Ha!" responded the lawyer, "then I suppose that you have both come to me to have the proper documents drawn out in accordance with this agreement, which, by the way, I presume you have forgotten is unstamped, though that is a thing to be rectified, perhaps, at due cost, — and afterwards to see to the matter of this refusal to quit?"

      "Aye, sure!"

      "Aye, sure," echoed the draper.

      The Freeholder turned and gave the latter his cue. "You remember all the affair, don't you?"

      "Remember it? I should think I do;" and thus set, the little man launched forth into the tale agreed upon.

      His confederate wondered as he listened to the points and periods of the narrative; so absolutely faithful and unvaried was it. Not a word was changed. The success was complete. Complete, that is, so far as the proper words were concerned, but, watching the effect upon the lawyer, he could not for the life of him guage the position of affairs; that face betrayed nothing. The reference to the agreement being unstamped, need not necessarily be an indication of suspicion as to its genuineness; since folk unacquainted with things legal, — as Jacob Shop and himself might very well affect to be, could easily come by such a mischance from pure ignorance. As in fact they had done. Nevertheless he would give something to know. And therefore he waited for the mask to speak.

      When the story was ended the lawyer spoke, his lean chin and sallow cheeks resting upon his long fingered hands; elbows upon the table.

      "Very good, gentlemen, very good! The thing is now, which of these papers do you wish me to take up first? The notice to quit not having actually expired, no action can be taken upon it just yet; therefore your coming to me would seem to indicate that you wish me to take in hand, for the present, the preparation of the deed of transfer and the examination of titles. Is it not so?"

      "Just so!" responded the Freeholder, with assumed cheerfulness.

      "Just so!" echoed the draper, tentatively.

      "Then, gentlemen," resumed the attorney from the table, "I presume, since this document states that the purchase is to be complete and the deeds signed upon a certain day, that I am to have the deeds ready by that day, when you will attend here to sign."

      "Aye, sure," — this time from Jacob Shop, who, having spoken, suddenly became aware that his confederate had not done so. He cast a scared glance in his direction, but the Freeholder had drawn his chair close to the table, opposite Evan Bowen, and therefore the little man could only see the back of his head. That did not move, and the stillness of it made him wriggle in his seat.

      The lawyer noticed this, but showed no sign of intelligence as he proceeded. "Here, gentlemen, comes in another question. This agreement mentions a certain date as the date when is to be given and the money paid, under pain of forfeiture of a certain sum. But according to what you say it is not likely that possession can be given upon that date since the tenant is obstinate. The question I spoke of then, is, are you, Mr. Addis, willing to defer your claim and complete at a later date, or must Mr. Jacob Bolland forfeit the bargain money?"

      The Uchelwr rubbed his chin. It would be a rare joke, should he, the stipulated story being now told, force restitution of the fifty pounds under this clause. He looked round slowly.

      But Shop was too sharp. "That agreement was not stamped and therefore was not binding." Moreover, he looked uncommonly like bolting, — the cold light of a lawyer's office seemed to give a very distinct and sharply defined view of Judas and the rope.

      While they faced each other thus and the plot hung in the balance, the lawyer, watching them through half shut eyes, smiled the ghost of a famine-perished smile, and nodded to himself.

      Then the Freeholder grinned and stroked his mouth.

      "Of course we must put off the date, — Jacob must not forfeit."

      And Jacob Shop from behind said he should think not. His voice held a vicious ring in it.

      Something suddenly flashed through the Freeholder's mind, and his lips parted for an instant, ere they closed again to a scarcely distinguishable line. The something evidently pleased him.

      He banged his hand upon the table. "Of course I was joking. But I suppose that if the transfer was made to-day the notice to quit would still hold good, eh?"

      "Oh yes, that would not be affected in any way."

      "Very well then, if we put off the signing it will fall upon my friend here," he nodded over his left shoulder, "to take the law on his tenant, and I know he wouldn't like to do that, having been his landlord so long. Therefore I think it would be much better if we did the thing at once and then it would fall upon me to obtain possession, — that would save Jacob's feelings, and I could turn the business over to you as my agent in getting possession."

      This pleased Jacob Shop, who began to wish the job well over and himself safely out of it, with the purchase money in his pocket. Indeed, only the feel of the coins clutched in the left hand, hidden in his inner clothing, kept him from backing out as it was Speed in the matter would please him next best. It pleased the lawyer too, for all this boded fat fees, — full, fat fees, as he had decided when watching the pair a moment ago. While the proposer ought to have been pleased since it was his own motion.

      He spoke again. "How soon can we sign the papers?"

      "Let me see! This is Wednesday. Say Saturday, as I am very busy."

      It was upon the tip of Jacob's tongue to combat this latter most palpable fiction, when something in his confederate's face, now turned towards him, made him think better of it. The Uchelwr turned again and continued, —

      "And how much will be the cost, I mean of the transfer alone, letting the quit notice lie for the present?"

      "That depends," returned the attorney; visions of folio upon folio of legal verbiage and redundant superfluities flitting through his mind. "That entirely depends."

      "Set a figure," urged the other.

      "I can hardly do that," demurred the man of quibbles.

      "Set one. Whatever you think will cover it, so that we may know," persisted his interlocutor.

      The lawyer reflected, tickling his temple the while with the feather of a quill pen to stimulate his imagination. He thought of the lean servant in the room behind, and the leaner larder, and named a sum that would leave an ample margin.

      The answer came upon an unexpected line. "So much? Very well then. Now I want to put a proposal to you. If you will sit down at once, here and now, and finish the job out of hand, putting the rest of your business aside for the time, I will add five pounds to your fee."

      Professional decency forbade the closing with this offer instanter, as Mr. Evan Bowen felt so strongly urged to do, but his defence was weak.

      "I could hardly do that. My dear sir, justice to my other clients demands that I should not throw their interests aside in such fashion."

      "Never mind their interests; charge them less and take it out of me. Come, I'll say guineas, and stand a dinner for the three of us at the Dragon after the names are signed. What do you say?"

      Shop, from his position in rear, indulged in some extraordinary noddings and grimacings, intended to persuade the solicitor to comply. That gentleman therefore, proceeded to abate the austerity of his devotion to principle, doing it in as graceful and deprecating a manner as could well be compassed by a man with such a face, and such an expression.

      Chiefly he stipulated that he was to be put into possession of the title deeds at once, and that Jacob's own title should be held as satisfactory. This was immediately assented to and the three at once proceeded to the bank, a building which reared its modest front on the nearest line of the square, thence to obtain the necessary parchments, — Jacob having deposited them there for safe keeping.

      A few final instructions and explanations over a decorous tankard at the King's Head next door, and then they separated; the lawyer to his den, and the others to the sanctum at the Dragon.

      The day by this being well on, the Freeholder called for a snack of something wherewith to steady their heads and stay their stomachs till the hour of the promised dinner. Over it he waxed entertaining, passing from one thing to another with the brilliancy, not of the polished diamond, but the newly ground broad-axe, and with the same airy playfulness of touch. Never once did he slack his efforts to distract his companion, till the hands of his watch assured him that the bank was closed and its officials departed. Then, with a sigh of relief, he leaned back in his chair and relapsed into silent enjoyment of the brandy bottle. But in his mind the satisfied thought was lying "All right, Jacob. You'll have to take a note now, or a bill, instead of the cash, and then —." He nodded to himself by way of expressing the remainder.

      How it was done let those versed in the mysteries of the law explain, but certain it was, that by seven o'clock a message from Evan Bowen intimated that only their signatures were lacking to complete the business.

      The question then rose as to the money, for of course the bank was closed, and the Freeholder carried no cheque book. Jacob Shop however, was by this time feeling so valiant and devil-may-care, as the result of the day's potations, that he was easily persuaded to accept a piece of paper in lieu of cash; folding it up and thrusting it down to keep the fifty pounds company with such muzzy content as brought a gleam of ill concealed satisfaction from beneath the bushy eyebrows of the purchaser.

      And though Evan Bowen saw the look he could only guess at the thought behind, — "Now I have him, safe and sure; no fear of Jacob now."

      A few minutes only sufficed to draw up and sign the information requisite to set the law in motion against Tom Hawys; "Though," lied the lawyer, "I hope he will come to his senses by rent day, and thereby relieve us of any disagreeable necessity of applying to the court."

      Which lie the Freeholder echoed.

      But Jacob Shop, with his hand in pocket, fingering the price of himself, quoth scornfully, "Tom Hawys! oh, Tom Hawys be hanged!"

      Which sentiment also the Uchelwr echoed, but not aloud.

      Thereafter the three passed over to the Red Dragon, and by eight o'clock were sitting down to a roaring dinner, with the dimpled-cheeked maid to wait upon them, and viands worthy of her serving. The giver of the feast did steady justice to it for his own part, while the lawyer brought to bear a skill and capacity only to be paralleled by the skill and capacity with which at other times he addressed himself to the task of drawing up a bill of costs. But, alas for the only Benedict of them, Jacob Shop to wit, he carried himself in a manner little short of scandalous.

      It may have been the potency of the brandy imbibed during the day, though just now he would have scorned such a plea, — or, more likely, the spell of a pair of saucy dark eyes, — as he seemed to plead by inference, but the fact remains, that this married man presented a shocking example.

      Did the maid come near to proffer the green vegetables, he forthwith seized her hand and squeezed it in a most fervent manner. Did she pass the potatoes, he lost no time in chucking her under the chin. Did she serve the lawyer opposite, he leered and winked at her in his most fetching style. And to crown all, when she would no longer come near him, he rose, moving by the help of the table, and seizing her by the waist, administered a sounding kiss upon a point as near the desired lips as possible.

      Here however, he reached the end of his tether, for the maid, giving play to her long repressed indignation, smacked him so smartly alongside the head as to send him sprawling over the chairs into the corner. Thence she hauled him, by the hair of the head, back to his seat again, setting him into it with a vigorous jolt; while the Freeholder fairly roared with laughter, and the lawyer went through the clock work motion which did duty for a laugh with him.

      Nothing daunted by the mishap, the object of all this merriment, profiting no whit by its cause, immediately turned and blandly blew a kiss and a scandalous compliment to the Hebe. This was the last straw. Seizing the water jug she emptied its contents over him, broke the article itself across his pate, and then flounced indignantly out of the room, declaring that she would not stay any longer in such company.

      Temptation being thus removed, the gay Lothario immediately subsided into the respectable citizen, and Jacob Shop applied himself assiduously to the bottle, with the object of getting so absolutely drunk as to be insensible to whatever reception his wife might be planning to accord him.

      Likewise his companions, each man to his own mind enjoying himself till when, at a late hour, the party broke up, the attorney had certainly fetched up considerable leeway, if indeed he had not gotten the weather gauge of any forced abstinence in the near past. The legal mustiness of his ordinary bearing had given place to a bland patronage of the world at large, and the asperities bred of the circumventing of the law's intentions now softened to a mellow appreciation of life in even its most commonplace aspects.

      The Freeholder, following the lines of his nature, had become morose and of a sullen edge, ready to appreciate any jest with an uncomfortable point.

      Shop was drunk with a business-like thoroughness which left no point for cavil, and the sight of him suggested to the giver of the feast that they should take him home; he and the man of law propping and guiding him on either hand.

      The lawyer became enthusiastic at once, — it would be a Christian charity to assist a gentleman in such a happy condition as his friend Jacob; honest Jacob; worthy Shop.

      The Freeholder thought that it couldn't very well be a Christian charity, seeing that Mr. Evan Bowen had a hand in it. To which pleasant sally the lawyer replied that the speaker had a very pretty wit, yet nevertheless he must submit that the argument was unsound and the deduction entirely misleading and not to be supported by facts. Upon which the Freeholder bade him support the other side of the person he was hauling from under the table, either with a fact or his arm indifferently, so long as they got him to his own front door.

      Behold then these three convivials, at a most dissipated hour, boxing the square in a somewhat mixed attempt to fetch the door of Shop's place. It was by deciding upon a wrong location and missing its bearings that they eventually did the right door, at which the Freeholder promptly delivered a volley of kicks which threatened to start it from its hinges.

      "Open! open! good woman, in the king's name!" quoth the lawyer, flourishing his silver-headed cane like a constable's truncheon of office.

      Open, the good woman did, with a promptness that was startling and which showed how long she had been waiting. Not the door though, but the chamber window exactly above.

      "Take that," she screamed, dashing a pailful of slops over them; "and that," throwing the pail after its contents; "and that! and that! and that!" following up with a miscellaneous assortment of domestic odds and ends, possessing nothing in common save the ability to hurt.

      To say that the party below were surprised does not express it. But the Freeholder's language did so amply, and with some to carry forward to the next account.

      The lawyer was silent, rummaging his mind for some legal term to fit, but both held one idea with regard to their burden. They instantaneously released him, while they unsteadily retreated beyond range of the fire from above.

      Bang! went the draper against his own door, and at that sound the bombardment redoubled, until at last, ammunition exhausted, the irate partner of his bosom rushed downstairs and opened the door. When she had dragged him inside and closed it again, and only a sound as of a muffled pandemonium reached the square without, the Uchelwr ceased his impromptu epic long enough to say to the lawyer, — "I thought she'd have opened the door at once, not the window. Anyhow its a rare good job for Jacob Shop that he's dead full."

---

CHAPTER IX.
THE SHADOW FALLS.

THE story which went about Cildeg, of the dinner and its finishing up, carried with it that other story, concocted in the sanctum of the Red Dragon and now most assiduously disseminated by the draper.

      Many and varied were the opinions upon the latter tale, but the one that was most general was early expressed by the cobbler to the blacksmith.

      "Do you believe this tale about Tom Hawys?" queried the smith over his pint.

      "Do I believe it! Well; when Mynachty says a thing and Jacob Shop swears to it, then it's queer enough already. But, when Evan Bowen writes it down and signs it, — why, that proves it's a lie from beginning to end!"

      Nevertheless if Tom Hawys had received notice and if he didn't intend to quit till he was forced, then it was no man's business to tramp up the valley and face the climb up Cefn Du to meddle with another man's private concerns. Therefore Tom Hawys remained in ignorance of the news that kept Cildeg agog.

      In like manner if Gwennie Cradoc was going to marry this stubborn young fellow, it was to be presumed that she would thank folk to keep their counsel to themselves. Therefore that young person remained in ignorance also.

      Yet though no word passed up the valley, one passed down. It moved by the hand of taciturn Jeffrey of Nant, — who, passing Glwysva on his way to the town, was hailed by Tom Hawys, — and it was contained in a sealed note superscribed to the parish clerk of Cildeg. Tom was somewhat red about the ears as he asked the favour of its safe delivery, but since Jeffrey had not left his own place for some three weeks past, and further, since he was, as above said, sparing of speech, he asked on questions, neither heard any tales.

      All the same the word inside that seal was no light word or idle, unless the folk be right who say that love is but idleness and marriage the first-born of idleness. For it was no less than an intimation to the parish clerk that business in his line was toward. Tom Hawys, so it ran, wished to have the banns of marriage betwixt himself and Gwennie Cradoc published for the first time upon the Sunday next following, and he, the clerk, was to do all that was necessary and regular in such matters, looking to the said Tom Hawys for his right and due fees, upon the occasion of their first meeting to come.

      Now when the clerk received and read this note he pushed his horn rimmed spectacles up on to his bald cranium and spread himself out to think. For, be it known that Hawys, being the Christian name of that young man's surviving parent, while being a quite good enough name for him to go to fair or market with, to sell a beast or get a rent receipt in, was not by any means good enough to go to church and get married in, or even, in these days of new-fangled notions, to be carried there to be buried in. Neither was it good enough, as he might some day find, to cite at law, except when written along with that shady-looking word, "alias." Therefore the old clerk must think and this was the train of his thinking.

      "Now what was his father's name, — it will be in the register; but where? that's the point. Let me see, he died, — when did he die? Oh yes! I remember now; he was buried the year before the last vicar, and his grave is by the great yew in the south west corner. I'll go and get the date and then hunt it up in the register and take the register's name for it, if the stone doesn't give the right one or the full one."

      Acting upon this conclusion he went, with the result that next Sunday the vicar stood up to "publish the banns of marriage between Tom Jones and Gwennie Cradoc, both of this parish," etc., and after the service the clerk had a lively two minutes at the hands, or rather the tongues, of the fairer portion of the congregation, eager to know who the young man was for certain.

      The knowledge gained, there followed much wagging of heads and weighing of probabilities. So much of the Uchelwr's story was true at any rate, but that didn't prove the rest. As for the future, there would be a wedding at all events, and when could a parcel of women get to the canvassing of anything beyond that?

      Thus matters stood upon the day which was rent day for Tom Hawys. Previous to that most wonderful of all days, when Gwennie had so far mistaken his deserts and her own worth as to utter that miraculous "Yes;" the dawn of day or the set of sun, the massive beauty of Drumhir or the desolate grandeur of the cloudy peaks of Aran, had never appealed to him any more than to any other person born to such surroundings. Since that day, however, every day was a new

      revelation, every hour a new wonderment. Standing, this day-break, beside the ash tree, he felt the new life in all its whelming power. Surely the sun never rose like this before. Watch it! See to the east, above the line of mountains beyond the vale, how the wan grey broadened and lightened through silver to pearl, from pearl to sapphire, from sapphire to faintest sea green and on through delicate primrose to flushing gold; each new colour a closer herald of the coming sun; each springing in beautiful arc from the mountain tops, pushing further upward and outward its predecessor till they glowed from the lucent-banded heavens across the worshipping earth, seven circumambient harmonies of God's own painting; while the mountains upon which they rested grew from dim dun colour, through azure, deeper and deeper, to purest indigo.

      And now, while the eye waited in dumb rapture, lo! the outline of Moel y Gaer, which marked the path of the oncoming orb, grew fleecy and quick with the flashing tints of the very gates of Paradise, creeping and spreading to right and left along the crests; burning and glowing with the pulsing movements of undescribable shades of beauty; scintillating till the soul stilled in awe, watching for the near fulfilment of the prophet's benison, — "Thine eyes shall see the King in his beauty."

      Then, with a blinding glory that flashed in wondrous lustre to the farthest west, forth leaped the god of day, paling the beauties of earth and sky alike with the matchless lightnings that quivered round his head.

      Small wonder that Tom's heart grew almost solemn with its weight of happiness as he roused and turned into the house again; so nearly solemn, indeed, that his mother, partly guessing the cause, railed him gently upon it.

      But his earnestness was proof against raillery, and when he stooped through the doorway to depart upon his errand, he said, in a deep voice, —

      "Mother, there is not so happy a man in all the Isle of Britain as I am this morning."

      Whereupon old Hawys gave him a kindly answer, —

      "Please God it last, my son."

      On his way to the town he would just call for five minutes at Glwysva; five minutes, just long enough to say "good morning" to his love and whisper how dear she was.

      Fine limit, surely, for a discourse upon such a text by one just ordained preacher. In five minutes he had not done wondering at the new glories of her eyes, or decided why it was that they seemed of a depth even more profound than yesterday. Five minutes! he had hardly begun. He would require a decade to conclude that the eyes were not understandable, nor meant to be; only loveable and indicative of the nature behind, with the illimitable possibilities of the soul of a woman in love. And meanwhile what of the other features?

      But he did his best endeavour by the lips, manful fashion; and the rest took their turn in the sweet confusion of such glorious moments, — moments of such delicious, unreckoning fulness that they steal a-tiptoe into the hours, laughing softly at the wondering that shall follow when first they are missed.

      And so with these five minutes, love's sop to the work-a-day senses. They would have been five hours but for the practical kindliness of Glwysva himself, who saved the day to its purpose.

      He came upon the two by the spring at the bottom of the garden. "Gwennie," he said with a smile, "had you not better send him on to pay his rent? What if Jacob Shop should get tired of waiting for his money and be giving him notice to quit? What about getting married then, eh?"

      "Nay, father! it is not I who keep him; he will not go."

      But the rogue Tom would not seem to be bashful before her father, and moreover he liked to see her blush. Said he, — "Not so! I am wanting to go, but every time I make a move, you look at me, and then how can I go?"

      The two men laughed softly, and the maiden blushed; then said Glwysva, — "Jacob Shop cannot be swayed by looks. He'll give notice surely."

      "Indeed no! not looks. 'Tis a tongue sways him. But he loves money too well to give me notice," answered Tom, gaily.

      "No one would give you notice, Tom," whispered Gwennie, revenging herself for the blush by a look that turned her lover crimson. And how prettily she smiled at that till both men joined in the merriment.

      "But I must go now, notice or no notice," ended Tom.

      First, though. he must eat for kindness' sake, just something to stead him through his business in the town. From that white table top, scrubbed to a satiny colour and appearance, food should taste doubly sweet. But no! table tops are good enough for ordinary sort of folk, — in this case love had another delight. From that second drawer in the dresser came the snowy linen, with its dainty pattern, of Gwennie's own weaving. How proud she was under her down-drawn eye-lids to note her lover's admiration of her handiwork. And to the boot of that, how pleased he did seem as she set forth the white bread herself had baked for state occasions, to vary the barley loaf of every day, and backed it by the golden butter that none coming into Cildeg Market could match! The cheese, too, for which she was famous, and a draught of milk from the cool, fragrant dairy to wash all down with, or a horn of brown ale her of own brewing. Happy that meal, though the father did stay to crack a jest and see that no further delay came of the eating.

      At last, when no lagging excuse could decently be found for tarrying longer, Tom set himself to go, with Gwennie to watch him from the garden gate and her father to accompany him as far as the road, wasting breath the while in giving him an unheeded message for the smith in town, anent some work in hand for Glwysva. Then, with a hearty hand grip to the man and a waved beaver to the maid, the lover pushed away between the hedgerows, feeling tall enough to pluck their whispering leaves from the overarching trees, and coax them into telling the secret of their pleasant crooning.

      Why! how beautiful this valley was with its happy road to town! How clean and sweet underfoot with the thousand little rills that meandered with baby laughter amongst the stones of its surface! What wonder the feet were merry that travelled upon such a pleasant way! And the banks on either hand; was anything half so green and tender seeming as the moss that carpeted them wherever the moisture from the mountain side jumped down to join its companion drops in the road? The foxgloves might well bloom later here, waiting to nurse the bees above the grey boulders that propped the hedgerows. The harebells made dainty foil to the nodding scabious around; truly the flowers' latest retreat, this fair road along the valley.

      How short the way to-day! Here he was at the gate of Mynachty's lane already. So light of heart and strong of pulse was he this time, however, that he could laugh and almost forgive the poor baffled Freeholder, — for surely no man could lose a maiden like Gwennie and still be soft of carriage and smooth of tongue. Poor devil!

      On over the bridge and then strive to keep from turning red as the wives from their doorways shout salutations, and make points off the coming wedding. Now turn into the square and reach the haven of his landlord's doorway, heaving a sigh of relief as he crossed the threshold.

      "No, Jacob Shop was not in; he was away on business and Evan Attorney would attend to the matter of the rent." The child behind the counter knew nothing more, and the mother sulking in the back room was not to be got at.

      "Queer! very queer!" thought Tom, "first time Jacob Shop ever failed at the handling of good money." Still the love in his breast left no room for foreboding as he made his way to Stryt Glyndwrdy and hammered with the brass knocker upon the door nail of Evan Bowen's house.

      While he waited for the opening, Huw Auctioneer passed him, with a broad smile and very pleasant greeting, — strange how men and women alike rejoice with folk about to be married.

      The lean old servant unbarred the door and loosed the chain, and, not being wholly proof against the manly happiness shining in his face and ringing in his cheery "Good morning," shook her head sadly as she ushered him into the office, where waited the man, "from whom honest folk ne'er got good in this world and never would," as she muttered to herself during her retreat to the kitchen.

      This morning Evan Bowen was not alone. The recruiting sergeant had been forced, much against his will, to reject the young gentleman, whose scant resemblance to Mars or Apollo was the natural result of long service in the attorney's office. He had thumped him in the chest, punched him in the small of the back with his knee, and chucked him smartly under the chin with edged hand; but all to no purpose. Even that last counsel of despair, a gallon of strong brewed, refused to bring the meagre proportions and lack-lustre eyes of the wispy quill-wielder to anything like the doctor's eyefull. Therefore he bestowed upon him a kick and a curse of pathetic farewell, and advised him to drop into the nearest pond for some stickle-back to swallow, "since," said he, "if you tried to shoot yourself there isn't enough of you for the bullet to go through." So, with cap pulled over his eyes and comforter wrapped round his lean cheeks high enough to prop the sharp nose, the whilom apprentice shuffled back to the office which he now regarded as his destined station in life, unless, indeed, — what a dream! — he could persuade the old servant to join him in a conspiracy whose object should be the secret replenishing of the larder, until such day as he should have grown fat enough to please the recruiting sergeant. Eho! he smacked his thin lips beneath the muffler at the thought and thrust his skinny arms further into the pockets of his smalls.

      And now here he was once again, perched on a stool at a high desk in one corner, ready to take notes and be a witness of anything an obstreperous visitor might say or do.

      Evan Bowen was affable, but yet tempered his affability with a due respect to his own dignity. He waved his visitor to a chair with a graceful sweep of the feather end of his pen, ere, elbow on table and thumb and finger tips touching, he blandly wished him "Good morning."

      Much impressed; not having yet had time to scrutinize the quibbler whom he had always passed unnoticed in the street, the visitor placed his beaver on the floor beside the chair and answered with a subdued but hearty greeting in return.

      "Good morning to you, Evan Attorney."

      The lawyer eyed his visitor narrowly, mentally weighing him up in order to decide upon the best line of operations in the business to come. Holding the idea he did concerning the story of Jacob Shop and the Freeholder, he looked to this interview to confirm that idea and give him sure ground to stand upon in his dealings with those two. Just to facilitate an opening he put out a word on the weather.

      "The weather did finely by your upland harvests."

      "Yes, fine enough; but what ails Jacob Shop that he cannot stay to receive his own money?"

      "Just what I thought," said the lawyer to his mental self, "a very pretty plan this of Mynachty's." Then aloud he answered, "I know nothing wrong with the worthy Mr. Shop, but I think there is hardly any question here of his receiving money."

      Tom did not follow this. He waited.

      Gauging the situation to a nicety Evan Bowen continued, "I suppose you know that Jacob Shop no longer owns Havod y Garreg?"

      "I do not," retorted the other dryly. "Nor should I know unless he told me himself. And then he would be sorry before he ended."

      "Why?"

      "Because many a time I've wanted to buy the place myself, and whenever I pressed him he has said that he would never sell it. That is why."

      "Still he might have changed his mind; men do, you know."

      "Then if he had, to whom would he have offered it but to the man who has asked him so often, and to whom he has many a time promised the refusal? Eh?"

      "And yet," — the lawyer's eyes were half shut as he spoke," he has sold it in spite of all that."

      Two long strides and the man in the chair was come to the table. Bending and speaking down to the all but closed eyes, he said, — in a voice that brought the thin clerk round in his seat, ruler in hand, hoping that fatness was coming to him at last through a gallant rescue of his master, —

      "Evan Attorney, is that true you tell me?"

      "It is the truth."

      A long breath hissed through the set teeth of the hill-sider and then he spoke again. "When did he sell it?"

      "He first agreed to sell it and drew up a memorandum of agreement to that effect three days before he gave you notice to quit last rent day."

      "Notice to quit!" cried Tom, straightening up, "what new lie is this?"

      The lawyer sprang to the indignation point at once. "Sir, if you do not apologise and keep your tongue better I shall not go on."

      "Yea and you shall go on, Evan Attorney. Nothing good ever came out of you, but such as it is out it shall come. Who says Jacob Shop ever gave me notice to quit?"

      There was that in the speaker's face which untied the lawyer's tongue.

      "Jacob Shop."

      "Then Jacob Shop lies! like the damnable rat he is. But I will find Jacob Shop and bring him here and throttle the truth out of him. Then you shall see whether he ever gave me notice to quit."

      Quivering with suppressed anger he seized his hat and started for the door to fulfil his threat. With his hand upon the knob a new thought struck him and he turned again.

      "To whom do you say he sold the place?"

      The lawyer rose and moved to the door in the wall behind. Holding it ajar he faced the questioner as he answered, slowly and distinctly, —

      "He sold it to Will Addis of Mynachty."

      Then he passed through and bolted the door behind him while the other, ashen grey with wrath, stood still in his second stride and laughed at the click of the bolts.

      An instant's pause and then, continuing, he came beside the bolted door and spoke, in a voice that was loud without effort. "Evan Attorney, standing behind the door there, listen to me. There are three of you in this and likely enough the mischief was settled in this office. But Jacob Shop was nearest to me and him I'll find first. I shall work on and come to you in your turn. Don't forget; I shall come to you in your turn."

      Once in the street he bent his steps for the square and the shop therein, while the lawyer behind the door chuckled grimly to himself as he thought again of the fat fees and dues that would most surely accrue. "Since," said he to himself, "this first venture of the Uchelwr's is only the beginning, for this man is strong-headed; long bills to you, Evan Bowen."

      Tom Hawys, passing through the shop and into the room behind, found there only the wife of the man he sought. "Where is your husband?" he demanded instantly.

      Sullen as she had been these days past over the sale, she yet fired up at once against this man; his injury was at any rate her ultimate benefit.

      "Find out."

      "That will I," replied he, starting for the stairs. She sprang to prevent him but he was too eager and was half way up before she could clutch his coat lapel. That was useless and so she dropped it, following him closely however while he searched the chambers, taunting him the while with his ill-success. When he had ended, seeking high and low meanwhile, and finding no trace of the draper, he turned to go.

      "Tell your husband," said he, "that I will call upon him again, wanting an answer to a certain question," and so he passed out into the square again.

      To the first man he met he put the question, — "Have you seen Jacob Shop?"

      That man, by good hap, was Huw Auctioneer, and he answered at once, — "No. You seem to want him to some tune though."

      "I do," and thereupon he related what had passed in Evan Bowen's office.

      Then Huw Auctioneer, being a kindly and a sterling sort, took him aside to his own house by the river and there, secure from interruption or curious ears, told him, from end to end, the story concocted in the sanctum of the Red Dragon.

      Through it all, Tom listened, never speaking, with nothing but the heavy breath and clenched hands to betray his feelings. Only here and there, as at the peculiar version of the encounter in the road, his grey eyes seemed to smoke in their lurid intensity.

      With the last word of it he rose and took a couple of turns along the floor before he stopped. Then with voice well under grip, he said, — "Thank you, Huw. I know where I stand now. I need not tell you that it is a lie; first word and last. But," here his voice rang out in terrible earnest, "three of them as they are, I will come out on top yet. The truth will do it, and if I can but lay hands upon Shop, I'll make him glad to speak it. And when I meet Mynachty again, — look you," he broke off showing the raw wound on his forehead, "that is the mark of our last meeting, — he shall carry the mark of the next.

      "By that same token," he went on, "I tell you that the Uchelwr is at the bottom of it all. He has tempted that pitiful fool Shop with his money, and bought that devil's clerk, Evan Attorney, in the same way. But I will beat him with his own tools. If I can but find Shop I'll warrant I make him glad to tell the truth and that will leave the Uchelwr open to me, — the lawyer does not count; for a bigger fee he would lie for me, if I but offered it. Yes, it is Will Uchelwr I am fighting now; him I am plucking the torques with.

      "But I will tell you the truth about that meeting in the road," he went on, and sitting down again, he proceeded to go over the events of that day as we know them, arousing the warmly expressed indignation of his hearer, especially by the particular relation of the blow from behind with the stone.

      "Well!" commented the Auctioneer at the conclusion of the narration, "Mynachty is a pretty liar and no mistake. What is his particular point in this do you think?"

      "To put off my wedding by turning me out of house and home, and meanwhile to find some surer way of stopping it altogether. That is what he is aiming at."

      "And what do you intend to do, Tom?"

      "Do! First find Jacob Shop."

      "But it is likely he will be kept out of the way for awhile. What then?"

      "Find the other; Mynachty."

      "I think he will also keep out of the way. What then?"

      "I should think, nothing, for if they both keep away how can they turn me out and stop my wedding?"

      "The lawyer is here. It will be done of course, by law."

      "I will break his neck."

      "And be hung. No, Tom; come with me to Owen Bevan and let him handle the lawyer, — that's his business, while you look out for the other two. Come! let us go at once."

      Tom hung back, with the natural unwillingness of a strong man to employ another to defend him. He would much prefer to get all three of his enemies into one room and there hammer the lot till they cried for mercy, — every man should be able to keep his own hand against all men soever. In a dim sort of a way he had looked forward to such a settlement of this trouble, done speedily and thoroughly, and then to going honestly and contentedly to church with Gwennie, with all his friends to come and chaff him, while a select few should come and make merry till the stars rose and waned and the work-a-day world put tenderly by with its dawning the golden canopy of the one day of his life.

      But Huw Auctioneer was more up to the turnings and fords of life. His business required that he study men, and he understood the feelings of the man before him. He didn't go to any length, he simply dropped his argument in a solid block right in the path.

      "You can easily fight two just naked men like those two, but you can't fight the whole British Empire, and that's what fighting a lawyer means. The law is like a bayonet, very pretty to the man behind, handling it, but bad for the man that comes against it. Come you and get behind it."

      Any further demurring he cut short by inserting his arm in that of the other and leading him out into the street, where he choked all argument by quietly saying, — "It's not to prevent you hammering the lot if you get the chance, — it's only just to keep them from making any more underhand surprises while you are looking for them on the level. Come!"

      But upon turning the corner that gave on to the jail, disappointment awaited them. Owen Bevan was gone to draw up some documents for Llysowen, and the great man would keep him to dinner, with the cards and old port after. Which meant the roll of Llysowen's carriage wheels at about three in the morning and a hammering at the brass knocker that would wake up half the street; for the world was a very mellow world either on or underneath the table of Llysowen.

      Tom was not overmuch cast down at the news, but his companion was. Nevertheless the latter cheerfully announced his intention of rousing out the lawyer before breakfast next morning to set him upon the line of this affair, and meanwhile they would just leave word with Evan Bowen that any law papers must be left with Mr. Hawys' legal adviser, Owen Bevan, Esq., further on in the street.

      In the office they found only the peaked clerk, who glibly informed them that his master was newly gone out on important business, but he had left some instructions against any visit with which Mr. Hawys might choose to honour them. The instructions were to the effect that as Mr. Hawys did not intend to quit Hafod y Garreg, there was nothing left for it but the painful alternative of a warrant for eviction, which would be duly moved for immediately. Stay, there was also a piece of paper; it was here in the desk, no! on the table then; strange! it must have been left upon the dining room table; he would go and fetch it in a flash.

      At the dining room table, with the door shut, the limb of the law hastily scribbled a few lines, which, hurriedly blotted, he made haste to get back to the office with and place in Tom's hands.

      The recipient read it aloud and his companion grunted in the listening. It ran to the setting forth that since he, the reader, had denied the reception of any notice to quit, upon such and such a date, being rent day last year, and had stated that he intended to contest the point at law, then this was to give him a year's notice, — but without prejudice to the course of the afore intimated action at law, and in case the result of that were unfavourable to the landlord's contention, — that he was required to quit and leave the lands and tenement known as Havod y Garreg; at present, etc., etc.

      When the last word was reached, Tom seized the quill driver by the collar of his scanty jacket and stretched him across the table. "Hark ye, you devil's imp! your master left word by you that he would move the law against me. Tell him to look to it lest he and Mynachty —"

      This was Huw Auctioneer's hand upon his mouth, making shapless din of the rest of what he would have said, and the same man's arm in his, pulling him out of the place. The voice, too, telling him in the street that the next time he wanted to speak to a lawyer he had better go to the peak of Aran and fill his mouth with hot pebbles.

      Knowing how kindly it was meant, Tom kept under whatever sharpness he might have felt, and silently listened to the wisdom of the man admonishing him while they took their way towards the bridge. For the man who could not keep his temper had better get towards home till his lawyer had time to sum up the situation; so said Huw Auctioneer.

      But when the hearty hand clasp was over and the two parted, his thoughts sivelled on in the original direction with a strength and completeness that showed he had but appeared to fall in with the other's sage admonitions. He was on the old track. If Jacob Shop were gone away, as everybody said, then it was likest he was gone to or with the Uchelwr, and the Freeholder therefore must be sought out at once.

      This was the gate to Mynachty, and through it he would go. His foot rang strong upon the packed ground, while the staff in his hand was held amid, club fashion.

      Meanwhile Evan Bowen was listening to the skinny familiar's narration of the second visit of Tom Hawys.

      The slip of paper giving the notice to quit was entirely the result of the writer's own initiative, born of the longing to become fat. Perhaps if he did some brilliant stroke of business for his master, that master might, merely as a matter of self interest, pay up some portion of his arrears and then, — visions of beefsteak and onions filled in the background of his stomach's picture.

      He did not explain it in just this way to Evan Bowen, but dwelt upon the acuteness of a move which provided against a possible failure, and he was rewarded by a surprise of such acuteness as effectually swept out the picture of the beefsteak. For his master, while not quite sure as to the wisdom or otherwise of the move aforesaid, as a mere matter of control simply floored him with a ponderous copy of Coke upon Lyttleton, remarking grimly as he surveyed his prostrate form, —

      "Coke upon the Crown."

---

CHAPTER X.
THE OATH OF LLYN DU THAT ANSWERS THE OATH OF RAVENS.

WHEN he came to the door of Mynachty Tom sprang up the four stone steps with speed, lifting the latch and swinging back the iron studded door with great din, in the hope that his enemy might come out to remonstrate unaware.

      But no footfall of man, other than his own, echoed through the oak cased hall, neither any voice to answer his fierce call, —

      "Mynachty! Ho! Mynachty!"

      He waited no length for reply, but before the echoes ceased had flung open the withdrawing room door on the right and hastily run it through. From thence with ringing strides into the dining room and, finding that empty also, to burst into the smoking room or office at the end of the passage, only to be disappointed once more. Now up the stairs with eager leaps and on the landing to pause once more and vociferate the challenge, —

      "Mynachty! Ho! Mynachty!"

      But, as before, only the startled echoes answered him as he sped his hasty search through each bedroom, with double prying in the one that was evidently his enemy's own. Baffled here, he rushed down again, and at the stair foot paused to consider the sound coming from the kitchen. Pshaw! that was no man's foot; that was the click and shuffle of stick and listed shoe, bearing some old beldame. And here she was, coming through the door into the passage.

      His impatience was correct, for old Lowry, the housekeeper, came shrewishly out, and with cracked voice demanded to know what ailed, that folk should come into honest houses with a din as if they had been king's men come to seize rebels. She was nigh up to ninety and her mind lived mostly in the tales of her childhood. "I could hear you from the herb garden," she finished.

      "Was the Freeholder at home?"

      "He was not, he had been gone since early morning."

      "When would he be back?"

      "He had not set or said any time."

      Very well then, Tom would seek down at the farm buildings, and so saying, he turned upon his heel and went, leaving old Lowry to don her peaked beaver over the frilled cap and click out to worry the maids at the milking.

      There was no one about the out buildings saving the surly ploughman, now sharpening stakes by way of a sudden job at a stranger's coming, and he knew nothing, so he said, of where his master was, barring that he had driven away that morning early, behind the black mare.

      Hastily scouting through the various barns, sheds, and stables, Tom harked back again to the house and, finding no one in since the housekeeper's departure, ensconced himself in the smoking room, at a point whence he could see anything using the lane, setting himself thus to await the return of the man he sought.

      No one suspecting his re-entrance, saving the ploughman whom he had noticed watching, the incomer was left alone with the project that he kept busily revolving. He pictured to himself the Freeholder's look when he should fling open the door and stride in, to find himself caught in the grip of the man he was attempting to injure. The thought of it was a sweet morsel to be rolled and tasted in his mind, till the blood in him swung like hammer blows through the raw scar on his forehead. Ah! that moment! when he should wreak a man's vengeance, man fashion, upon a hound who used the law to win the foul advantage upon his rival that his mean soul dared not attempt barehanded!

      Through the waning evening he stood thinking thus, while the weird and tawny tints of a wind-boding sunset swept down the valley and washed the broad vale; paling the warm tints of gorse and heather upon the slopes of Cefn Du to a mysterious glamour of elfin beauty. Yesterday he would have been enrapt with the sad and mystic loveliness of such day's death when it dies in sickly prelude to a gale swept morrow; but to-night he had no room for that. Such feelings belonged to the times when love was triumphant over an assenting world. His fingers clenched as he said so to himself.

      While he watched, however, he saw a queer thing. He saw Reuben Ploughman, riding a brown mare, push briskly down the lane and so on towards the town. At first he caught no idea from the sight, but, as the livid west faded to dusky sleep beneath the brooding silver of the east moon's rays, he fell to wondering how long his vigil must be. How long would Mynachty stay away before he deemed it safe to return? Ha! like as not Reuben Ploughman was ridden to tell him who was awaiting him here under his own roof. Yes! that must be it! But he would try a trick also. He would make great dust of departure and then, in the darkness, go no farther than the gate in the lane and there wait awhile and see what would come of it.

      This he did, making a grim good night to old Lowry first, and when he was come to the gate stalking into the shadow of the great oak beside it leaning against its trunk so that a casual eye would miss him completely.

      He waited no great length before his suspicions were confirmed. First came the sound of a horse's hoofs and then, mounted upon the grey colt not yet more than half broken, down rode Siencyn Bach, with the crop in his hand, ready to fumble for the fastening of the gate, that he might pass through without dismounting.

      But the colt was restless, and quartered and shouldered at the gate post till the man in the shadow was forced to move before he had intended, in order to escape the nervous hoofs.

      With one wild snort of fear at the live darkness the colt dashed madly at the half open gate. There was a crash of broken timber, a fierce cry of pain from the rider and away down the road went the grey, in lame terror, with Siencyn Bach clinging disabled to the saddle and cursing, with comprehensive curses, the folly of an idiot who would mount a scary colt in the darkness, to please such a man as his master.

      "That one," muttered the man left by the bursted gate, "is riding to tell him that I am gone and he can come home. Now, I have but to wait awhile longer and he will come into my hands like a ferreted rabbit, I will wait."

      But he could not see, through the night, how the colt, before coming to the bridge, took the road that led along the vale instead of keeping on into the town, for that was the direction in which he had always been ridden during breaking hours.

      A couple of miles along this and there was an alehouse where Siencyn had been wont to dismount for a wet and a word, and here, done up and limping sorely, the grey halted, while a cry from his rider brought help from within. And while the pair were being attended to, the one in the stable and the other on the settle by the fire in the kitchen, Tom was leaning once more against the oak and saying to himself, — "The smashed gate will halt him and then I shall have him."

      All that night he kept his post, only moving occasionally to pace a short length to and fro, keeping to the grass by the lane side, that no sound might betray him or serve to warn the expected Freeholder. Then, when day broke and the smoke curled from the chimneys of Mynachty in the cloudy light, he took his way once more to search the house. Not to the front door this time, however, but the open one behind, and through the empty kitchen while the maids were gone with old Lowry to the work outside. But, front or back; high or low; he could not find his enemy and so he set his face to the town again to hunt that through.

      By the time he reached the shop in the square the shutters were being taken down and there was nothing to bar his entrance to the room beyond, but here his search was as fruitless as before. Sore and savage betwixt the disappointment and Jen Shop's tongue, he started to scout the town in hope of hearing some news of those he looked for; but no man could tell him anything to please him.

      Mid-afternoon, and then at last he gave up the search for the day and started along the valley road for home.

      Weary and faint with hunger, for he had taken nothing since the meal at Glwysva yester-morning, he made but slow way. His beaver was well down over his eyes and his steps lagged heavily, but in his breast the flame of his anger still burned. He could not give up Gwennie and he would not give up his farm. Let them do as they would; the lawyers and all, — he was ready to meet them, every inch and drop of him, and fight their sheriff's men and constables till the last gasp left his body.

      His face showed the colour of his thoughts; no wonder the bonny brown squirrel, coming round the bend of the road, should turn and scamper back to the rugged oak beyond. This was Glwysva, too, showing through the trees, but he set his teeth and passed on, — he could not bring himself to dash the light from those brown eyes just yet. To-morrow would be plenty soon enough for that.

      At the gate of the lower croft old Gelert met him and the joyful bark of greeting brought his mother to the doorway. He saw her anxiety as he crossed the threshold, and he laughed, — a hard, dry laugh. When he saw how much that hurt her, he put his arm round her, while a lump stuck in his throat, he was indeed weak and needed food badly.

      "Give me something to eat, mother dear, I am famished, I will talk after; there's a good mother."

      Thereafter neither spoke a word till the supper which waited on the table was finished. Then the man pushed back and began, but still with his hands grasping the edge of the board.

      "There is nothing wrong, mother, — not much at least. You are all right, and Gwennie is all right, and for me, well, I am strong and can win my way with any man; but —"

      Here he broke off and stared hard at the dull glow of the turf on the hearth. Then he crossed over to old Hawys where she sat and, taking her wrinkled hand in his, went on, —

      "You came to this place with my father upon your wedding day, didn't you?"

      "Yea, Tom! I did," she answered, turning her gaze from him to the fire, where she might outline again the picture of a long gone day. "My Ion had waited years for me, for he was the best hearted man that ever strode into Cildeg, and he knew I couldn't leave my old mother and father that were bed-ridden, till my brother's children, that had no other home, were grown tall enough to fend for themselves. Aye, it was long, but then at last the day came. Shall I go on?"

      "Go on," said Tom.

      "The sun as he rose that morning, looking at this place where we sit now, saw nothing but heather and gorse and bog, where the cotton grass showed white amongst the purple and yellow of the others. Ah! well do I remember the look of it as we came up that morning, with the curlews that whistled so clear, and the breeze that blew so sweet to welcome us.

      "All the young men and maidens in the valley rode with us to the church; the men that were courting, and the men that would be courting, coming with the maids that had, and the maids that lacked, a lover. And the way was short and pleasant, for every one was merry and hopeful then-a-day.

      "The hours were young yet when we pillioned out from Cildeg, bringing with us Morris Fiddler and David Fiddler Bach, together with old Roger ab Reinallt, the last man that played the harp betwixt the shoulders of Aran.

      "When we got here we were soon at work, and the sun at setting saw a warm caban standing, built of stones and turf, and roofed with birchen poles and heather. It was but a single room, but we were proud, for the men were light of heart and the maids were light of foot and we danced all night in the moonlight, laughing so free that we scared the owls of Pencoed down below. We never slacked our fun from sun to sun, except when the fiddlers tired, and then old Roger would take the harp and sing us tales of other days and other lovers, — ah! that was a grand cymortha,^* — a grand cymortha," she repeated, muttering beneath her breath and rocking to and fro at the memory.

* A gathering of friends to help in any particular work.

      "And then?" prompted Tom, still holding the worn hand.

      "Ah! then, in storm and shine; in summer and winter, my tall Ion and I we worked together. We gathered the stones and carried them till we had fenced in one croft after another, and we dug the land and planted it; potatoes for the pot, oats for the flummery, and barley for the bread. Then my first born, my little Nesta, came, and Ion went to the Nant and brought across his shoulder a bonny ash sapling and planted it by the door where it grows so greenly this day. Then he built a shed for the cow and a sty for the pig; making the garden in front, while the fowls scratched round the house, and we were happy up here in the clouds together.

      "Then, before she was a twelvemonth old, the little Nesta fell sick with a sickness that the Cildeg doctor could make nothing of, no, nor the doctors away in the next town we took her to, for we. were afraid that she would die.

      "But all along I knew what it was that ailed her. It was Jen Lwyd, that hated me for winning my husband when she wanted him, and she stretched her hands to the ravens of Aran and cursed my little children unborn that never harmed her, — and that, too, in spite of her wedding the man of Mynachty; father to the one that now is.

      "That was why little Nesta was sick, — and she cursed you too, Tom, but you are well and happy this day, for all of her that lies so cold in the vault at Cildeg."

      Tom made no word of comment, though he shifted in his seat, and she continued, —

      "I went to the cromlech by the dinas above Pen Duffryn when midnight was at its blackest, and I went to the fairy ring on Bryn Pwca when the moon was at its brightest, but no help could I get; though I tried every spell that old Hettws, the witch wife, told me. So when Ion would take the doctor's advice and carry the child away to England, I was quite ready to go with him, for there I thought we should be beyond the shadow of the wings of Aran's ravens.

      "But the going needed what we had little of, — and that was money. So we went to Cildeg and borrowed some of Aaron Megan, father to Jacob Shop that now is, and with that in our pockets we started.

      "Liverpool is the town we went to and that is a great town indeed; where the ships come and go like the clouds of a May morning. Most of its people are Welsh, and there we found a cousin of my father's and stayed with her. But if it costs a vast deal of money to stay there for a week only; then what did it cost us that had to live there for months, with the child's life like the fire on the hearth that flickers up so bright one minute and dies down so low the next?

      "Then at last, like the fire again, that life went out altogether and it was a corpse I held to my breast and a corpse that Ion looked at as though he were turned to a stone. By that time, too, our money was all but gone, and we had to walk home again to Havod y Garreg, with empty hearts that were a heavier burden than the full arms we took when we left it. Ah! dear heart! och!"

      There fell a quiet pause here and then she took up the story again.

      "We went about sad but sadly till thou wert born, my Tom, and that brought a lightening of the shadows; till the date was come and Aaron Megan was upon us like a rat for the money he had lent us, with a great sum for interest besides. Then —" but here she broke off suddenly, smoothing down her face and lips with restless hands.

      A long silence followed, and the fire sputtered dimly about the man's feet until he prompted her once more.

      "And then?"

      Her voice took another thrill now. "And then, my Ion, that was impatient of owing aught to any man, most of all Aaron Megan, went down to work at the quarry that he might pay the debt. That was a weary debt to me and a heavy price I counted in settling it. I paid it in nights of tears and days of moaning. For that next day; only one little day between; up through the clouds that shut out the valley my Ion came home, — came home to me, aoch!

      "He came home on men's shoulders, for he was dead! — dead! and they would not let me see the face that the rocks had mangled so. Dead! my tall man; my Ion. Aoch! dear heart! dead!" Tom put his arm around the rocking figure to still it, while he placed his strong cheek against her wrinkled one. Then she took courage and continued, —

      "The blood in the quarry could wash out my happiness but it could not wash out the writing of the debt, therefore I was forced to give up Havod y Garreg, — the home that we had made, to pay it. But I stayed on as tenant, at a rent, for your Aarons and your Jacobs would starve to death if they had to win a living from the mountain.

      "When Aaron Megan seized the place there was still a little money left, and with it I built this house, wearing the remainder in sheep and young stock, for I still had my little Tom to think of and to comfort me, — aye Tom, and thou wert ever a good lad and a true comfort to me; here in this house, where we have lived together ever since and where, please God, I hope to die."

      When old Hawys had finished she still kept her gaze fixed upon the flickering fire, till Tom, drawing a long breath, took up the continuation of the story.

      "Aye mother, and then, from the day you built this house you struggled on and toiled hard, until one day you told your son he ought to get married. So he went down and chose a wife that pleased you as well as himself; the sweetest and the best maid that ever a man looked at. And after the banus were put up he went down to pay his rent in Cildeg town. There they turned him aside with it to the house of Evan Attorney, who told him that he was expected to quit Hafod y Garreg that very day, for he had gotten notice a year ago, and the land was sold to Will Addis of Mynachty."

      The mother was looking hard at the son now, and as he ended, she said, doubtingly, "I am not quick, Tom, what is it you mean?"

      Beginning in a monotonous voice, which half way through rose till it rang in anger, the man told over the story of the two days.

      Still, till the last word of it was done, old Hawys sat, never once taking her eyes from those that blazed before her. Then, grey and rigid, she stood up, putting at arm's length the hand that would have stayed her. Her voice came hard and high. "To quit! to leave the house I built and the crofts we made from the mountain; the garden that we made and the ash tree that we planted. Never! Never! Leave the spot where they brought my man home to me, dead! Never! Jen Lwyd's black son; Jen of the curse! and her son to do this because a maid preferred my son to her's! But I tell you, Tom, that I will not go, and when the Uchelwr comes to turn us out I will kill him on the threshold myself before his mother's soul, loosed from damnation, shall come in with him to triumph over me!"

      The last words came in a scream as she turned, and, seizing the long, brown bladed turf cutter that leaned in the chimney nook, swung it up in the firelight with a pose that made her a picture of incarnate fury.

      Even her son was awed for a moment by the sight of her in such transport, but, quickly recovering himself, he laid his hand upon the weapon as he said, —

      "Nay, mother, he'll not come here. I've hunted him everywhere, and all last night I laid in the way for him. But he is hidden away somewhere; he is afraid to face me again.

      "His mother was your enemy, and for love, as her son is mine, but if the shadow of the wings of Aran's ravens are to be on my life, then they shall be death to him at least. And, mother; we are not going from here. If he comes with his law to drive us out, — though I think he is too cowardly for that, then I will set such a grip on him that he'll be glad to stop away, if he can only escape at all. And whether he comes this year or next, on the notice they say I had, or the notice they gave me yesterday, I will not go. I swear it!" he went on with a ringing tone, lifting his clenched hands, while a long tongue of flame leaped up and lit, blood red, the stern faces of both. "Hear me Llyn Du! by hill and plain and tree, I swear it!"

      At the pagan oath, — belonging to the dwarf oak and the stone circle between the foam-teeth of Llyn Du and the grinning front of Y Garnedd, — a silence fell upon them both; silence born of the terrible tales that cling to those hoar stones, and it was not till the fire fell together, taking a crown of dancing flamelets which dissipated the near darkness, that either of them spoke. Then old Hawys said, —

      "How will you meet him, Tom?"

      "Barehanded."

      All that night the moon or stars, looking in at the window, saw the same sight. By the hearth a man sleeping the heavy sleep of utter exhaustion, but with hands clenched hard as though he thought to-morrow's dawn would call him to keep his oath. And in the midst, gripping a brown blade, a woman, whose haggard face betokened the cruel pain at her heart, and whose restless movements, as she went to and fro between the window and the hearth, betrayed the fevered state of a mind which would, if possible, have brought the impending evil to the touch with the next sunrise, that so she might wake the sleeping man to fulfil her fierce desire.

---

CHAPTER XI.
THE PROPER MODE OF FETCHING THE COWS.

"HA!" said the gossips of Cildeg, "so Gwennie Cradoc couldn't be married after all; for wasn't the word gone through the town that the Uchelwr was turning Tom Hawys out of Havod y Garreg, and that Tom was sworn to kill Will Mynachty for it? And hadn't he been hunting him these two days? And wasn't he newly gone home this evening to see if the law had meddled with his home, swearing that to-morrow he would start afresh to look for his enemy? And he was the man to do it too, and so Gwennie might fold up her wedding cloak and lay it by till some new man came, after Tom was sent to prison, or hung maybe."

      So pleasant a budget could not long lack a carrier, and shortly it found its way up to Glwysva. The cobbler's wife told it to the wife of Kyffin Wernlas and she, upon reaching home after dark, sped it on by the young man whom she detailed to carry the blacksmith's answer to Glwysva anent the work.

      Thus it fell out that Gwennie heard the story.

      All the night before she had been hurt that Tom had not called on his way home, as he had spoken of doing before he left in the morning; nay, she had been almost ready to decide upon being cool when next he should come. All the night while Tom stood beneath the oak tree, she had lain in trouble, tormenting herself with a ceaseless train of reasons for her lover's non-appearance. Faithlessness, of course, never once came into her mind, for the man concerned was her Tom, but pretty well everything else took its turn in the review. With the day, wonder gave place to fear, and many were the little tasks which suddenly appeared to take her to the window or the door; nay, once or twice even to the gate by the road. Therefore the evening shut in with foreboding; foreboding that recognized coming disaster in the tale from Cildeg.

      She was not in the room when the narration began, and when she entered the messenger broke off abruptly, looking confusedly at her father as if for some sign or word of direction. Her mother, sitting on the speer beside the fire, motioned her to a place beside her, and, when she was seated, put her arms about her and kissed her in silent sympathy. Instantly Gwennie caught the alarm.

      "What is it, mother dear? There is something, I know, and it is about — about —"

      Her mother drew her close.

      "It is about Tom," she said.

      "Begin again," said the father, quietly to the messenger.

      Thus admonished the young fellow began, with a new distaste for his job. At the first mention of her lover's name Gwennie sat upright and listened intently. As the full import of the tissue of lies showed itself to her astonished mind she broke out with hot denunciations.

      "What lies! What liars! —"

      But her father checked her. "Gwennie! we know they are; but listen."

      Yet though at this reproof she held her tongue, her eyes and bearing were far more eloquent than mere words could have been. Her pale cheeks and flashing eyes, the whole pose of her frame, showed the intensity of her indignant dissent. Then, as to the first part succeeded the second, detailing Tom's persistent efforts to find the conspirators, the light in her eyes changed to one of apprehension and the closed lips relaxed with a suspicious quiver. With the last words, detailing how Tom had sworn to renew his search to-morrow, — which, though they had no real foundation were as true as the rest, so far as she knew, — she broke down and hid her face upon her mother's breast, while her father took the young man aside into the outer doorway to question him still further concerning the intentions of the lawyers in the case.

      But of this the young man knew nothing and made haste to leave, mentally cursing his folly in having undertaken the task of bearing such news at the bidding of his master's wife.

      Very gentle were her parents with Gwennie after the bearer of ill tidings was gone, and her father spoke cheerily to rouse her.

      "Nay, Gwennie, never trouble yourself so, or Tom will think but little of your faith in him. And surely for the law part Owen Bevan is a better man any day than Evan Bowen. Keep your needle busy and never mind such tales or you will not be ready when your wedding day comes."

      "But they do lie so, father, and their lawyer too, while Owen Bevan is an honest man."

      "An honest man the man Owen Bevan may be, but the lawyer Owen Bevan must do as lawyers do."

      Not disputing such a dictum from such a source, the maid's next word showed the real fear that disturbed her.

      "But, father, what if Tom should find Will Mynachty and — and — harm him. What then?"

      "Oh! the Freeholder will be very sure to keep far enough away, and for Tom, why! he'll soon cool down and think it a vast deal better to live for you than to die for that other; I'll warrant you! Good night now, little maid, and do you sleep sound till morning. Good night."

      Even her brother varied the usual indifference of a brother's "good night;" striving a little to comfort her by word and tone, and avowing his belief that all would come right.

      But in the darkness of her own chamber the night came thronging full of fears, making her long and pray for day-light when she might be up and doing, exchanging this sickening uncertainty of inaction for at least the attempt to turn her lover's purpose to a safer path.

      Therefore she slept as little as did old Hawys, though from the tugging of an opposite desire, and before the dawn had well swept away the last shadow of the night she was on her way up the trail to Havod y Garreg.

      Belike she felt stronger from the bravery of her apparel, for she had donned her most becoming adornments, and, with the roses that the little breeze dropped upon the cream of her cheeks, she knew she lacked none of a woman's auxiliaries. So fast she went, that, by the time she reached the rock where Tom had discarded his knee ribbons, she was forced to pause for breath, and looking around, caught sight of the first uplifting of the sun from behind the buttresses of Moel y Gaer. Wide, as she gazed, flung the flood of golden glory, leaping from point to peak, sweeping along the level of Drumhir, and with one swift flash melting into the earlier-lit crest of Aran, whose countenance of virgin white blushed into amethystine shame at the caress.

      The beauty of the scene made such sharp contrast to the fear in her bosom that she clasped her hands to her heart as she cried aloud, — "He must not go seeking Mynachty. He must not go!"

      Tom flushed as she entered the house, but he stood up and read in her face that someone had told her. And when she, not stopping or looking anywhere but into his eyes, came up and took his hand, saying, — "You must not go, Tom; for my sake you must not go!" he thought he understood, and from the bottom of his heart he answered, — "I will not Gwennie; I have sworn it."

      Then the load fell away from her bosom, leaving her so light of heart that she remembered that she was still unwed, and the blush that came with the thought stirred her lover's heart till the hand upon her shoulder closed like a vice. The pressure reminded her that he seemed in no haste to caress her and she awoke somehow to the fact that he was no longer the shy Tom Hawys who had talked such sweet unwisdom down in the valley, but a man with his grip upon the things of life and set to do his part stubbornly in the wrestle.

      Old Hawys was not satisfied with the scene, doubt of her son's firmness assailed her; therefore she said, —

      "Tom, son, she will make a rare bride for thee."

      He started; that woke him too. Taking the maid in his arms he kissed her so long and so fiercely that the colour of her neck shamed the colour of the cloak below it.

      What a glorious morning it was after the wind of yesterday! And the cows were to fetch yet, as witness old Gelert's impatient tail in the doorway. Then Gwennie must be introduced again to that four footed paragon; and how merrily she laughed as she clasped his neck and told him what a nice, dear, good dog it was. This was on a thirty seconds' acquaintance, and decided in a single look from the honest eyes of the dog.

      "Aye," said Tom to his mother in pride, "Gwennie is going with us to fetch the cows." And old Hawys nodded in great glee at that and set to straighten up the interior of the place a bit while they should be gone.

      All the way through the upper croft, Tom, with a happy cadence in his voice, was pointing out the beauties of the prospect, showing the place where the snow lingered latest on Aran and where the sun touched it first or smiled on it last. He pointed out the near rocks at whose bases the moss was greenest and softest, and he showed where the hawk's nest was built last spring, and where the clearest rills ran, — but he made no mention of the trail that led over to Llyn Du.

      To fetch the cows required the longest time on record, though for a second occasion the cows were again waiting at the upper gate. But then, that gate was so very convenient to lean upon while descanting upon the points of the restless-tailed cattle, while Gelert looked on in sore bewilderment to see such laxity upon the part of his partner in the cow-driving business. He was highly scandalized indeed, presently, to see that partner's arm steal round this new person's waist, and at the sound which followed he felt compelled to protest. He sneezed distinctly; twice.

      He might just as well have wagged his tail though, for all they seemed to hear, and, the sound being repeated two or three times, he, in shocked sternness, attempted to bring the offending arm to a sense of propriety by rubbing his cold nose upon the back of its hand. That brought another hand to bear, a bonny little hand, which so altered things as to make him leap up with his two fore paws on the gate and lick the slim fingers, and all to a running accompaniment of tail wagging that made quite a breeze. He saw from the two faces above that cow-driving was not the only, or even the most important, business in life. So pleased was he with this new knowledge that thereafter he immediately fell to recklessly corroborating all that his partner said about the cows, jumping over the gate and singling out which ever was being mentioned, leaping round it in an ecstasy of delight, and finishing each biography by jumping up to the gate to get the approval of the new partner's hand. That was a fine fetching of the cows; vastly fine!

      And on the way back Gelert kept looking from Tom to Gwennie and the cows, making queer little motions, wanting to tell all about his compact with old "Star" and wagging his tail so violently that it almost lifted his hind legs off the ground, — and certainly communicated a motion to his ears, when Tom at last explained what he wanted to say. What a rare morning this was to be sure.

      At the milking, too, how clever the little hands were, and how steadily the two streams kept up the "risting" into the frothing pail. Even Longhorn, the restless one, liked that, and did not lash her tail about more often than she could possibly help, while old Star looked around in sheer encouragement and approval.

      Then Tom and Gelert must take back the cows by themselves, for Gwennie was going in to see old Hawys, "never you mind what for."

      You see breakfast was still to come, though Tom seemed to have forgotten such like things. Inside old Hawys decided at once, that, this being Gwennie's first visit, the occasion called emphatically for cakes, hot cakes, well buttered, breast and back; and who in the world now could make cakes like Gwennie? And when they were mixed and before they were baked on the swept hearthstone, the old wife took the maid through all the places; the two rooms below and the attics above, and told her how fain she was to be handing the care and keeping of it all to such an one as herself, and how thankful she was that her son had not brought home any of the good-for-nothings from the town who would have made sore work of the home. "For you know, maiden, that my Tom is enough to set them all a-fever for him." And Gwennie blushed at this and bore herself with such decent modesty through it all that it made the other thank God earnestly and aloud for such a happy choice on the part of Tom's affections. In like manner, too, when the cakes were baked and the breakfast set, how pleased the maiden was when the mother wondered so admiringly at their luscious perfection, and Tom scorned that wonder, saying stoutly that perfection was the only thing to be expected from perfection itself. And, judging from his carriage as he took morsel after morsel from the new comer's hands, Gelert was of identically the same opinion.

      Aye! that was far and away a much pleasanter meal than any of the three had anticipated at dawn. And outside, on the bench at the foot of the ash tree, — not one but half a dozen at a time, — the daws were perking and peering in through the open door to see who this was so bonny.

      Breakfast over, with the table cleared and the room tidied, the maid must hurry down to Glwysva or her mother would surely be scolding. would she? Tom would see about that; he would take her home and receive the scolding himself.

      Indeed no!

      Indeed yes! He was putting the cloak round her shoulders and stopped her demure demurrings with a string of kisses. Well! he might come as far as the gate of the lower croft, but not one step further. Gelert barked at that, frisking about like a puppy; he knew that one step leads to another; and Tom knew too, for the rogue laughed as he appeared to assent. But when the bright beaver was donned to satisfaction he turned to his mother at the door and said he would be back perhaps by noon. Whereat she laughed too. Sorrow seemed far enough from these folk.

      At the gate of the lower croft there was a very pretty squabble, out of which the man must have come victorious, for he forthwith began to pilot the maid's footsteps down the trail; footsteps that at another time would have been equal to that trail on the darkest night, let alone a day like this.

      She might have been a grand lady from some city, the way he talked. "Now put your foot upon this stone and then on that; and here is a firm spot! so! now we are over that miry place. I ought to mend it I know, — some day I will, maybe," and so on with variations. Happy home taking. So happy indeed that they did not discover the four men, who, ascending and seeing them coming, had at once made haste to leave the trail and secrete themselves amongst the rocks to the right.

      Said the chief of these four, speaking to his companions, when the couple has passed below the crag at the turn of the trail, — "We are lucky."

      When the two were gone completely out of sight the four rose, moving as swiftly as might be, till they reached the gate of the lower croft. There they paused to reconnoitre till the bark of a dog came faintly from the open mountain above. At the sound the leader hurried all forward till they reached the house. Here, taking from his pocket a sheet of paper, he hastily affixed it to the door, saying exultingly as he turned away, —

      "There is no end to our luck. Now back by the Ffridd, — then we shall not meet Tom Hawys at all."

---

CHAPTER XII.
A HOLE IN THE PLOT.

WHEN, after the noon hour, Tom got back home, he found old Hawys standing by the ash tree with the turf-cutter in her hand and a look on her face that boded bad news.

      "What is it, mother," cried her son, "that you seem so troubled at?"

      "Look!" said she, turning and pointing to the door behind her.

      He strode hastily past her to the door. "Read it!" she cried from where she stood. "What does it say?"

      Tom turned to her again with a hard expression. "It says, mother, that if we are not away from this by a certain date, the law will come and put us out. It is a notice of eviction."

      "Ha! I knew it had to do with that business. When you two went out of sight from the lower gate I saw the sheep were broken into the far croft so I took the dog and went to drive them over the mountain again. By the time I had done that and made up the fence once more, I saw four men hurrying away from here, heading for the Ffridd, and when I got to the door there was that paper upon it, — so I waited to be ready for whatsoever might follow."

      "And they went back by the Ffridd?"

      "By the Ffridd."

      "Tell me, mother, do you think the Uchelwr was one of them?"

      "Nay, there was none tall enough."

      "Oh, then they were only the men who carry for the law, and they matter nothing yet. This paper gives the date when the law's grace ends and its officers should come to evict us. We know they cannot do it before that, and till then we need not trouble up here."

      "And your wedding day, Tom?"

      "Comes some days before that."

      "Will it come?"

      "I must go down and speak with Glwysva and the lawyer Owen Bevan."

      "Will you lose such a bonny bride for Mynachty's doings?" cried his mother in anger. "Will you give in like a beaten hound already before the stick falls?"

      "Mother," answered the son impatiently, "you know I will not give up; not after the stick falls, — if it must fall, — let alone before. But I must let Glwysva know, he must never say I dealt dishonestly by him; and perhaps the lawyers can comfort him in this new turn; neither Gwennie nor myself need any. You go on, mother, with your baking and your brewing, for the wedding will be on the day set; no matter what may happen on another day."

      "That is right, Tom; that is like my son; and we will win yet, too, in spite of the raven that I saw this morning, coming eastwards from Aran and circling for a full hour round and about our house. Jen Lwyd and her ravens, — to the devil, — we'll mock them yet. And now you may go to Glwysva; I am satisfied if you will only stand your ground," ended old Hawys.

      With a brief word of parting Tom took the downward road, carrying in his pocket the paper torn from the door. When he reached the valley Glwysva was eager to go to the lawyer as proposed, and sent his son without delay to catch and saddle the two nags.

      In the interval the lover found time to whisper a word to Gwennie who, with shining eyes and pale cheeks, reminded him of his morning's promise.

      "You will not go, Tom; you said you would not."

      "I will not go, never fear! I will keep my oath that I swore last night, and my promise that I made you this morning," replied he, as he kissed her at parting.

      And, as cheerily threw himself into the saddle, he thought in his mind how little he should ever have suspected her of such determination. "Why, she's as firm set to stay and fight the Uchelwr as my mother herself. She has a rare courage; she'll make a rare wife.

      Which shows how easily two folk may put different meanings in the same words. Then away the two men pricked down the road, and as they passed the still broken gate of Mynachty, Glwysva took good care to be on that side and to look the other straight in the eye as he turned his gaze up the lane; for on the way Tom had told him of his search.

      "Nay! nay!" he said, shaking his head, "no more of that just now; push on to Owen Bevan."

      They clattered on over the bridge and into the square, Tom with his eyes ever on the alert hoping to catch a glimpse of his enemy. He would have ridden into the shop but that the other seized his rein and turned him to the left along the Stryt Glyndwrdy, riding thus past the house of Evan Bowen and so on to the place of the rival solicitor.

      Dismounting and throwing their bridles to an urchin near, the door was opened before they had time to knock, and inside they found Huw Auctioneer and Owen Bevan, both standing ready to welcome them.

      "He didn't get back till just now," said Huw cheerily to Tom, over the hand-shake, nodding to indicate the lawyer as he spoke, "but I've just finished telling him the whole thing and he'll have it all right in two shakes of a lamb's tail; you see if he doesn't.

      "Of course he will," chimed in the person spoken of, as he shook hands in turn. "The thing is preposterous; anyone can see that."

      "Yes," interposed Glwysva, "but can anyone see that when they have to look at it through the law? Tell me that Owen Bevan!"

      The lawyer laughed. "Well, that is another thing sometimes, but still we'll have a shot at this precious lot in no time. I'm only so sorry that Llysowen took me away to Aberalyn over that mortgage business of his; otherwise, — but no matter; let us get down to work at once."

      In another minute all four were seated and Tom had spread the eviction notice upon the table, while he told what he knew about it and supplemented that with what he reckoned about it.

      The lawyer was busy all through the recital drawing comic sketches upon the paper before him. When the narrative ended he held the sketch at arm's length while he surveyed it with a genial countenance. "Ha!" said he, slapping his thigh with his free hand, "they are a sharp gang. Rapid moving, eh! But we'll get out an injunction at once and put a stopper upon their little game. Never fear! Now tell me, Tom, was any one with you when you paid your rent a year ago, or is there anything you remember about it that would ear mark the scene in your mind. I mean something that, if it occurred, Jacob Shop must remember as well as you do, something that I can tackle him about in the witness box, eh?"

      "I'm not sure!" replied Tom with a puckered brow.

      "Well now, what date was it, and perhaps we can help you that way, — have you got the receipt."

      "Yes, it's here, with the rest of them for a dozen years back," answered Tom, hauling out a bundle of papers.

      Owen Bevan spread them out and scanned them narrowly. After a minute or two of this, he laid them in order afresh and took up the comic sketch. Screwing up one eye at this he began to whistle, but before he had gone three bars he stopped and ran his eye over the receipts again.

      "Wait a minute! I see this is dated a day later than all the rest; a day later than the proper and usual date. Do you remember anything about that?"

      "Why; yes, I do now," replied Tom, the wrinkle disappearing at once. "I could not come on the usual day because I had intended to ride, and the pony, — it was a young one, — broke away and kept me chasing it till I was weary. I reckon he was weary too, for when I mounted him he started off and fell under me, bruising me so that I was fain to bide at home till next day."

      "Very good! Now do you remember what date was upon that paper the starveling clerk gave you? It's a pity you didn't keep it."

      "I think you did keep it, Tom," broke in Huw Auctioneer. "Feel through all your pockets, for I know you had it crumpled in your left hand when you collared the clerk."

      A hasty search brought to light, among a pile of sundry other forgotten things, a crumpled scrap, which, upon investigation, proved to be the very slip itself.

      A quick glance over this brought a broad smile to the face of the lawyer. The smile became a grin; the grin a laugh.

      "Ho! ho! what a numbskull lot they are. But this proves that Evan Bowen only came in on the completed plan; he had nothing to do with drawing it up, that's certain, or else he would have looked to the dates closer than this. Ha! ha! We have them now surely."

      "How?" queried Tom.

      "Never mind how; the less you know the less you'll tell if you should happen to fall foul of any of the three. And yet I suppose you will guess if I don't tell you. It's this, the notice to quit purports to have been given on the usual rent day, while the rent receipt is dated the day after, which, as you remember, was the day you really paid. Now their story runs, as this last slip shows, that the notice was given at the same handing with the rent receipt, — see?"

      The grin had gone round them all as the hole in the plot showed plainer, and now it was a laugh that greeted its finished outline.

      "I think you ought to invite yourself to the wedding," quoth Huw Auctioneer to the lawyer.

      "And so I would if I didn't have this business of Llysowen's to look to."

      "I'll tell you what we'll do," said Tom, in a glow of involuntary relief, born of the faith that nothing now could interefere with his wedding; "I've got the rent here yet that I should have paid three days ago, — I vote we all go over to the Red Dragon, now or some other convenient time, and put in a dinner and the aftermath at Will Mynachty's expense."

      "No! no!" interposed the lawyer. "Give me that money to pay the rent. Otherwise they'll make a point about that not being paid and I must be able to meet their demand. Moreover if you do not pay that, the Uchelwr might distrain for it; and that would be awkward —"

      "It would," interrupted Tom grimly, "for the Uchelwr. If that will fetch him up there though, I'll keep the money till he does come to distrain."

      "Yes; but he'll come by proxy, not in person. The sheriff's officer will do it by order of the law."

      "Very well then, but surely I can make him come for his rent himself if I leave word to that effect at Mynachty."

      "No, because for one thing it is the custom, — and you have always followed it, for the tenant to seek the landlord with the rent; and for another thing Evan Bowen is his duly accredited agent, and a lawyer costs more than a dog to have dangling after you in a string."

      With visible reluctance Tom drew forth, from some heretofore undiscovered receptacle in his clothes, a rough saddler-made purse. Slowly he counted down the contents upon the table, saying, as he pushed the completed tale over to the solicitor, — "I hate to do it; I do hate it as I never hated anything before. May every round piece of it burn a hole in his soul and let damnation in deeper."

      "Never mind, Tom, you'll come out the best man yet in this that lies between you and Mynachty."

      "Best man! Aye! God's death will I; and you and everyone else shall see it; and see it so plainly too that you shall have no room for an answer."

      The drift was getting awkward, bringing Glwysva to the rescue. "I think we hill folk had better be riding, 'twill be late before we get home otherwise."

      "Late! and what of the moon, is that not bright enough to bring you safe to Glwysva," cried the lawyer merrily. "I'll warrant Tom needs neither sun nor moon to light him to that ingle; the two stars under its eaves will draw him there fast enough." The flush rose to Tom's face, but he got even.

      "What should honest townfolk know of moons, whether they be light or dark, or was it Llysowen's cellar held such good stuff that you took all night to get home, eh! Owen Bevan. I do hear tales of folk who come home in carriages because they are too mellow to ride, and the roads too wide to be walked. Did you ever know any such?"

      The laugh was turned against Bevan, who however, laughed loudest of the four. "Llysowen's cellar! you shall judge what stuff is in that same cellar, for here is a bottle of it; and the best of it, in truth and deed. Here we are," he cried, opening the "cwpbwrdd tridarn" in one corner and producing a long necked bottle, together with the requisite number of glasses.

      He handled that bottle lovingly, careful not to disturb its contents, and inserting the corkscrew with due reverence. "Look at that," he went on holding the glasses to the light as he filled them, one after the other, from the bottle. "Just taste it and tell me what you think of it!"

      "It's little skill I have of your wines and foreign drinks, but that is something to make a man feel thirty years younger before he can put the glass down," said Glwysva, smacking his lips as he showed his empty.

      "Bah! man; you don't understand," cried Huw Auctioneer in feigned disgust. "This is none of your harvesters' ale; twopence a gallon stuff. This is wine to be sipped, not swipes to be swilled. Give him another, Owen, so that he may tot it properly."

      "And Tom, too!" echoed the lawyer refilling their glasses as he spoke.

      "Nay! nay!" said Glwysva, when the second had been duly sipped, "no more for me, or there will be moons enough on every tree to light a troop home, and stars on every stone that trips our nags. I'll drink good ale with the next, but wine fits gentlefolk better than simple."

      Huw laughed. "That would be rare stuff for the wedding, eh Tom?"

      "And there shall be some," cried the solicitor. "I'll see to that! Llysowen will be glad to give it for the jest of this affair. I'll not keep you now," he went on, deprecating with a wave of his hand Tom's demur, "I must get to work at once upon this restrainer."

      "And I should like to see Evan Bowen's face when you get the injunction," chimed in Huw Auctioneer.

      "Would you?" quoth the lawyer, "you would expect a frown and a curse; well, I tell you, it will be a smile and a nod to himself, for this failing means another attempt on the part of Mynachty, and more work and bigger fees for the attorney; since they will be bound to get his help from the first; not bring him in last as they did this time. Now, gentlemen all, good evening! but stay; just another taste round before you put the door between you and the cupboard; just a taste."

      Right hearty was the parting and light hearts went the different ways, though perhaps the Auctioneer's was the most unalloyed happiness. For the lawyer, beneath his merriment, knew well that other troubles would come of that shifty rogue over the way, and Glwysva remembered that no matter how this ended there was another notice expiring next year, while Tom felt, deep down in his bosom, that something would come of his pagan oath.

      When the horses turned into the square Tom laid his hand upon the other's bridle arm, — "Just come with me to Nanno Milliner's; I want to get something there; a bit of ribbon it is."

      Glwysva smiled, but all the same he was pleased to hold the other's horse while he went in to make the purchase. When they set forth again the younger man explained, saying simply, —

      "That other ribbon I got from Jacob Shop."

      Whereat his companion smiled again.

---

CHAPTER XIII.
ANOTHER SORT OF BREAKFAST.

IN a private room, in an inn in a South Wales town, sat the Freeholder. The town was neither large or much frequented, and "like town, like inn;" which was probably Mynachty's reason for choosing both. He was not much of a scribe, yet nevertheless he had made laborious shift, some few days ago, to compass a screed, directed to Evan Bowen, Cildeg, asking for news, and for this news he was this morning patiently waiting. He was going over the whole position again in his mind. "You see," he was saying to himself, "if I were to meet him and hammer him in a fight, that's nothing; it's over and done with and makes no sort of set off. But with these law businesses it's a vast deal different. I can have him from one day to another; from year's end to year's end, till he will only wish to get within reach of me to murder me. And that's where the sweetness of it lies, — for he'll not be able to get at me. No! I'll stay where he cannot know, but all the time I'll know where he is and watch him squirming and writhing; cursing the law and double cursing me, and I'll look and I'll laugh and think out some new way of twisting him.

      "And she, — blast her! I'll make her a hell to every man she chooses, if this notice breaks if off between Tom Hawys and her, — I'll bring such sorrow to the man she sets at as shall make her shunned like a very pestilence, and I'll harry her till she'll be glad to come to Mynachty without ever riding to church first. Blast her!"

      "Hullo!" This last was addressed to Jacob Shop, who made his entry just at that moment, bearing the letter for which he had been sent to enquire at the post office.

      "Yes," responded the draper, "I got it; and it has the Cildeg mark on it, too. Here it is."

      The other pushed the ale tankard over in exchange while he seized the missive. Tearing it open, he carried it across to the deep embrasure of the window, after the manner of men unaccustomed to the deciphering of handwriting, and who, during the operation, must have all the aid which circumstances admit; chief of which generally appears to be the fullest light obtainable.

      His companion watched him in fear and trembling. Beginning with the swelled head of the morning after the dinner, the draper's mind had grown more and more ill at ease, till the day of their departure from Cildeg had bred a positive sinking in the region of the stomach, whenever he caught sight of the magistrate's offices over his shoulder as he slunk out of the square to join his fellow conspirator. That sinking seemed to become a permanency when his backward eye could no longer get a glimpse of the court room which prompted the original feeling, and all through the day's drive he had roused the contemptuous anger of his companion by the starts he made whenever, upon the road or at any of their numerous halting places, a form had appeared bearing even the remotest resemblance to Tom Hawys. In sheer desperation he had eagerly applied himself to the drink which the other so scornfully furnished, and from that day to this his chief business upon rising every morning had been to get drunk enough by night to insure oblivion in bed.

      Each day had been worse than the one preceding, partly from the uncertainty as to the course of events in Cildeg and partly from the certainty of the effects of the continued intoxication. His nerves had gone under completely for the nonce, and now, while the other read, he made haste to fortify his stomach against possible disaster by emptying the tankard.

      Looking once more at the man in the window, he caught fresh alarm from the darkening visage above the letter. Bah! that ale was no stronger than water; where was the brandy, the brandy? In his increasing perturbation he uttered the last word aloud, electrifying himself and bringing the other to his feet.

      One glance at the man advancing and terror seized him. Grey, ashy grey with wrath; his eyes blazing in fury, the Freeholder bore down upon the wretched draper. Seizing him by the throat till the long fingers bade fair to meet through the flesh of it, he shook the miserable wretch with a force that made his heels crack, ere he flung him, limp and boneless, into one corner, a whining heap of sick collapse.

      In the flood of blasphemy which burst from the foaming Freeholder, tongue and jaws utterly failed to keep pace. Oaths and curses and words of fearful import fell and tumbled over each other in disjointed fragments, while the veins in his neck and forehead threatened instant apoplexy. But the whine from the floor, coming across a gasping pause, assisted him.

      "It wasn't me! I didn't do it! It wasn't —"

      "Stop it! d—n you! stop! 'It wasn't you.' What wasn't you? you unspeakable cur! Shut up and get up, you misbegotten abortion of a man. Get up, I say, or I'll break every bone in your body with this," seizing and swinging aloft an oaken chair of ponderous proportions.

      Shop scrambled to his feet with an alacrity born of sheer fear. The sight of his shrinking form and visage provoked the other to new fury. Dropping the chair he made another reach for him, but terror rendered the object of it too quick; his whole frame simply shot downwards and rolled under the table.

      Choking with rage, the Freeholder surveyed this haven for an instant, stamping his foot at each new whine, till finally, in a transport of ungovernable anger, he flung the letter beneath the table.

      "Read that," he shouted.

      "I can't read," lied the one beneath.

      "No? and I'll make it a sorry day you ever learned to write."

      "What for?"

      "What for? I wish the hand may wither that wrote the notice that day in the Dragon; read, you fool; read! you snivelling wisp of uselessness! you that have not so much backbone as the shadow of a toad in the moonlight. Read, I say! or I will smash your two eyes with this footstool."

      Shop began to read, jerking and jumbling the words and sense in such a manner that when he came to the end he simply looked up and said helplessly, —

      "Well?"

      "Read it again and then again till your thick wits get hold of it," roared the Freeholder.

      A second time and a third the other went through the letter, and by the fourth time the meaning of it had managed to percolate through the dense mass of his fear, so far as to shape itself into something of coherency and bring his head up again as he commented, —

      "Why, I don't see that it's so bad after all. They haven't found us out; they only call it a technical error; they don't say we did it on purpose."

      At this speech, betraying as it did so plainly, the complete divergence of their minds, the other sat down and simply gasped.

      "It's no use," he groaned, as Shop, gaining courage from the new aspect of things, both here and in Cildeg, crawled from his refuge and stood, irresolutely grasping the edge of the table, ready to resume its shelter upon the instant should fresh necessity arise. "It's no use. The thing is shivering all the time lest the jail have him, — d—n him! Here! give me the letter," he went on, half rising from his seat.

      But he did not need to rise, the other was in only too great a hurry to throw it over. It was from Evan Bowen and ran to the effect that the eviction business was at an end, having been stopped by legal process on account of a little discrepancy between the dates of the quit notice and the rent receipt, the former purporting in its endorsement, to have been given in the same handing with the latter, which however, proved to be dated a day later.

      Nevertheless, though this was bad news, yet the writer was happy to say that, acting upon his usual maxim of providing as far as possible against even the improbable, he had, upon rent day, given Tom Hawys notice to quit for the next year's end, in case the present action failed, and, since this had unfortunately happened, there was still the small consolation of knowing that a year had thus been saved, which otherwise, and but for the foresight which comes of a legal training, would have been wasted.

      He was only sorry that they had not consulted him in the drawing up of the original notice when, in all probability, this mis-dating would not have occurred, and he could only suggest that in any further movement they should place the fullest confidence both in his legal acumen and his desire to serve them to the best of his ability.

      As for Tom Hawys' conduct on the occasion of his receiving the news of the transfer of the farm and the notice to quit, he thought that some action ought really to be taken in the matter, but would wait for a consultation with him, the reader, and the worthy Mr. Shop, before taking any steps. P.S. — Perhaps it would interest his clients to know that Tom Hawys was to marry Gwennie Cradoc in the course of a few days.

      The art of spurring a man was well understood by the crafty attorney. It was some five minutes, ere the Freeholder, after re-reading the epistle, looked up and spoke again to his companion.

      "Ring for some brandy and then sit down. Hang it, man, we're in the same cart and we must look to it that we get to the far end safely."

      Not much relieved by this speech, but eager for the spirits that would lift his own, the one addressed hurried to comply.

      When the liquor was set and the maid gone, Mynachty came back to the table.

      "Just go and see that there's no one at the door and then bolt it as you come back," he said. This also done, and Shop settled on the opposite side of the table, he poured out the liquor and began once more, —

      "Well, Jacob! this letter means that things are bad. Now you remember that you got the fifty pounds so as to get Tom Hawys in a tight fix?"

      "Oh, yes! but that was only so that you could get him out of it again."

      "Of course," retorted the other, dryly, "a man does pay fifty pounds away, and the lawyer's fees to boot, in order to make a fool of himself, doesn't he?"

      "But you did."

      "Did what? make a fool of myself? I did do that!" emphatically.

      "No! I mean you said that you only wanted to do it as as to, — so as to —"

      "Now that's just it exactly. I did it 'so as to' and for nothing else, and you believed it then just as you believe it now, and that is not at all, — first word and last you knew it was a lie; but you wanted the fifty pounds. Tell the truth, Jacob, for once, you'll gain by it this time in pure contrariness."

      "I did believe it, for he was a good tenant to me; I did believe it, and I didn't want him to come to harm."

      "No, you didn't; that's why you sold his place over his head when you knew he would have given you a fair price for it any day, eh?"

      Jacob squirmed.

      "Well now," resumed the other, "we'll play that it was all true and that you did believe it. But you must see that having pocketed the fifty pounds to spread that lie, and having written out those false documents and sworn to them, you are bound to go on. If I lose in my sheep and wool business by not getting Tom Hawys out of Havod y Garreg, then you will have to refund that fifty pounds; that's only fair, eh?"

      "Oh no, I did what I bargained to do; I spread the story."

      "Story! lie! exactly. You'll hardly go to court though, and sue me for that fifty if I should stop that amount when the paper I gave you comes to be redeemed and paid, eh, Jacob?"

      "But I wont agree to that."

      "And how will you help yourself? Tell me that, Jacob Shop?"

      "Be honest!" whined the draper. "I did my part honestly!"

      "Then if you did, you didn't understand what was wanted at all. What was wanted, and what I paid you the fifty for, was that Tom Hawys should be at my mercy, and that has not been done yet. You made a mistake in dating the paper and so it fell through. I'll not say anything about the risk of our being prosecuted for that mistake, but now you owe it to me to remedy it and to make good the bargain. And that bargain is to get Tom Hawys on the hip."

      " I didn't see it that way."

      "More fool you then; you made it and by all that binds I'll see that you stick to it."

      "What do you want now?"

      "Ha!" said the Uchelwr, leaning back and smiling grimly, "I thought I wasn't mistaken when I trusted you, Jacob, — I knew you were an honest man that held fast to his word. Give us your hand and we'll drink to our confidence in each other."

      He had refilled the other's glass to the brim while speaking, and now chuckled audibly as he watched him drain it to the dregs.

      "Go on," said Shop, putting down the glass.

      "Both ways?" queried the Uchelwr, dryly picking up the bottle and once more filling the glass. "Very well," he went on, "and now for our plan, only it isn't a plan just yet; it's only this. As you believe that I lose a lot of money through not getting this fellow out of Havod y Garreg, it stands to reason that I want to get even in some way, and you are to help me, no matter what that is."

      "But how?"

      "I can't tell that just yet, or till I've seen Evan Bowen, but it will be as soon as possible; for, of course, I can't pay you the money for the place until you've done your part, eh, Jacob?"

      This was the last straw, for something in the other's eye warned the wretched draper that upon this point the Freeholder had been reckoning all along to insure his co-operation, and that, moreover, he would enforce it to the uttermost Nevertheless the miser in him wailed in feeble protest, — "Oh! I want my money, though, when the bill is due."

      "And you'll get it when it's due, when Tom Hawys is fast and my foot is on him; not one minute sooner. And, further, for you, Jacob, remember that I'll ruin you by law or wring your chicken neck by hand, if you ever so much as show your teeth in a word to anyone of what's between us, aye, or if ever you hesitate an instant in the doing of it. Do you believe it?" seizing him by the throat and shaking him till his eyes threatened to start from his head.

      "I do! I do!" gasped the miserable victim, as soon as the pressure was released sufficiently for him to catch breath.

      "Very well," — another shake, — "we work together and stand or fall together, and you get your money on the day Tom Hawys is fast had; not one second sooner. And above all you keep your mouth shut."

---

CHAPTER XIV.
BONDS, BREECHES, AND A WEDDING.

AS Evan Bowen had expected, his letter brought him a speedy visit from the freeholder of Mynachty. It was at a late hour he came; an hour when honest folk were mostly donning nightcaps or extinguishing bedroom candles, and indeed the old servant, who opened the door in answer to the visitor's cautious knock, wore the one and carried the other.

      And if she was ill-pleased at the sight of him on the doorstep, she was finely indignant as he sprang instantly over the threshold, almost capsizing her in his haste to seize and slam the door.

      He cut her shrill scolding short.

      "Send your master to me at once," and without waiting for argument he turned the handle of the office door and passed in.

      The master was well pleased to receive the summons; irregular visits bring irregular fees; irregular, that is, from an ascending tendency.

      The point discussed was as to the bringing of Tom Hawys to book for threats uttered, and it was decided that he should be laid by the heels and sent to jail as soon as possible; to-morrow for choice.

      The visit was a surreptitious one and Jacob Shop had been left at Mynachty, partly from his own flat refusal to face his wife, and partly from his confederate's desire to keep secret the fact of their return.

      But this new project, like the first, was doomed to disappointment, for upon the morrow Owen Bevan gave his opponent distinctly to understand that any move in that direction would be met by an action for attempted perjury and half a dozen other law breakages, based upon the failure of the attempted eviction. Evan Bowen, however, kept a bold front, fighting the point so skilfully as to secure a very pretty advantage, and one which would, moreover, be of material assistance to his client, failing the securing of the primary object. It was nothing less than an informal undertaking on the part of Owen Bevan, for his client, Tom Hawys, binding him in a substantial sum, to keep the peace towards the threatened persons during the remainder of his tenancy of Havod y Garreg, and to this undertaking two men of approved substance were to become bound that very day.

      All this time Tom was sturdily going about the work of his place up on the mountain in serene unconsciousness of what his friends were doing, for assuredly his serenity would have been of short duration otherwise. But the Freeholder's crafty attorney knew well that, though he would have indignantly scouted such an undertaking if consulted and left to his own free will; yet, nevertheless, he would feel strictly bound in honour to respect it most scrupulously when he should find that his friends had engaged themselves for him.

      And Owen Bevan knew it likewise and, moreover, welcomed this bond as a blessing in disguise; seeing therein a means of restraining that rash temper which otherwise, upon any chance meeting, might begin with assault and end with manslaughter. All the more did he feel a devout thankfulness when, in crossing the square to hunt up Huw Auctioneer for one of the bondsmen, he came across Glwysva himself. And Glwysva echoed his thankfulness, entering into the project with a heartiness that told of a world of relief to his mind, while as for Huw Auctioneer, he simply shook hands all round in his enthusiasm and proposed instant doubling and signing of the bond, to be followed immediately by a journey to Havod y Garreg, picking up Gwennie by the way as an ally to assist them over the first explosion of their explanation with Tom.

      "After which," continued he, "we can all come back again to have a bit of an evening at the Red Dragon."

      "Like Mynachty's affair," responded the lawyer drily.

      "Mynachty be hanged!" retorted the proposer. "Because the devil dines that's no reason why honest folk should go hungry, eh?"

      But the upshot of it was that while the Auctioneer's first proposition could not be allowed, as savouring too much of a victory of the other side, and his last might lead to scandal; yet his second was wholly wise and should be followed out with all speed.

      "Never fear about the amount of the bond, Huw," said the lawyer, "it is quite large enough; I saw to that; while at the same time it is not so much the money as the betraying of our trust that will bind him. I'll go bond on that."

      Nevertheless, it needed all Gwennie's mute influence and the persuasiveness of his friends to make Tom yield a grudging acquiescence to the "fact accomplished" when, that evening, the four had painfully climbed up to his home. What most influenced him was the terse sentence into which Owen Bevan put the whole situation.

      "It was a written bond or an iron one, Tom. He had witnesses of your threats; we had to give something."

      Old Hawys, too, unexpectedly saw clearly, and said to Tom aside, — "It's only till your time is up here, and your oath comes in after that." She was glad that there was now no chance of confusing the point of her own desire, which was to make the retention or otherwise of Havod y Garreg the pivot of her defiance of a dead woman's living feud; there could be no chance struggle now to waste the strength that should he hoarded against the chosen moment.

      Huw Auctioneer clinched it. "You couldn't very well be married in jail, Tom; it wouldn't have looked decent."

      The laugh that followed this settled matters, for Gwennie got up and walked over to old Hawys to hide her indignant blushes. But that speech saved the wedding for all that.

      And a brave wedding day it was after all, with Gwennie's new mantle to outshine all the mantles that ever were worn to a wedding, in that church at any rate; and a beaver of such a gloss as never was; no, never! All Cildeg was prepared to swear to that, while Nanno Milliner was certain that the ladies up at Llysowen hadn't a finer gown or bodice than those she made for the bride, — and if she didn't know, then who did? And the pair of spanking greys with the shining carriage which Llysowen sent, — at hearing of it all from Owen Bevan, — specially to bring the bride and her bridesmaid to church, kept the whole street agog and furnished a topic of gossip for weeks, - this was no common horseback wedding you will understand.

      As for Huw Auctioneer, he threatened the ringers with impossible penalities should they stop longer than to bottom a flagon of the strongest.

      But they were very near having to do without the groom though; all because old Hawys had decided that he was to wear the coat and continuations his father was married in. Which honour made Tom feel very proud, for he had often heard of those sacred and wonderful garments, though never permitted to see them; not even now, when his mother had made such a momentous decision. The glory of that raiment had been one of the fireside tales of his childhood and he no more dreamed of challenging the legend by a demand for ocular proof than he would have dreamt of challenging the rest of the stories and traditions heard at the same time.

      Until the night before the great day it didn't occur to either of them that perhaps the things might not fit. Then the groom thought that it would be a very good idea to, in a manner, rehearse the new clothes; new, that was, to him. Accordingly the bottom drawer of the old oak dresser was opened and out from many a fold of soft paper and sweet herbs they shook, with due reverence, the ceremonial vestments for the morrow.

      The coat was blue and the buttons were silver, with the waiscoat of flowered silk; and the knee breeches of kerseymere, tied at the knee with a gay riband of blue like the coat; a brave costume surely. True, the cut of them was just a trifle old fashioned perhaps, but in the seclusion of the other room Tom felt that he wouldn't have minded that so much if only he could have worn them.

      For the truth was they refused to be worn, they had been made for a tall, wiry man, and any one who chose to grow, not so long, but a good deal broader, had better go and get some clothes built that way. Anyway they were not going on him; he could make up his mind to that at once; the sooner the better, for they weren't even going to make a start at fitting him.

      A pretty pickle truly! and no help for it. But Tom wasted no time. A few hasty minutes he stayed first, trying to comfort his mother's keen disappointment, and then with a long swing he was taking the trail to Cildeg, there to wake up old Madoc Kynaston, tailor, with all his apprentices, and set them to work, thirteen to the dozen.

      What a fluster to be sure, but old Madoc responded nobly to the call, and when the youngest apprentice snivelled at being hauled out of that snug bed under the counter, he promptly seized a goose and proceeded to instil moral precepts into the sniveller's mind, — through the seat of his trousers. Which would appear to be also the seat of the understanding at that age, or at least the nearest way to it.

      Then fast and bewildering fell taping and cutting and basting and chalking till Tom began to believe that getting married was something serious, and to be rather aghast at the light-heartedness with which he had approached it.

      What a bustle. "Just take off your waistcoat and try on this," or "now then, how's that? Just a little more in the leg there." "So! that's it," etc., etc., until, when the small hours began to give place to their big brothers, the groom to be was fain to accept the tailor's hearty assurance that all would be finished and delivered by sunrise, and then, making a virtue of necessity, to take his departure.

      But before he reached the bridge the church clock chimed the hour and that sent a shiver of apprehension down his spine. He turned back at once and, with his hand on the latch of the half open door, alternately prayed and cajoled old Madoc for another ten minutes, till that genial snip dryly remarked that he was going the right way about to prevent the clothes ever being finished; standing there and delaying them with chattering, and letting the breeze gutter the candles until, what with the din and the flickering, they couldn't put a stitch in.

      "You'd look fine going to church to-morrow with a great streak of candle fat all down the back of your coat, wouldn't you? And that's about how it will be if you don't travel out of that at once," he concluded in a voice and with a manner that set the youngest apprentice roaring.

      Tom didn't stay to apply the goose again to that young gentleman, but, reluctantly closing the door, made the best of his way up the valley.

      There was little time remaining for sleep when he reached home at last, but that little he utilized to the fullest extent by dreaming all manner of dreams about the business in hand, through most of which he seemed to be struggling to get inside impossible breeches and preposterous waistcoats, the coats themselves hanging disdainfully upon the pegs as scorning a contest with a man who couldn't yet master such inferior folk as the other two.

      Then, with the break of day, he was up to do the indispensable work of the place; first, how ever, going as far as the lower gate to strain his gaze for the coming of the promised garments. They didn't appear.

      After a very confused breakfast he passed his time between the barn and the croft end until it was time to get ready for church if he was going at all. He went in and looked at the clock; he went out and looked at the sun, and then turned loose and objurgated the town and the tailors and civilization generally with a generous impartiality.

      Desperate at last, — and in his desperation utterly forgetting the sleek nag upon whose grooming he had spent so many hours of these last few days, in order that he might be fitly mounted in escorting the bride to church, — utterly forgetting all this, he dashed down the track at breakneck speed to hunt up his wedding vestments. Half way down he met the youngest 'prentice, bearing the coat and full of the news that the waistcoat was just behind. That was a luckless speech and won for the speaker a cuff that made him see comets, — "was a man to go to church in sections and be married by instalments?"

      That 'prentice really hadn't time to study a problem of such weight and gravity before the old coat was flung at him with an injunction to carry it up to the house, while, new coat and old breeches, the bridegroom sped on.

      Just before he reached Glwysva he met the waistcoat; but no sign of the breeches.

      He didn't cuff this second 'prentice; he didn't even swear, such things may fit ordinary occasions well enough, but now they would only be mockeries; he simply seized the vest and glared at it. There was no help for it; he couldn't appear before Gwennie like this, breechless to all intents and purposes; he must make some shift. Stealing cautiously round to the stables of Glwysva, he found there young Sion Cradoc, Gwennie's brother, just giving a final touch to the nags which his father and he were to ride to the church. Hastily giving that young man the headlines of his dilemma, and stopping his guffawing with a threat to heave him on to the midder idden, best clothes and all, he seized and bridled the newly broken colt in the corner stall, dragged him out, leaped upon his bare back and, with a furious dig of the heels, was gone to hunt his breeches.

      Sion's wide-mouthed story to the party inside, waiting to start, took the shine off the carriage and pair at the door as far as Gwennie was concerned, and all the way in she was very much inclined to be angry at the fun her brother and her cousin would be poking at her, and it wasn't till Megan Wills, sitting beside her for bridesmaid, as the great folk's fashion was, threatened to turn termagant, that they at length desisted. But when they reached the bridge the black shadow vanished in magical fashion, for there stood Tom himself, completely clothed in the finest, and with Huw Auctioneer to back him up, so that, almost before Gwennie knew it, she was saying "I will," in a very pretty voice, and the deed was done in very deed.

      No wonder she walked out all smiles; wasn't she "Gwennie gwraig Tom Hawys" now when anybody spoke of her, — unless it should be the clerk who had just made her sign her name, saying "That's it, Mrs. Jones," when he took the pen from her; horrid old man!

      Then how the dogs did bark and the boys did shout and the gossips call all manner of queer meanings after them. And how Jen Jacob Shop did turn up her nose to be sure, but that was long enough and thin and sharp and crooked enough to make a scythe handle, said Megan Wills to Huw Auctioneer, sitting opposite her. "Therefore, maybe the twist would improve the look of it," answered he with a laugh.

      Next Madoc Tailor would put the last of the 'prentices upon the Glwysva colt, to carry home Tom's disregarded continuations. Whereupon that 'prentice boy, puffed up with pride of his mount and infected with the reckless delight which had bitten the whole town, would race the wedding party over the bridge; to his own woeful undoing, for there the colt shied, pitching rider and bundle into the stream together, and then, with a wild kick and a lunge, galloped madly off home to the pastures of Glwysva.

      And only the constable, looking after them along the road, shook his head and wondered about the Freeholder.

[THE END OF BOOK I.]

---

CHAPTER XV.
"REMEMBER YOUR OATH!"

GWENNIE made a good wife for all her good looks, and that, as everybody knows, is a wonder indeed. But then, said the spiteful gossips, Tom Hawys was always soft; a woman brought him up and it was likely he was easy to handle just the same now. His wife would have smiled to hear that; she knew what likelihood there was of turning him when once he set his face on any point. Not that the question troubled them at first, for he liked to see her happy, while she thought a vast deal more of her husband than ever she thought of her lover. So, therefore, what folk at Cildeg might choose to say, could carry no weight at all by the time it climbed up to the Havod.

      The first snow had fallen upon Aran in the night of Tom's vigil by the broken gate beneath the oak tree, and upon Cefn Du and Drumhir almost immediately after the wedding, while hard upon the heels of that came a winter fierce beyond memory. But the cold was all without and none within, where Gwennie sat, thankful that the deep snows kept her husband busy about the stock, and barred all journeys to town save such as were absolutely necessary. She had already, before her marriage, arranged with her mother to send down all the dairy produce from the Havod to Glwysva, whence it would go to market along with the other; which arrangement was to continue as long as there was any fear of ill consequences from a meeting betwixt her husband and the three. Old Hawys had seen through all this, though she said no word about it, while Tom only thought his wife was a very clever little person, that was all. But as the winter darkened on, the mind of old Hawys darkened with it. In the wild storms that whirled and tossed about the riven crown of Aran her gloomy imaginings saw the mocking wraith of her rival of past years. In the days when from horizon to horizon a leaden sky weighed down upon all things, she caught in it the lowering front of the dead woman exulting over a coming revenge. The howling winds of night that drove the sheep to shelter under the lee of the rocks, where the snow drifts buried them and gave hard digging to Tom in the next day's lull, were but jeering manifestations of the strength of an undying hate. But with each newly noted token of that malice her determination did but catch new strength, while she muttered to herself, — "Let him but come! then we shall see; we will know which wears the torques. Yea, we will know surely!"

      Day by day, as she brooded, all other considerations seemed to drop away, leaving her every thought revolving round and round the one moment she had come to yearn for, and to which all things of earth and sky seemed tending. The concentration of her mind seemed to absorb all the vital energies of her physical being, so that her frame became weaker and weaker as time went on. She herself, in her rapt mental state, did not notice this, though it became painfully evident to Tom and Gwennie, who, however, put it down to the severity of the weather and longed for the coming of spring that should cure it. As for Tom, if he thought anything strange about the winter he did not mention it, though through it all he never went over to Llyn Du; but did double digging elsewhere, leaving others to save what sheep they might from the snow drifts of Y Garnedd.

      If that winter came early it tarried still later and, just when everybody wondered if spring had utterly forgotten them, there came the wildest snowstorm of the year. With it, upon the wings of the blast, came the summons to bid old Hawys fare forth.

      The veil had come over her with the first few flakes when the storm began yestere'en, and she had lain quiescent, save for an occasional muttering, through all the unholy hurly of the night. All the morning the storm had grown worse till now, at noon, the blasts seemed to be verily gibbering in demoniacal frenzy.

      One loudest and fiercest gripe of the storm fiend, that seemed to shake each individual stone of the structure, roused her at last, and she motioned to Gwennie beside her to call Tom. When, softly stepping and with anxious face, he came near she turned her eyes upon him and spoke.

      "Tom! you swore to me that night that the black son of Jen Lwyd of the curse should never turn you out from the house where you were born. Do you remember?"

      Tom's face grew stern and he took her two hands in his as he knelt by the bedside.

      "I do remember, mother; be you sure of that. I'll not forget."

      After that she was so quiet for a little while that they thought her sleeping till all at once she rose and, stretching forth her withered hands, cried aloud in the voice of her youth, —

      "Remember your oath; remember!"

      Then she fell back with the dim eyes fixed in a wild stare; dead.

      Presently the storm slacked and ere evening it had died away completely, leaving a world whose sharpnesses were smoothed and softly contoured beneath the all obliterating snow. That night, as they stood by the corpse, Gwennie questioned her husband about those last words of old Hawys.

      "What was it she meant, Tom, when she bade you remember your oath?"

      "Surely you know, wife; surely you have not forgotten coming up from Glwysva that morning and telling me, with the light in your eyes and the love in your voice, that 'I must not go, for your sake I must not,' and I answered you that I would not, for I had sworn it?"

      "But I meant that you would not go to hunt up the Uchelwr and kill him, as the tale ran."

      Tom stepped back, passing his hand down his face ere he answered her, with a grim mirth in his voice that jarred horribly, — "Well, and I did swear that, too; but I swore it another way. Instead of going to find and fight Mynachty, I swore that I would not go from this house, my home, when the quit notice was up, and I doubly swore that when he came to evict me I would — I would — make things even. That is what I swore, and what I meant when I promised you that I would not go, and it is what my mother meant when she bade me remember. Moreover it is what I thought you meant when you spoke that morning."

      "Oh Tom and why? are there not other farms where the landlord would be glad of you for tenant? Why should we come to such misery because of this Will Addis and his black mind? Have you not gotten the better of him already in one thing?"

      "The winning of you! aye, that is what ails him; but I will not be beaten by him in anything, much less this, for there is more to this than you think. Listen!" and leading his wife to a seat he told her the story he had heard from his mother the night when he returned from seeking the Freeholder.

      Sad already at old Hawys' going, she broke down utterly as the gloomy possibilities of the future settled upon her mind, and between her sobs she moaned over the sore day to come. "Worse," she wailed, "because, from the hour of her wedding till now, he had never mentioned their enemy, and she had come to believe that there could fall no trouble now from Mynachty."

      But Tom had grown hard to her appealing; even the clasping arms had no softening power. He spoke no sharp word; nothing rough; yet she felt she might as easily move the mountain as her husband, when be, crossing over and laying his hand upon the dead hand beneath the sheet, said quietly, — "I swore it, wife, and I'll keep it!"

      "Och!" she wailed with her face between her hands as she rocked herself to and fro in grief; "Och! for this black night of sorrow!"

      And her husband, instead of instantly trying to comfort her as in other days and troubles, stood before her with a hard face as he answered, —

      "Will your cry move the long stones of Llyn Du that heard my oath? Remember what came to Owen Bach that swore the oath and then failed of his vow."

      At that she shuddered afresh but capped the allusion instantly with another. "And what came to Piers Morgan that kept them to his witness?"

      Tom did not flinch; his voice came steadily as before. "They hanged him in the English town."

      Flinging her arms above her head, she sprang to her feet with a shrill cry, — "Oh Tom! husband! can nothing save us; can nothing turn you?"

      "Nothing!"

      They buried old Hawys in the same grave with her dead Ion, carving her name below his with all the years between. As they stayed the corpse on the threshold till the white-haired pastor should have voiced the prayer of the kneeling mourners, gathered from hill-side and valley, Gwennie wondered if Tom could say Amen to some of the passages that breathed of mercy and forgiveness, and it filled her with new sorrow when the voice that should have led the response kept silent. The thought of that made her own voice mute when it should have led the singing, as, the prayer ended, following the beautiful custom of a reverent people the first notes of the wailing funeral hymn rose from the circle. Her tears were coming too fast.

      When the coffin was placed upon the sledge and the slow procession formed, she could not help contrasting the stern manner of the husband beside her with that of the lover who was so chary of her when he guided her feet upon that same trail, on the morning so short a time back. But would he have yielded then? No! for he was even so tender because he was newly in the belief that she endorsed his oath. She prayed silently.

      All the way back from the churchyard Tom said nothing, though the bright sun shone upon the wasting snow and spring came in with the breath of the breeze from the south that sprang up as they climbed the trail from Glwysva. That was a weary home going.

      And when the young wife looked round the silent room while Tom was unharnessing and attending to the pony, she said to herself beneath her breath, — "Well may the spring come at last; there is room for it now, for the winter has crossed the threshold and come all in to sit in my heart. Sorrow to me! sorrow is that for me!"

---

CHAPTER XVI.
WOMAN WINS.

DAY by day the weight at Gwennie's heart increased. She never sang about her work now or laid that work aside at night to sit with her husband as in the days before the "black day;" how could she when she counted the hours as they sped, so swift they seemed to bring the end on. Tom saw it all and knew her fears, but he never attempted to argue with her or comfort her till spring had lapsed into summer and summer was grown lusty and full. Then the knowledge came upon him that he might hope to greet his firstborn about the time when the notice would expire, and the thought of it took him out to the gate of the lower croft where he could best think.

      Once there and leaning in the old familiar attitude over the rail, the memory of the hours spent thus, in the time before he carried Gwennie's basket to market, came over him with a rush that almost routed the stubborn stand of his oath. How fair she was in those days; how light of heart and merry of laugh, with the eyes that could say more in an instant than the tongue could struggle through in long hours of mere speech. Her look then was like the dawning of a June morning, all light and love and music; different indeed to the pale face and sad carriage of the wife in the house behind. At this thought the deeps of his soul swelled up in fierce anger against Will Addis, ending in a dark resolve to wreak the full sum of his misery upon the one he deemed the author of it. For it was a misery and a wretchedness to him, to have to see his wife growing sadder as the days passed, and he counted that at double in the score against his enemy when the moment of reckoning for it should come.

      But for all the surging wrath on top, Tom could not shake away the thought of Gwennie's suffering which clutched at his heart beneath with an ever tightening grip. Try as he would he could not free himself from it. His wife; so gentle and true; so patient and warm-hearted, and yet she was between the upper and the nether millstones of the mutual hatred of himself and his enemy. Worst of all, there was only one hope of help for her; one of the two foes must give way if she was ever to be happy again.

      Would Will Addis give way? Tom laughed with a bitter grind in his voice as the point rose in his mind. He knew well that Mynachty's hate would only cease with life itself, and that the thought of Gwennie's suffering was the sweetest morsel in all his revenge. Aye, if there was to be any help for Gwennie, in must come from the man she loved; her husband himself must give way. "Crist! no!" swore Tom into the quiet night, striking the gate with a mighty sweep of his hand as he pushed away from it, turning instinctively to look at the lighted window of his home behind. He knew what was within that house. He knew that if he were to go now and open the door he should see his wife; her knitting idle in her lap, sitting staring into the red peats on the hearth; supping sorrow, supping sorrow, while in her mind she contrasted the brightness of the past and the darkness of the future.

      Love and hate; they dragged at him like the pincers of the inquisition. "What is this love?" savagely demanded his hatred. "A year ago you had never known it, while mine is a feud from before you were born. A feud bequeathed, and all the advantages till now have been to your enemy. Your sister was the first victim and through her your father was the second. And now it is yourself and your wife and home; is Mynachty to win always and forever!"

      "But," urged love in answer; "Mynachty knows that you are his master in fair fight, and what else matters as between two men. Thrash him when the time is up but go no farther, and then Gwennie need suffer no longer. Remember you swore to love and cherish!"

      "Aye," grinned hate again; "and remember the oath you swore before that; remember what it was you swore by, — the long stones of Llyn Du. My oath was before the other; keep it before the other too.

      He stood stock still as the struggle surged on his mind. Remorse came to the aid of love, but hate tugged stubbornly yet, and presently came deceit suggesting a crafty compromise. "Pretend to give in," whispered hate. "Aye," went on Tom to himself; "I'll pretend to give way and that will comfort and help her, poor little wife, over the time of her maternity. And after that, — after that times will look after themselves."

      Going back to the house, and opening the door, he checked upon the threshold, latch in hand, as if a blow had stopped him; for the sight before him was even more poignant than he had pictured outside. Not only were the needles idle, but Gwennie sat with her face bowed in her hands, weeping hopelessly as if her heart was broken.

      Another moment and he was beside her, speaking with a tenderness which the sight of her wrung involuntarily from his new mood, — at that moment he could almost have made his feigned plan a real one. With his arms close about her he told her what he had set to say, in a cadence of tender words spoken low in her ear, but holding her face to his breast that she might not see his eyes. He would go, he said, and get Huw Auctioneer to arrange for a sale of all the stock and crops about the place, so as to have everything ready against the termination of his tenancy.

      If the sight of her woe-begone expression had almost made him yield upon his entering, the depth of her rejoicing at his words completely shook his stubborn determination. From weeping for sorrow she wept now for sheer happiness, and he cast a critic eye upon the balance of his own feelings. If this were the pleasure of a surface yielding, what would be the taste of a complete surrender? He was slipping, he knew it, dallying thus with the dangerous delight of comforting his wife. From asking himself if it were worth while to keep his oath in spite of his wife, he went deeper still to ask if it were right or just to her to do so. The temptation was as sweet as it was new. As to his oath, — what of his oath? At any rate there was time to think the matter out before the day when his notice expired and meanwhile he would be all gentleness and comfort to his wife, so that she should be happy for awhile at least.

      With the shadow of these thoughts deepening the depths of his eyes he set himself to enlarge upon his proposed new plans, while Gwennie looked up into his face and stroked his sleeve in a happiness that lacked nothing.

      And when he had finished speaking she only crooned over her new joy "Oh Tom! Tom! my husband!" reiterating it after the manner of a woman whose heart is full.

      So strong was this new influence that in the night, lying awake with the deep breathing of his sleeping wife beside him, he resolved to be sincere in the projected sale of his goods and chattels, and not to sell them to a deceitful end as he had first planned. He found it sweet and pleasant to fall asleep after that!

      Next morning, when he came in to breakfast after the milking, he felt a sudden catch in his breath, for his wife, silent so long, was actually singing over the setting of the board. She saw him stop and knew what he was thinking, but, as there are no limits to a woman's tenderness for the man who enslaves her, so she came forward and caught him in a loving embrace, stopping with a kiss the shamefaced stumbling of his speech when, in his contrition, he would have called himself hard names.

      The breakfast was like old times. Assuredly Gwennie had never, in the most wretched day of her troubling, slacked a single hair's breath in the neatness and tidiness of everything about her; never abated a jot of her housepride, yet nevertheless the linen had surely never looked so snowy white, or the food tasted so sweet and wholesome as upon this new morning. And sweeter and wholesomer and bonnier certainly his wife had never seemed to Tom, penitent and subdued as he sat opposite to her and allowed her to resume the little ministries with which a wife worships her lord and master if he be strong enough to keep the worship.

      When the meal was ended he sat awhile, watching her as she moved about the house. He noted the spring again that had been so long absent from her movements; he noted the lightness of her foot and the deftness of her hand and called himself names as he did so. And when in her singing, something brought back the memory of the shadow past and her voice choked from the lump that came into her throat, he would have given something to have found some man at the door with whom to have fought. But, lacking the man, he went over to her, she turning and meeting him half way, and for the space of some minutes she kept her hand over his mouth, resolute that he should not hurt her by saying hard things of her husband, — the world was a beautiful new world again, and the roses looked so fair through the open window.

      She called the dog to share in it all, for you do not suppose he had been untouched by the winter of the spring and summer. Of course he had moped, as an honest dog would do, and he must have a petting and a kind speech by way of exchanging compliments upon the return of the happy sun. Why, even the cows had noticed it and old Star had gone about in a shrinking, unobtruding sort of way that was mournful to see, while Longhorn had worn her nerves to fiddle strings in fidgeting.

      When she patted the dog Tom felt the rest and said immediately, — "I don't think the cows are gone far from the upper gate, — let us go and speak to them; shall we?"

      And they went, with a handful of grain in Gwennie's apron to give to the pony by the way, for all things around her must share in the new rejoicing.

      Of course the cows understood at once; anybody knowing the least thing about them would see that it wasn't the saltpan alone in the wife's hands that brought the restless Longhorn so quickly to the gate or kept her so long quiet there. And old Star knew it before she came near enough to note the look of the two faces; Gelert went straight out and told her as soon as she put her nose down to his. What desirable folk the four-footed ones are to be friends with.

      Later on, when Tom was leaving for Cildeg and had kissed his wife at the door as she handed him the beaver, brushed so neatly, he could not forbear turning back and kissing her again, so comely she looked and sweet, standing there beneath the ash tree, with the ribbon he had bought her so long ago now rebrought from some exile and snooded in her hair and round her throat; what a rare wife she was!

      Well, he started at last, with a loth heel and a light heart that did not sag till he came in sight of Mynachty. Even then he only shut his teeth hard, pulled the hat lower on his brow, and swung forward with a steadier stride. Reaching the town he found Huw Auctioneer at home and lost no time in explaining the object of his visit.

      He gave no very full reasons for the course he was taking, and the other, noticing how little free he was, drew his own conclusions and kept them to himself as a wise man would. But he made his pen busy and in a very short time they both entered the office of the "Udgorn" with a draft of the posters they wanted.

      "Couldn't be done this evening, eh? We'll soon see about that," — and within ten minutes; what with bullying and cajoling, threatening and whiling, the hapless printer had consented to everything the auctioneer demanded, including the delivery of a specimen poster in time for Tom to take home.

      "Then for Heaven's sake clear out now, with your tongue that would mider a bench of bishops, and give us some sort of a chance to get started," cried the badgered printer.

      In the interval the two went straight to Owen Bevan, and the genial lawyer was so glad of the news that he expressed his intention of forthwith sounding Llysowen as to any vacancy which might presently occur upon his estate, or any he might hear of amongst his friends, — the land agent was not yet any very important personage on that estate.

      Moreover, to duly honour the good news the cupboard was opened again and another bottle of the best was brought to light, and while they enjoy a brief crack in waiting for the specimen poster, we will turn our attention to another factor in this story, — the Uchelwr.

---

CHAPTER XVII.
ENDS WITH WOMAN WINNING AS USUAL, — BUT ANOTHER WAY.

WHEN, after his return from South Wales, — and before the wedding, — the Freeholder found from Evan Bowen that there was no hope of clapping his rival in jail, and no prospect of preventing the so fast approaching marriage, his fury got the better of him and he said many things to his lawyer. He gave him the lay opinion of law and lawyers in general and himself in particular, piling up thereby a long account to be settled whenever Evan Attorney should have finished laying his lines. When he had finished and had so far cooled down as to wonder to just what extent he had made a particular ass of himself, the solicitor cut in coolly, remarking that the brandy he had been indulging in must have been raw, rough stuff, and that his best course now would be to get home at once, calling at the chemist's on the way for something to assist in sobering him; adding that he might sleep soundly and securely now without hiding, since Tom Hawys was bound over not to chase him about any more.

      This made the Freeholder sick, and while he cast about for something to say the other made him still more sick by his concluding words. "You can settle the bill for the forgery business some other day."

      "It wasn't a forgery; Shop wrote his own name," — the words bolted out before he was aware and it was the dog's grin on the other's face, showing the teeth, that woke him up.

      "Diawl!" he broke out again, as he recognized what he had done.

      "Yes!" Evan Bowen nodded quietly.

      They faced each other thus for a minute or two, and then the man on the mat began to flounder in a flood of attempted explanations; the man at the table nodded his grinning front by way of a running commentary, thereby making the other's confusion worse confounded. Presently he broke in upon the lies that came out so clumsily.

      "Of course there could be no question of forgery. Tom Hawys' name was not signed at all; I was merely thinking of what the courts would call the business in case the point were thrashed out. But I prevented that by binding the other man over. It was lucky for you my clerk heard his threats that day, or you would be in a queer state now. Be thankful, and come honestly to me when you come again, and now, good day;" opening the door and waving him out with an air that left no room for protest or argument.

      Back again at Mynachty and reflecting, under the influence of hot drinks, over what had just occurred in the attorney's office, the Freeholder told himself defiantly that it was a good job, each man concerned having his feet now upon firm standing. "We both knew all along what was in each other's minds and now we've said it plump and plain. He's a born rogue and a mean one, for he will do any man's dirty work for money; while I only do what I do for love."

      The reasoner here lit his pipe, to blow off in smoke the reflection that he who does a thing for love generally has to pay the piper as he goes.

      "After what he said just now," he resumed to himself, watching the smoke ascend, "he can't refuse to lend a hand in the next move, whatever that may be, though of course he won't suggest the opening. Never mind! Besides; I should like to do that myself when it is done. And I must make some play at once if I am to stop this wedding."

      But though he flogged his brains ceaselessly during his sober moments for the next few days, he could find no opening for his malevolence, and as the conviction of his present impotence settled deeper and deeper, so his sober moments grew fewer and fewer, calminating in three or four days of a steady bout that only slackened upon the morning of the wedding. From being blindly intoxicated he became dully so, with a loathing for the brandy; a loathing which turned his mind to a gnawing revolving of his misery.

      The contemplation of that was assisted by the contemplation of a double barelled gun hanging loaded over the fire place. His blinking eyes became glued to that; it fascinated him. The devils in his ear began to whisper; the devils in his breast to use their pincers. The devils dancing before his eyes in smoky colours began to point and beckon; to run and land with a spring upon the butt of the weapon; to hang by their tails from it; to play with the lock and screw the flints firmer. Some seemed to be sucked like jelly down the muzzle, visible still through the metal to his chained gaze, and to reach the charges and tap the wadding, counting the slugs and winking with eyes like the shutting and opening of some bull's eye chink in the walls of the Pit.

      Some lifted his elbow with claws like hot knives; some nudged at his ribs. He looked round, wiping his dry, gaping mouth with the back of his hand. Was the door shut? was anyone in the passage? No. He came back and stood before the gun, looking at it because he could not look elsewhere. The devils were clustering on it now like swarming bees. He took the weapon down; what next?

      The clock was behind him, but his eyes, reverting and looking through the back of his head, read the time by it, and one of the devils was busy jabbering in his brain that just about this time Tom Hawys would be riding with his bride to church! The next thing he did himself, independently of any devil; he shook out the old priming from the pans and filled them afresh. No! he wouldn't go through the door where folk might be waiting; folk with quiet spirits and blood instead of Tophet's fire in their veins; with peace for souls instead of Gehenna, — through the window was best. Would that infernal Ploughman never drive away from that gap in the lane hedge, keeping him crouching here behind this shrub till Tom Hawys would be gone past the gate and he would be too late? But he would go and speak softly to that Ploughman, keeping his eyes aside till the man had no suspicion; then he would beat the brains out of his numb-skull with the butt end of this thing, and fling his body in the ditch out of the way till he had been to the gate and got the other two with the two barrels, — a barrel full of devils to be shot into the body of each. Ho! ho! Gwennie Cradoc would look a different beauty with the devils dabbling in the blood running out over the bosom of her, and dancing over the face and prying into the eyes as they stared, with the light extinguished for ever in the flash of powder. Blast that ploughman; he was gone before he could come at him. Never mind, he would go now, having no time to lose; but later; after finishing the other business, he would come back and call the Ploughman softly to him and beat him to jelly, and then play with the jelly and let it bubble through his fingers before it got cold or ceased steaming. That would be fine! vastly fine!

      How the devils did laugh at that.

      Ha! there came the sound of hoofs, galloping too! What a pace! Some infernal good angel or another must have told Tom Hawys of the gun that was coming, making him put spurs to get past with his bride before he could reach the gate. Haste! haste! what was this tangling his feet? Hang it! this was the deep ditch and himself at the bottom of it, with the gun lying across the top, from the brambles that had tripped him to the twisted roots of the lightning blasted oak. Never mind! he would soon be out; pulling himself up by seizing the gun so —

      Bang!

      Tom Hawys, riding past the gate to hunt his breeches, never even lifted his head as he heard it, thinking that probably his rival was hunting too, — something for the inside though, instead of the outside, of his stomach.

      It was evening when Reuben Ploughman, going along the lane with the dogs, discovered his master lying at the bottom of the ditch. Hastily rushing to the quarters for help he speedily returned with the entire farm's company, and while they bore their master carefully to the house and laid him on the couch in his own room, one of the men rode into the town, extending the brown nag every stride of the road, to fetch the doctor.

      That stubbly muzzled old practitioner swore very savagely as the result of his examination of the patient. The wound itself was not necessarily dangerous, but the loss of blood, coupled with the consequences of the prolonged drinking bout, made up a case of almost touch and go.

      A narrow squeak indeed it proved for the Freeholder, who was so much impressed by the doctor's words upon the subject that he did not swear even once as, day after day, that gentleman on his repeated visits repeated the dictum that the sick man had need be devoutly thankful that his father and mother had started him with a constitution dug up from the solidest rock beds of Drumhir.

      Nevertheless it was desperately slow work lying there day after day, with only Jacob Shop to vent his ill humour upon. And one day he went too far even for him, so that the wretched draper, taking counsel with his despair, — and a bottle of the other's most fiery stuff, — marched off down the road and breasted defiantly into his own Shop; the first time he had passed its threshold since the rent day. His wife, hearing the shout of the son who most resembled his father, ran out at once from the back room and met the returning desperado at the wicket of the counter.

      It was a real fight that followed; a fair, square, up and down, scratch and tear, rough and tumble; the first they ever had. And it surprised them both considerably as they went about it. It surprised the wife and alarmed her no little to find that this husband of her's, whom she used to hector and bully about so recklessly, should turn to and fight in such a fashion, — a fashion evidently destined to end in his victory.

      But most of all did it surprise that bold warrior himself to find himself come out on top, with a right firm and merry grip of the wisp of black hair, which allowed him to set forth the terms of peace. That, he found however, and to his cost, was an utter mistake; hitherto his wife had been out of her own. proper woman's sphere, so to speak, in fighting like a male brute; now she simply reverted to the natural feminine weapons and won hand over fist. Raising her voice in a scream that made him jump till till he nearly lost his treasured hold, she brought the street tumbling in such an uproar as damped his courage completely. Letting go his grip he slunk ignominiously into the back room, with his wife vigorously banging him about the head at every step with a bundle of long stockings and accompanying each stroke with a new moral axiom or pious prognostication of his future. Espying the stairs he rushed that way for refuge and at the chamber door turned to bay. Here his wife, with the new discretion born of the encounter below, left him to stand, unharmed save for the din of her denunciations, remembering wisely that the folk from the square could not very well follow a man into his own chamber.

      Jacob remembered this too, and going inside returned immediately with a bundle of remnants, unsaleable in the shop, which bundle he promptly heaved at the virago on the stairs, knocking her off her feet and rolling her forthwith to the bottom. Then he banged the door behind him as he passed in again and proceeded at once to barricade it with the bed.

      That night Jen Jacob Shop slept on the couch downstairs, while Jacob Shop occupied the barricade above, and if the one went without bed the other went without supper and was kept wondering about his breakfast to boot. Nevertheless, next morning, having first listened till he heard his wife outside taking down the shutters, he strode blusteringly downstairs amongst the frightened children, who promptly scuttled up to bed again out of the way, leaving him with a knife in his hand cutting nervously at the eatables on the table. When his wife came in he handled the knife in a vicious manner, suggestive of having a murdered wife to breakfast every morning, while she pretended to be afraid of it; which bit of humbug on the part of both gave each an opportunity of standing upon their own terms.

      "Where is the money to pay for your eating and keeping your house and family going; you drunken, murdering flyaway?" began she.

      "Where is the fifty pounds, earnest money for Havod y Garreg, that you stole from my pockets?" answered he fiercely.

      And so on and so forth.

      The net result of it all was that the draper returned to his yardstick and his wife to woman's weapon, the tongue, using it with such effect as speedily to efface any respect which she might otherwise have felt for her husband's prowess as the result of their drawn battle; and to bring him back to his former position of rating block.

      Nor did he ever attempt to go near Mynachty again or to see the Freeholder until, with the coming of spring, that person began to get about a bit and finally to drive into the town behind a superannuated old pony.

---

CHAPTER XVIII.
OF THE FREEHOLDER AND JACOB SHOP AGAIN. ALSO OF JEN JACOB SHOP, BUT NOTHING OF THE DARK PLOT AT LAST CONCOCTED.

ON the day after Tom's visit to Huw Auctioneer, there issued from the office of the "Udgorn" a flight of flaming posters, which immediately proceeded to settle upon every likely wall and cross road post in the country side. From these various points of vantage they proclaimed to all and sundry, in flaring tones of printer's ink, that, upon a date named, there would be held, in the yard of the Red Dragon, a sale of all the stock and growing crops of Havod y Garreg, as given in the list below.

      Hereupon followed a detailed description of the different lots; the barley in Cae Mawr, the oats in Cae Bach, the hay from Cae Ucha, and the roots in Cae Isa. Next came the pony by name, and the cows likewise, and to the tail of these the fowls and pigs, followed by a flock of sheep, number not stated for a reason every hill farmer understands, — "Never count mountain sheep till you mark them in the fold for sale."

      Evan Bowen early despatched one of these to his client at Mynachty and that person lost no time in riding into the town. He did not turn to the left up Stryt Glyndwrdy, however, when he reached the square, but to the right, lighting down in front of Jacob Shop's place. Throwing the rein to the eldest of the draper's olive (?) branches, he strode inside.

      "What did this mean?" he demanded of Jacob at the counter, pulling forth and displaying the poster as he spoke, — "Had that unspeakable fellow got some other farm or was he going to emigrate to England or America? And what had come over his blustering and threatening that he gave in so quietly?"

      His ally did not know and could tell him nothing in fact, except that Tom Hawys hardly ever came into the town now, being so fond of his wife, — (here the listener scowled,) — and so nobody could say what was in his mind.

      "You must come back with me to Mynachty, I want to talk with you about this," said the * Freeholder, striking the poster as he spoke.

      "Must I? Then you had better come into the back room with me till I get my hat."

      "I'll come," assented the Freeholder grimly.

      Inside they found the wife and she sprang to the attack at once. "Here again, are you? you limb of Satan! Why don't you get married and stay at home with a wife decently, instead of coming here to entice away an honest woman's husband and leave her to toil and moil and slave all day and night alone?"

      "All night?" queried the Freeholder with lifted eyebrows.

      "Get out! you slanderer! or I'll scratch your two eyes out for your dirty hints!"

      "I'm likely to get married, — coming here and seeing how comfortable Jacob is at home with you; it quite makes one feel lonely to look at you," he went on.

      At this she made no further flourish, but, seizing the long broom from the corner, made a rush at the visitor, shouting at the same time to her retreating spouse, — "Come back, you monster! and look after your poor wife and children —"

      The banging of the door cut short the rest, for Jacob, having seized his hat under cover of his ally's fencing, had immediately hastened to get himself out into the street; whereupon the other, his purpose accomplished and the broom moving rapidly upon him, made short shift in putting the closed door betwixt himself and the threatened damage.

      Making the door fast so as to delay pursuit till it should be useless, he speedily joined Jacob outside, taking the bridle rein from the urchin and preparing to walk with his companion.

      The first stride was arrested by the sudden throwing open of the windows above, — "I'll teach you!" screamed the irate dame, "I'll teach you both to illtreat a poor defenceless woman, the pair of you; take that!"

      But the missile fell wofully short, for, warned by his previous experience of that window's opening, the Freeholder had sprung hastily beyond range, dragging the other with him.

      "Come back; you! you wretch! deserting your family and business so shamefully; come back! I'll tear your eyes out if you don't!"

      Thus encouraged, the draper put on a most undignified burst of speed, which he did not slack until he was well out of hearing of his wife's shrill vituperation.

      "Jacob, that's a rare wife you've got; I've something in the hall at home that would make a fine present for you to carry back and give to her," quoth the Freeholder sarcastically.

      "What is that?"

      "A whip of green hide; every stroke will fetch blood."

      "Is that the one you intended to use on Gwen Caradoc?" responded the draper slyly.

      "It is," rejoined the other grimly, "and I'm going to have use for it shortly now, — the use I meant it for!"

      When they reached Mynachty the owner led the way at once into the smoking room and, unlocking a cupboard, produced the brandy bottle. From the day when he had been found in the ditch till the new year began Will Addis had lain on the broad of his back and from that till the last snow vanished he had passed the time between the armchair and the couch in the smoking room. With the spring he had come out and pottered round and about the quarters, painfully and by the aid of a stick, until with the coming of sunshine he had waxed strong and lusty once more; able to climb up to the top of Drumhir again and count the sheep that hustled away through its gorse and heather. Yet, through it all, mindful of the doctor's injunctions; sunk deeply in when his body had no strength to rampart and keep things out of his mind, he had eschewed the fiery spirit, keeping the cupboard locked and taking honest October ale from the cellar below, as a simple yeoman should; therefore it was a portent of some moment when to-day he drew forth the half spent bottle and set out the glasses.

      It must not be supposed for an instant that through all his illness and slow recovery he had ever ceased to cast about for means of bringing evil upon Havod y Garreg. But no opening presented itself. When the weakness had begun to leave his back, and his muscles to grow starker and his stride firmer, he had, half in despair, taken to going about with the loaded gun under his arm and close to his heels a savage-looking bulldog, "almost as ugly as himself," said Megan Wills, describing it. Not one of those pleasant-eyed, tail-wagging bulldogs, with a genial smile, loving to poke along the ditches with children, and thinking the world great fun; but a misanthropic villain, the cock of whose ear plainly indicated somebody's sin in bringing him up.

      This armament he had ostentatiously carried about with him in his infrequent visits to Cildeg, causing Megan Wills to call out in the passing to ask if he had not yet caught that rabbit. This was in allusion to the cause of his accident on the day of his rival's wedding, he having been moving about with cocked gun trying to get a shot at bunny when the brambles tripped him into the ditch, where the charge exploded to his damage. Everybody knows, of course, how dangerous an occupation is rabbit shooting, when the church bells are making such an irritating row over some other fellow's wedding; upsetting one's nerves and driving one to distraction. Therefore all the town laughed over saucy Megan's further congratulations upon the solid and dependable hunting and retrieving qualities of his new style of gun dog. Moreover, said she, speed counted for very little in hunting what must be a very peculiar breed of rabbits, since the gun and dog could not be doffed on entering the house, or even upon going upstairs, seeing that Will Addis, so this veracious person affirmed, climbed every night into bed all standing, boots, hat, dog and gun included.

      But to all of this the Freeholder had only answered with a hearty curse, passing on surlily to explain to a select few, in the commercial room of the Red Dragon, that he had taken to this manner of moving about because he went in fear of his life, no less! — from the threats of Tom Hawys, who had sworn to take advantage of his present weakness to attack him. Having carefully started which hypothesis upon its circle he returned to hang about behind the hedge close to the spot where he had stricken his rival down with the stone on the day of the struggle. He would like to provoke him to anger here again, from this vantage point, and then, when the fellow reached up to join fight, put the two muzzles to his two eyes and blow the top of his head off. This poor vengeance, in default of any better, would have to content him it appeared, after all, unless, — and here he would break off again, like a questing hound, over the old, well worn ground.

      When, however, his strength was fully come to him again, he ceased these weak maunderings, keeping himself busy about the house and farm, resolved to be ready, like a hound in the slips, to spring off upon any line which might first show a path to the thing he so stubbornly meant. And this poster seemed now to have given him the signal. Therefore with the prospect of a near fulfilment of his dark desires he returned again to the drink that most suited his feelings; honest ale having a repugnance for an evil stomach. But Jacob Shop baulked at the tasting. Before he drank he must have the hand shake to a bargain. If his head should get queer, as it sometimes did, he should be put to bed with a bad attack of spasms and on no account allowed to leave the house until he was driven home to-morrow, calling at Doctor Williams' on the road to secure the unimpeachibility of his word and company, by way of defence upon reaching home.

      To this bargain the other gave his hand, laughing grimly as he said "Of course."

      As the level of the spirits in the bottle sank, however, so did the spirits in the draper's bosom rise, till with the draining of the one, the other bubbled over into a fine scorn of subterfuge. Seizing the new bottle he drew the cork himself, explaining how he meant to have some fun, when, later on, he walked home and waked up his wife about, — well! say sometime before daybreak. To which the other, nodding and smiling to the glass that was being filled, replied that he had no doubt there would be some fun.

      But long before midnight even, indeed it lacked three good hours of that yet, a gig stopped on the bridge at Cildeg, and, there being nobody about just then, the driver deposited against the wall what looked like a long sack of potatoes, but which was, on the contrary, an exceedingly merry individual. This person was afflicted with an imperfectly formed tongue, to judge by the mangled utterance of a particularly scandalous song he was singing; a song which he certainly had not learnt at chapel.

      This was just about the time when Jen Jacob Shop was putting up the shutters, muttering to herself the while something about going up to Mynachty and assisting those two with their business. Acting upon this idea, she went into the back room, and, having smartly spanked and shaken the one who most resembled his father, and duly threatened the remainder with dire punishment should they stir from their present uncomfortable positions of fear during her absence, she locked the front door, put the key in her pocket, and started on her errand.

      By the time she arrived at the bridge the gig was no longer to the fore, but the scandalous song with shocking variations and interpolations was most aggressively so. She knew that voice at once and its burden confirmed some tales, now and again whispered in her ear by spiteful gossips, anent the doings of her husband in the days of his youth, before he became a corner stone of the chapel, and when he was still in the habit of leering at highly indignant maidens on a market day. She recognized also, that, though his song was attended by extraneous matter, his potations had been in different case; he must have taken his brandy straight to have reached such a pitch.

      She became sarcastic at once, — "Ach, Jacob dear! you didn't mix the drink with water, but that's a fault soon mended."

      The parapet of the bridge was low and that proved a bad thing for the merry one. For, at the sound of another voice, which he seemed dimly to recognize, his song ceased, while he struggled to attain a standing posture. In the end he might have managed this much had time and his wife allowed, but, before he could come nearer than a disgraceful sprawl along the top of the wall, that good lady, seizing him by the slack of the unmentionables, heaved him into the river below.

      The water just there was not over deep maybe, but it was swift as a mill race and full of boulders of various sizes, — all hard. Which was probably the reason why Jacob Shop lay with his length along it, face downward, and never a cry or struggle, while the flood gurgled over him as though he were a new boulder, — a sight which made his gentle wife break into a cold sweat of gallows fear. Not stopping to nurse this, she ran at once round the wing of the bridge wall and into the water, which promptly swept the feet from under her and brought her down with a wallop. She caught a black eye in the feat from one of the stones, and that served immediately to dispel her fears and swell her anger. Getting furiously upon her feet she pounced upon her prostrate property and by main strength and viciousness dragged him to shore.

      There she plumped him on his stomach with his head hanging low over the water, to let the new blend leak out. She thumped him in the small of the back; she bumped him between the shoulders; several times she sat suddenly down on various points of his anatomy and, finally, she increased the dose when at last a low moan from the recipient announced that he was not dead yet.

      Then she gave him some for getting tipsy and some more for frightening his timid little wifey; ending all by taking a firm clutch of his red hair and thereby hauling him home, while loudly descanting to the town at large upon the perfidy of a man who first gave his wife a black eye and then tried to drown her.

      All this time the Freeholder was chuckling to himself as he drove home, in imagination enjoying the greeting of his confederate by that confederate's wife. As for the plot concocted during the evening, he did not trouble himself at all upon that point, well knowing that Jacob Shop drunk was a closer villain far than Jacob Shop sober.

---

CHAPTER XIX.
TOM HAWYS FAST AT LAST.

AND now let us return to Tom Hawys.

      When he reached home from Cildeg with the poster in his pocket he had half begun to repent of his determination to sell the stock off, but the welcome of his wife as she met him beneath the ash tree put that into the back ground at least. Like a wise wife she did not worry a hungry man with questions, but led him immediately to the neatly spread supper table and there made herself unobtrusively pleasant to his perceptions as she waited upon him, till by the time he had finished he was satisfied once more about the coming sale.

      Pulling the poster from his pocket then, he gave it to her to read while he drew his chair close up to hers and watched her face. The reading of it was begun with a half caught sigh and continued in silence till she came to the names of the pony and the cattle, and then the tears came so fast she could see no further, for she loved the cows she milked and the pony she fed, as well as the place itself and everything about it. It was so hard, so bitterly hard, that herself should be the cause of all this trouble.

      Here Tom, tenderly waiting, put his arm about her and drew her head down upon his breast, gently stroking her hair in vain attempt to soothe her. Catching a broken word that showed the current of her thoughts, however, he broke in upon her grief, taking her in his arms and hushing her like a child.

      "Nay, wife! Nay, Gwennie; that is not it; it is no fault of yours, nor is it mine. No; it is Will Mynachty; he! and his mother that cursed me before ever I was born. They are the cause, not you. But —." Here he broke off suddenly for she lifted her head to mark his next word, looking him through with eyes full of apprehension and sorrow. She understood, and stayed her moan at once that she might try to change the current of his thoughts. They were very dear to each other that night.

      Next morning, though subdued, Gwennie's happiness was not the less that Tom, taking his staff and followed by Gelert, — who knew more about sheep than two folk, — started cheerily for the uplands to note again more especially the range of each little bunch of the sheep, in order to minimise delay upon the gathering day. Then there was another day when he went down to Glwysva to settle with her brother, young Sion, about coming up to help them with the work of preparation, for everything must be so arranged as to leave as little trouble or waste of time as possible in bringing all under the hammer. Thus it came about that on a fine morning, two days before the one appointed for the auction, the two men set out with the dogs to scour the upper ridges and drive the sheep into the great folds that lie by the bubbling bowl of Ffynnon Las. Hard work it was, and long wind it needed, but that was nothing to the work which followed when they came to separate the haul; their own from the fleeces of their neighbours. When this at last was finished and other folks' sheep scampering back to their previous ranges, the two sat down to rest awhile and give the four legged folk in the fold a chance to quiet down.

      All of which left them barely time to reach home and pen their flock before night fell; another happy night for Gwennie that was.

      The next day was a busy one, for the sheep in the pen were first to be marked afresh with ruddle over the old pitch marks, and then to be driven down and left overnight in a field about midway between Mynachty and the town, so that they could be taken on to the Red Dragon yard next morning at short notice.

      The eye of dawn opened bright and clear, and that, taken in conjunction with the quarter in which the wind lay, warned all who might pretend to prognosticate that it would not fail to rain sometime before the day was out. Tom Hawys started early for Cildeg. The cows had been left overnight down at Glwysva, that they might come fresher to the criticism of bidders, and Sion was to take the road with them as soon as it was light enough to travel. Only the old pony remained to carry Tom; but, when it came to the pinch, he escaped that.

      For Gwennie cried so sorely over him, both for himself and the cows gone yesterday, that Tom had to look the other way for a while till he could set his own face sufficiently to comfort his wife, and when at last he took his departure he could not find in his heart to mount, but led old Caro instead with one hand lying on his mane. And when he came in sight of Mynachty he showed his teeth in a grin.

      By the time he reached the town the fair was crowded, and as he edged his way through he found that he had never known a tithe of his friends till to-day. Men with whom his previous acquaintance had been bounded by a nod now pressed to shake his hand and speak a cheery word. And though he said but little to each of them, yet he was something the better for their greetings, though under that again was a new stirring of his grievance against his enemy. For when men did as they were doing this morning, it showed that he was right in his feelings towards Mynachty, — not that other men's opinions would have mattered much had they been against him.

      When he reached the yard he found that that was also filled to overflowing, and from odd words and exclamations caught here and there in passing he knew that they were discussing, not alone the merits of his stock, but those of his case to boot. And that made him savage, — he wanted no man's pity.

      Presently Huw Auctioneer came out and climbed into a cart. Then the sale began. The smaller lots were put up first, and the cattle and sheep last of all. But small or large, the calls were as brisk for the one as the other, and any man could see that bidding and not bargaining was the order of the day. And Tom was less pleased than ever.

      It came on to rain, but the crowd, instead of lessening, seemed rather to increase as Sion drove the sheep from where they had fed overnight. In fact, for outsiders, that was one of the poorest fairs on record, the streets being totally deserted save for the few freckled boys in charge of the disconsolate cattle at which nobody remained to look.

      Then the bidding for the sheep commenced, mounting with a recklessness not matched even in the forepart of the sale.

      Tom went red with shame as he heard the price go up away beyond any decent value; reddening more and more with each new call till at last his distress broke forth, —

      "No! no! that is too much; they are not worth it. Let them go now, Huw."

      But that person, pausing with poised hammer, became laboriously polite over the interruption. He looked very earnestly over Tom's head and explained to space that somebody had made a hole in the proceedings. Now he, the speaker, was engineering this business and he should be very much obliged; extremely so, indeed; did no one interfere with him.

      Upon which, Tom, unable any longer to stand it, pulled down his hat and strode into the inn.

      Then fast and furious rose the price, until, five minutes later, amid laughter, shouts, and friendly jibes, the hammer fell upon the prettiest sum which that number of sheep had ever fetched in Cildeg.

      "Who's got them? Name! name?" was the cry.

      "Jacob Shop!"

      "Jacob Shop? Jacob Shop???!!!" Phew! the silence which followed felt as wet and cold as a winter mist.

      Everybody was glad that Tom was inside, and nobody was in any hurry to give him the news. Moreover, a heavier downpour just then was welcomed as an excuse for a general dispersal, leaving only the auctioneer in the yard with Sion and the buyer.

      "Terms, — cash on the fall of the hammer." Oh yes, Jacob Shop knew all about that, and here were the notes and the sovereigns, all ready in a buckskin bag. He could buy up a great many people who thought so much of themselves; he could. All the same, his hand trembled a good deal as he untied the thong, and his face was very white as he counted out and handed over the amount.

      Most of the men had stowed themselves under the roofs of the different inns by this time, there to discuss the turn of affairs along with snacks of dinner and mugs of strong ale. But before long an ominous whisper flew round, — nobody knew just the right of it, but it brought everyone into the street and down to the Dragon yard at once.

      One part of the tale was only too true. By the gate, with four constables round him, stood Tom Hawys, his clenched hands and dark face showing the working of an overmastering passion.

      "It is a lie!" he shouted again. "There is Sion Cradoc who helped me with them, he knows I stole no sheep. Four score and nine we marked them at Havod y Garreg, and four score and nine Huw Auctioneer sold them. Whoever says I stole Mynachty's sheep, — lies!

      "And Jacob Shop! Jacob Shop sold me behind my back to Mynachty for money I would have given him myself, he does well to say this now. But the Uchelwr is at the bottom of this, though he dare not show himself to back it up. I carry his mark now, but I'll put one on him when I see him that shall serve the Devil to know him by."

      Yet in spite of his fierce protestations there was a very ugly case against him in the yard behind.

      When Jacob Shop had paid the price, he went amongst the sheep, hustling them about in the heavy rain till the wet got deep into their fleeces and the colour of the fresh marking became blurred and washy. Soon he came across one that appeared to have been badly marked; anyhow there was very little of the new colour left on by this time, though that was not the thing which was wrong. It was the old mark showing underneath that constituted the offence, and Jacob lost no time in calling over the auctioneer to see this wonderful find.

      While that person's back was bent to scan the great discovery, the finder beckoned the constables over also from the gate, and these came up and joined the scrutiny.

      Then he rubbed the fleece vigorously so as to show, plain enough to swear to, the old pitch brand of Mynachty. Chiefest of all, however, he pointed to the damning evidence of the ear mark, sufficiently like that of Havod y Garreg to pass in the flock till specially examined.

      But instead of being abashed before the accuser the auctioneer was merely scornful. "Of course this was some animal strayed into the flock overnight. Eighty nine was the number announced at the beginning of the sale; therefore if they were counted now it would be seen at once that the total was complete without this one."

     f "Then how about the new brand on top? did that stray on overnight too?"

      "Oh! that was merely a blur of colour from running amongst the others."

      "Funny that the blur should light exactly over the old brand; queer, eh?"

      "Not at all queer, — just luck!"

      "But I know there are more than this," rapped out Jacob Shop sharply.

      "Oh, you do! eh? How do you know? Put 'em there yourself? Perhaps he would kindly explain to the company the way it was done?"

      "Well he had seen them —" Though why that should make his face so grey and patchy did not appear. Perhaps that was blurred from the sheep also.

      But Sion Cradoc, standing beside him waiting to hand over the stock, had already arrived at an explanation of his own, — and he went for Jacob Shop out of hand.

      The constables stopped that, but they were quite ready to comply with the young man's passionate demand for a recount of the flock.

      Then the seven of them took it in hand.

      Through a gate leading into the inner yard the sheep were driven; dogs behind and men counting as they passed. When the last had leaped through, the seven looked at each other, but it was the draper who spoke, —

      "I told you so."

      The auctioneer simply scoffed, and said, —

      "Of course you did, Jacob. If it's a lie that's in question we can always be sure you told us. Count them again.

      At the end of the second count the draper did not speak, for he saw Sion Cradoc edging round ready. A. motion of the hand sent the dogs round a third time.

      After that there was no longer any help for it; seven men counting three times and getting eighty nine as a result each time, — the matter required further investigation. A search, — very perfunctory on the part of all but one, — was therefore begun.

      And every few minutes, with a malignant grin upon his ugly features, Jacob Shop would seize a fresh sheep; crying in a tone of triumphant malice, — "Here's another."

      Seven in all they found, each succeeding one like the first in the matter of colouring and earmarking. There was no help for it; the duty of the constables was plain; a couple of them walked inside and arrested Tom on a charge of sheep stealing.

      At first he was inclined to be offended at what he took for a bad joke, but gradually he figured it out in the faces of Sion and the auctioneer. Then he got up and walked straight into the yard. There he saw Jacob Shop, standing ready to bolt into the stable and, without a word or a glance in any other direction, he made a right line for him. That person knew better than wait, — in a twinkle he was inside and had safely fastened the door.

      Thereafter the constables took their prisoner in hand, but he did not attempt to resist them.

      Why should he? he was innocent. Of course he would go before the justices; they need not fear his running away. He merely wanted to get hold of Jacob Shop first of all and make him tell the truth, and also to kill the Freeholder, — then he could easily prove his innocence.

      And not a constable of them all so much as smiled, for they saw he was in deadly earnest.

      Then, as the full signification of the accusation bit its way in, he lost calmness and began to protest his innocence. And, while he shouted in his rage, up came the Freeholder loudly proclaiming that seven sheep had been stolen from the roadside pasture of Mynachty the night before. At the sound of the new comer's voice Tom broke off abruptly, and before anyone realized his intention had flung himself upon him.

      No wrestling now, but an awful clutch of the throat which bore him backward to earth as if he had been shot, and a horrible growling and hissing from between set teeth and foaming lips that betrayed the absolute fury of reckless hate.

      Constables and friends at once joined in their efforts to prevent murder, but the face of the Freeholder was purple and his throat all raw and bloody half way round before the separation was effected.

      When finally this was accomplished, young Cradoc, standing by, was aware of Jacob Shop beside him, he having come forth of his refuge upon hearing the voice of his confederate. Simultaneously the draper became aware of the young man's intentions and, turning, fled like a flash across the square for dear life. The door of his shop being open he just managed to make that and gain the barricade of his wife's petticoats in time to avoid disaster, for before the pursuer could shake off the virago the fugitive had double locked the inner door and, bolting out at the back, made a line for the shelter of the bushes by the river.

      And meanwhile the rain had ceased and the sun was breaking out once more.

---

CHAPTER XX.
"HE SHALL NEVER COME HOME AGAIN; NEVER AGAIN; NEVER!"

ALTHOUGH that Christian law which punished sheep stealing with the gallows had been repealed for some short while, still the news of the repeal had not yet percolated to the market place of Cildeg, and probably in the whole countryside not more than two men knew at all of the change in the law; those two being the rival solicitors of the place. Certainly the Freeholder did not know, or his confederate, the draper, either; else the exultation of the one and the bottomless trembling of the other would have materially abated. The former, sitting alone in the sanctum of the Red Dragon, — alone, since not even mine host would sit with him, much less outside folk, — and sipping raw brandy to assist him in recovering from the shock of his victim's rude handling, felt that he could well afford to ignore the furtive looks which had been bestowed upon him as he passed through the crowd in the passage to come at his present seat.

      The other, crouching in the willows by the lapping waters of the stream, shivering with dread and turning sick with fear whenever a rustling leaf made him think someone was upon him, would gladly now have undone the work of the last twenty four hours if he could only have had it so. The price of Havod y Garreg seemed to have dwindled to a smallness that became a ghastly mockery when placed in the scale with the feelings of such a moment. Vaguely he wondered if Judas had so thought of the thirty pieces of silver; Judas of the rope later on and the bursten bowels, — should he come to that? Of one thing he was sure, should he ever, in spite of these grisly shapes of fear pointing a hundred dangers to his staring eyes, win safely to the end of this business; then he would take the price of his soul, — no! the price of Havod y Garreg he meant, — and with it in his pocket would, in the dead of night, steal away and go, ever go, till he reached America or some other land far off, where he might live his life and die and be buried so distant from the dishonoured grave of Tom Hawys that his ghost, with stern accusing front, might never find him to denounce him to the Dread Judge in the day of recompense. He was full sure of that.

      Neither did Huw Auctioneer know anything of the change of law as, with keen spur and foam flecked bridle, he rode for dear life along the eastward road to Aberalyn. He was riding to fetch Owen Bevan to the rescue of the accused man, keeping time to the slog of the hoof beats with open hearted curses upon the Freeholder; but at every stride coming unconsciously nearer to the easing of his worst fears, which the lawyer's first words were to demolish.

      Nor yet did Sion Cradoc know, striding homeward at last with angry and baffled heart, but full of a shrinking from the task of breaking the news to his people, and above all, to his sister.

      While, most assuredly, the man who had, accompanied by a wondering and sorrowful crowd of folk, been carried along the Stryt Glyndwrdy to the foul deformity of the jail, knew not the slightest of the change of law.

      The lock of the jail groaned in rusty protest as the huge key turned upon Tom Hawys. Left alone to himself the prisoner's passion did not abate but rather burnt the fiercer. The strait proportions of the place left room for three scanty paces only, on the loophole side, through which, at regular, short intervals, a person outside might almost have felt the gleam of his eyes as he passed the narrow slit. One, two, turn, with a monotonous tramp like the pacing of a wild beast in a cage or the ruthless throb of machinery. One, two, turn, and ever and anon he would pause before the loophole and send forth with a savage cry the overflow of his wrath, — "Uchelwr! come here to me, Uchelwr!"

      Then one, two, turn, would follow again till a listener must have broken away into a run, to shake off the chaining influence of that horrible tramp. Sometimes he threw himself against the massive door with a force that made even its ponderous strength rattle. Anon he would put his two hands into the loophole, back to back, and tug at the huge blocks of granite as though he would rive them apart and make a way to his enemy thus. That jail had need be strong. Hour after hour he kept up his furious movements and futile struggles, till at length sheer exhaustion supervened and he threw himself upon the bench in one corner.

      He did not trouble to wonder how the seven sheep came to be in his flock, or where his own seven were gone; the Freeholder had managed that somehow, he knew well. The curse of Jen Lwyd! the shadow of the ravens of Aran! So be it! but, just as soon as he should have been tried and released, he would end Jen Lwyd's triumph for ever in the death of her son.

      Yea; Jen Lwyd, — for this could not be the revenge of that other, the spirit of the long stones by Llyn Du. He had not really turned back in the matter of his oath. He had but arranged the sale to please and comfort his wife and give himself a freer hand upon the expiration of his notice. No, this was Jen Lwyd working through the hatred of her son. Will Addis could not have done all this merely on account of Gwennie, for he must know that even if had been the last man in the world she would never have married him. It was certain that had she married any other man than Tom Hawys the Freeholder would never have troubled his mind about her. This feud between them was a bequeathed one on both sides, and the possession of Gwennie by the one had only given the other a better chance of wounding him.

      And so the terrible hunger in the prisoner's mind gnawed on. For as the natural gloom of the interior of the cage deepened with the fall of evening outside, so deepened the black clouds about his soul, leaving him a willing companion to the shapes of vengeance which filled his mental vision. His whole being was concentrated upon the one idea of vengeance by the strong hand.

      All through the night he sat, still as the wall beside him, and only the gleam of his eye, waxing and waning like a furnace, would have betrayed him to be alive at all had anyone been enabled to see him. The fire of his anger was eating him up.

      And now, leaving him thus for awhile, let us return to the author of his present misery. The Freeholder, upon recovering from the first shock of his overthrow, at once made haste to assure himself of his victim's condition by mounting and riding towards the cell that held him. He would have come close and taunted him through the loophole but that the terrible voice from within broke forth just then, and, like the roar of a newly caged lion acting upon an unaccustomed gazer, made him shrink away in spite of his will. Moreover Humphry Constable's wife warned him off, threatening to set every woman in the street upon him if he stopped to ponder his going. He was far too astute to ignore such a threat; he went.

      He had not bargained, though, for overtaking Sion Cradoc swinging homeward in so savage a humour, but since it was too late to turn back he did the next best thing and charged straight at him when that young man showed fight. As the charge was unexpected it succeeded indifferently well, seeing that the rider got past and away with nothing worse than a wealing stroke upon the thigh from a tough ashen staff, and a blow that spoilt the beauty of his right ear from a stone flung after him in derision. He was too shaky yet to light down and meet the lusty sinews of two and twenty, or to match his guilty consciousness against an honest sense of injury.

      When he reached home he dismounted at once and, flinging his bridle rein over a hook by the door, strode straight for the brandy. He wasted no time with horn or tumbler but, applying the bottle to his lips, gulped down sufficient to have made another man drunk. He had need of it, he told himself, for the essay before him. Then, taking down the gun and calling to the dog to follow, he remounted and started away for Havod y Garreg.

      The sun was getting down to the west by the time he reached the gate of the lower croft, where Tom had turned for a last look at his wife that morning. Something this man saw from there made him draw rein suddenly, and then, with a frown and malediction, spur his panting steed forward again. Straight on he pressed till he came before the object of his sight, Gwennie herself, seated on the bench at the foot of the ash tree. She had been there most of the day, looking always towards the thin smoke which showed the position of the town, away below yonder. Upon first seeing the new-comer she started, but after one hasty glance round resumed her composure and quietly awaited his advance.

      When he drew in before her she rose, looking him squarely in the eyes as if challenging his presence, and he was none the handsomer for the changing colours that chased each other in his face, or the shiftiness of his eyes beneath that steadfast scrutiny. He cleared his throat and tried to laugh as he cast about for some new speech; all those concocted during the laborious ascent having unaccountably vanished. Desperate at length, — "Good morning, Gwennie," he began.

      She cut that short, dispensing with the remainder. "This is afternoon; not morning."

      He smiled feebly. "You always were so quick, Gwennie."

      She was impatient. "What is it? 'Twas for no good you risked your neck on Cefn Du. And speak it fair, now you are up here, or I will frighten your mare again, and this time she might fall off into the valley and send them looking for a sin-eater to eat the bread off your breast, — a dear bargain that sin-eater will have; the dearest he ever met, no matter who he be."

      The allusion to his former discomfiture rendered him savage and he opened out, — "Yes, that was a costly joke for you, Gwen Cradoc. But for that you might have been mistress at Mynachty, that you sneer so about because you missed it. Down in the rich valley and not up here on the starveling mountain would you be to-day; with a fine house instead of a pigstye place, and silk to your back and the best to your table, while, to the boot of all, you would have had a man who can ride where he will in road or market with the best in the land, and not a man that the constables drag off to jail till the gallows be gotten ready."

      She tossed it back scornfully. "'Tis a rare tale; didn't I say it would be. And now you've told. it get gone while you are safe, or my husband, that will soon be here, may make you both sick and sorry."

      "Ho! ho!" cried the man ferociously. "He will soon be here! he is coming home is he? I tell you, my scornful one, that harvest shall come and seed time shall pass and the leaves of the tree above you shall burst and fall, but Tom Hawys shall not come home to see it. The roof of Havod y Garreg shall be broken and this tree shall lie low; low as your own head, and then Tom Hawys shall not have come. He shall never come home again; never again! never!"

      She did not attempt to answer; perhaps she could not, for he was terribly in earnest. Thinking she doubted, he quartered his horse till his own face looked to the west and once again the sinking sun showed it red and repulsive with passion. Baring his head and lifting his arms as of old he cried out, — "It is true; it shall be true; I swear it by the ravens of Aran!"

      "The ravens of Aran! The ravens of Aran!" repeated Gwennie under her breath. A sudden dread seized her as the memory of the curse of Jen Lwyd, this man's mother, — rose up at the words. Instinctively she looked aloft and a shuddering came over her while she cried in swift fear, — "The ravens of Aran! see!"

      Instant at the cry he looked up and saw the thing too, cowering in the saddle as he watched it come.

      Along the ridge from the east, — exactly as Tom had noticed it evening after evening since the night of his oath, — flapped a heavy winged raven and, while the man shrank all huddled into his seat, unable to take his fascinated gaze from it, the thing began slowly to circle above his head, — once — twice — thrice. At the third time it poised itself as though about to swoop upon those below, and the sight of it filled the man with mortal fear. Was his oath to be registered again by this grim shape, and was it this time about to gash out his eye in token, as the legends of his mother had said? The last thought lashed him to defiant terror.

      Rising in his stirrups he shook his clenched fist at the hovering bird and yelled aloud the challenge, — "Strike!"

      Swift at the word the raven lifted and then, as the challenge came again, this time in jeering derision, flew straight into the eye of the sinking sun to reach the rocks of Aran.

      Flushed with his fancied triumph he turned again to the woman. "Do you believe it now?"

      "Believe what?" — her superstitious fear giving way again before her antagonism to this man.

      "That Tom Hawys will never come home."

      "If you mean my husband I tell you I do not believe it."

      "But it is true. When I left the town he was just clapt into prison for sheep stealing, — caught selling the sheep, he was. They hang men for that, Gwen Cradoc."

      "Whose sheep? your sheep?" queried the woman scornfully.

      "Aha! My sheep! So you know all about it. Belike you put him up to it. If so the cage will hold the wife as well as the husband and the same gallows hang both."

      She turned away in superb disdain. "If it be only your sheep, all the valley will know you did the thing, whatever it is, yourself. My husband will soon be here if that be all."

      "You think he will, oho! But he is in for more than that. Look here!" He tore the bandages from his throat and showed the raw witness of the struggle. "Do you see those marks? that is where he tried to murder me when he was found out, and that will prove his guilt and hang him surely."

      "And that is true?" cried Gwennie, sternly.

      "It is."

      "Then get you away or I will finish what my husband began."

      She sprang away as she spoke and, seizing the bill hook that leaned against the door cheek, advanced with it in so threatening a manner that the villain raised his gun.

      "Stop or I'll shoot you," he shouted. "Put that down," he went on as he saw her hesitate.

      "I will not," she answered, pale but resolute.

      "Put that down till you hear what I have to say to you."

      She lowered the weapon. "What is that?"

      "Let me come inside with you and then I can talk; not perched up here in the saddle."

      He made to dismount but she, evidently watching for an opportunity, lifted the bill hook again to advance. He saw the move and sitting back into the saddle raised the gun. "You vixen!" he shouted.

      She smiled in defiance. "If you have anything to say; say it where you are; I can hear better out than indoors."

      "But a man makes love better indoors than in the saddle," replied the man reddening.

      "Love!" she cried. "Love!" The intensity of her scorn could find no words to measure it. Fear, too, for the villain's intentions towards herself roused her to action. Stooping, she seized a dry turf from the pile at her feet and flung it with all her force at the Uchelwr, intending to keep him from using the gun till she could get near him. But the horse threw up his head at the motion of her arm, receiving the missile full in the eyes. Blinded by the dust he reared and plunged madly, causing his rider to catch the butt of the gun against the saddle and jar loose the hammer, sending the charge harmlessly into the air.

      But before Gwennie could reach him he had called upon the dog and instantly she found her onset barred by a grinning muzzle that might well have given pause to the stoutest heart, armed only as she was.

      Before she could decide upon any new line of action the man had got his horse in hand again, and now he brought it immediately in rear of the dog. The tussle had made him savage and he had lost all sense of the fitness of things, — as his next words proved.

      "Now, Mistress Gwen Cradoc, you deserve a horsewhipping for the vixen you are, but instead of that I'll give you your choice. Will you have your husband hung and go to prison yourself maybe, or will you have him safe home again, — one word from me will do it either way; do you want me to save him?"

      By this time Gwennie had come fully to believe that her husband was in jail, for she knew that this man would never have dared to venture up here unless he was sure of Tom's absence. And as the belief grew stronger so the trouble at her heart grew greater until now she stood in agony at the thought of her husband's jeopardy. Driven to temporizing, since thus she might learn something of benefit, she answered, as evenly as she could.

      "What is your price? I know you will not do it without one."

      In his eagerness he pressed closer and, leaning down, put out his hand till he touched her shoulder, at the same time hinting in a thick whisper his foul desire.

      A flood of hot tears; tears of fierce shame, gushed from her eyes as she heard the words. She felt herself polluted by the slime of his desire, and a bitter rush of self loathing stung her to fury. Blazing with indignant heat she caught up her weapon again; mad to avenge the infamy of that touch by lopping off the hand that made it. Like a flash she brought the curved blade round with a sweep that made it whistle again. Well was it then for the Freeholder that his horse remembered the turf and swerved violently aside just in time to save him.

      But the blow came near to being her own destruction for her high temper had utterly forgotten the dog, who now opened his cavernous jaws to seize her. She sprang backward in time to avoid his first snap and then, as she swung her weapon once more, resolved to fight desperately, the voice of the man came in a hurried yell to stay the ferocious beast.

      For in the midst of his struggles to control his horse the villain had yet retained sufficient presence of mind to remember that, if the dog once seized the reckless woman attacking him, there would be an end to all half measures, and the thought caused him to shout the command in the nick of time.

      The pause that followed became difficult, but, just when Gwennie had half resolved in despair to end it by attacking the dog, a great cry from the gate of the lower croft startled them both and they turned to find her brother coming at the top of his speed.

      The horseman forgot to curse, so fast he spurred away, for he knew that a horse has little advantage over a fleet footed mountaineer in such a place. Such haste he made that he even missed remembering the dog, but pushed off, leaving the beast standing stubbornly before the insulted wife, while he bent all his own energies to keeping the devious sheep paths leading eastward to the Ffridd. He had too good a start for the young man, already blown from the stiff climb up out of the valley, to hope to catch him, but there was still a chance of his being cut off should Sion return by the way he had come and, taking horse at Glwysva, intercept him at the lower end of the trail from the Ffridd.

      But as the young man hesitated, the sight of the deserted bull-dog brought him to his sister's aid. The animal, recognizing the altered situation, looked round for fresh orders and found his master's form just vanishing across the waste. This puzzled him and he frankly owned it by holding his tail at an undecided angle till, with another severe look at the two before him, he started slowly to rejoin his retreating master.

---

CHAPTER XXI.
ONE ASPECT OF LAW AND JUSTICE.

NOTICING now, for the first time, his sister's tears, Sion's wrath flared up afresh. "What is it, Gwennie? What did he do? What did he say? Tell me."

      "He did nothing, but he said Tom was in jail for sheep stealing and that he is to be hung. Is it true, — I mean is he in the jail?"

      "And did that fellow come all the way up here to taunt you with it? Did he ride up here for that only, Gwennie?" cried her brother evading the question.

      In turn she evaded his. "He said I had a hand in the sheep stealing too. But tell me, is my husband prisoned?"

      "Prisoned! Oh, that's nothing; he'll be out of that in no time when the justices hear about it. Of course they'll be sorry, and when they loose him they'll put Mynachty in his place, I'll wager."

      Sion's task was easy all of a sudden, nay, he almost believed his own words, they sounded so cheerful and made so light of what, a moment ago, had seemed so serious.

      "But tell me how it came about; tell me all and not in such words as that, — like the swallow wings that never settle. Tell me everything; of the feet that walked and the hands that opened and shut; of the eyes that looked and the tongue that spoke, I want to know it all, every instant of it."

      Thus adjured the young man made his sister sit down and then, with many an imprecation, told her the whole story, glozing over the serious parts of it till she, with clear questions, brought out what he would gladly have hidden. The tears in her eyes when she began to listen dried away at their fountain as the tale proceeded, leaving her to grow paler and paler with apprehension as each new question put to her brother elicited some more serious aspect of the case, so much moving her that, when it was ended, her lips and throat as well as her eyes were dry. Drawing her breath bravely, however, she strove to catch comfort from the sound of her own voice boldly attempting to argue away the convictions of her heart. But the voice could not continue; something in her throat stifled it and pressed it back, leaving the field clear to her heart's forebodings. In vain she attempted repeatedly to speak; she was forced to yield the endeavour and, with both hands grasping her throat, to turn away into the house, there to be alone till she could master her emotion. And her brother recognised as he stared very straight before him that this was a woman, and not any longer just his sister.

      The darkness fell, finding the young man still standing by the ash tree, clumsily feeling within himself that he was not much good at comforting Tom Hawys' wife, and immensely relieved when, shortly afterwards, a light shone out from the window behind. He took that for a sign and immediately went inside. There he found his sister with her mind settled to go down to Cildeg at once and talk to her husband, and here his years of brotherly domineering came in useful and enabled him to bluntly veto the project. In her present state of health a stumble would have been dangerous, but all he said was, —

      "You're not going till the moon comes up and that will be an hour or two before daybreak; therefore we'll start at dawning instead, for the odd hour won't count."

      "Not go! with my husband in the prison! I will go, and go now too. Who should cheer my husband but his wife?"

      "Who should make a man miserable but his wife, you mean, — coming and crying through the loophole, with him stamping about inside because she is out in the street all night instead of under cover. What could you do for him in any case till after folk were astir in the morning? Can you tell?"

      "I could wait, or rather I could find the lawyer or the justice and rouse them to loose him."

      "Rouse them to hear them swear, you mean," replied Sion resolutely. "No, Gwen, you cannot go down from here to Glwysva in this darkness, — I wouldn't meet your husband for something and him to know that I let you attempt such a thing, — but I promise you I'll take you into Cildeg as soon as ever it is safe for you; and you may still your mind about the lawyer, for Huw Auctioneer rode away to fetch Owen Bevan immediately Tom was taken."

      There was more of this argument, and to the like effect; there was even, on the one side, a standing with the back to the door and, on the other, an outburst of tears, but the kindly meant, if untenderly spoken, reasoning of the brother prevailed at length, and Gwennie sadly and tearfully resigned herself to waiting, with what patience she might compass, for the time when she could start to see her husband.

      After supper, which both needed and the woman did not touch, they sat down by the fire to try and map out some plan of aiding Tom. All the young man's ideas centred round a wringing of the truth from their enemy by main force, — all the woman's were dominated by a beautiful faith in the justice of the law, and a trusting belief that the judges had but to see her Tom to acquit him instantly; especially when she herself should have told them how utterly preposterous such a charge was. Yes, who knew! they might even put Will Addis in prison instead.

      So impatient was she to test her theory, that eventually, since she had not even attempted to sleep and he had not dared to do so, Sion yielded so far, upon finding that the moon rose unclouded, as to allow the start to be made at an hour which would bring them into the town by cock-crow, provided they took horse from Glwysva.

      Everything was quiet when they crossed the bridge into Cildeg save when, now and again, some rousing chanticleer greeted the opening of the eye of day. Right on they kept till they reached the place where the prison stood, that Gwennie might go in at once and speak with her husband to the settling of her plans before the town was astir. Here her ideal of the law and things legal received its first blow, for Humphry Constable was walking up and down outside to stop all persons approaching. Apparently the object of the law was to prevent people proving their innocence.

      It would appear that the night before, long after dark, Will Mynachty had ridden in to apprise his lawyer of an intended rescue of the prisoner, which some wild fellows from beyond the Carnedd, headed by Sion Cradoc, were to accomplish before morning. He was not what might be called very drunk, because he was the Freeholder of Mynachty and not a common labourer, but he was extremely argumentative. Therefore to please him and gratify an old grudge of his own against the constable, Evan Bowen had gone down to scare that functionary into keeping guard all night; at the same time prohibiting all intercourse of any kind between the prisoner and anyone soever. Hence his presence and speech.

      "No! no! you must not speak to him now; he is but newly gone to sleep from being awake all night, too. Plans! why sure, is not Owen Bevan to see to him after breakfast, and then he'll soon be out; oh yes, for certain."

      Gwennie wrung her hands and implored in vain, but her brother was nothing loth to see her project fail, since that might bring her to believe in his own.

      Therefore he joined at once in gently forcing her across the road to the house where old Humphry's kind hearted wife would be only too glad to take care of her.

      Meanwhile the sound of her pleading had reached the prisoner, penetrating the stupor into which he had fallen. At first the tones brought no meaning, only a vague remembrance of something having to do with the long ago. Then gradually his benumbed faculties returned and he awoke to a recognition of his wife's voice. Just as he did so he heard also the closing bang of a clumsily shut door, and springing to the loophole he called aloud upon her, —

      "Gwennie! Gwennie!"

      Too late, only the silence of the street mocked him. Turning to the door he flung himself in futile energy upon that, the answering dull rattle making him grind his teeth in impotent wrath.

      Then back again to the loophole, thrusting his open hand through it till the thicker muscles of the forearm stuck fast in the narrow slit, leaving his outspread fingers to clutch the empty air.

      "Gwennie!" Gwennie!" he called again and again, until at last his voice reached the ears that were deaf to the well meant arguments of the three beside her, and she cried, — "Let me go! don't you hear? that is my husband calling my name. He wants me. Let me go to him."

      The agonized wail of entreaty touched the warm heart of the constable's wife, making her turn traitor at once. Throwing open the door behind to let her pass out, — "Yes, indeed! and she shall go, Humphry Constable, and you, young graceless, out of the way there, — don't come near me or I'll set my ten nails in your face. Out!"

      Almost before her new ally had ceased speaking Gwennie was clasping that hand stretched forth into the dim dawn, kissing it and caressing it with a thousand endearing terms. There was no one but Tom to hear her, for Sarah had simply locked the door upon the two men inside and, leaning with her back against it, defied them both.

      "Och! you needn't tell me, Humphry Constable. The law won't be any the worse off because a wife speaks to her husband through a hole in a wall. Soft words won't turn rusty locks or maybe I'd keep you here till the moorcock in that cage was whistling to the rocks of Cefn Du."

      And while that stalwart champion kept such bold front, Gwennie was weeping over the hand in hers; all thought of plans forgotten for the nonce, while she blamed herself from every side and point of view as the cause of all this misery. Tom, hearing all this and trying vainly to combat each new self accusation of his wife's, kept strenuously on with his refutations, always half a justification of her behind, and always compelled to break off before he could reach the crux of his contention in order to front the new self blame from her lips. Of what use? he got into a fantastic despair and began to use blunt assertions, — "It is not so." "Wrong." "Wrong again entirely." "I tell you," — here he could stand it no longer and fell back once more upon the old authority.

      "Stop wife! stop Gwennie! If you go on like that I'll go away."

      The threat took effect, — how was she to remember just then that three strides was the farthest he could "go away." Of course it meant anywhere, at least somewhere where she couldn't hold his hand. She became submissive, dropping her tears between inarticulate sobs upon those fingers, so torn and lacerated from contact with the prison walls in the paroxysms of yester evening. Then he spoke again, kindly and tender of her as in the old days, or these last few.

      "You are weary, wife, with journeying in from home, and for lack of sleep. You must not tarry there as you are now. What will be the good of my coming out of this prison if I am to find you dead. You must go and get something to eat and lie down afterwards to sleep —"

      "But I want to talk about plans with you, Tom. I want to do it now —"

      "Plans! plans! plans be — no, not that, but your health is of more account than plans, and I'm not going to talk about plans till your are rested. Then you can go to Owen Bevan and tell him I want him to loose me, — you must go and get breakfast now."

      Here the rattling of the house door broke in upon them, for the constable, after a most undignified scuffle, had won his way out in time to catch the last injunction.

      "Aye sure, Tom Hawys; and my wife has just made breakfast ready and sent me to bring Mrs. Hawys in to eat something at once."

      In truth his wife was at his elbow with a heart quick to put a face upon his fib by throwing her arms round Gwennie and fairly carrying her into the house, there to moan over her and shed a busy tear or two with her as if she had been her own child, whilst she hurried to prepare food as dainty as her humble larder might afford wherewith to tempt the sad wife's appetite.

      Outside, the constable, seeing that Evan Bowen's strict injunctions had been already broken, — "as of course every rule is so soon as ever a pack of women get round it," muttered he in his own mind, — stood inarticulate; a what-does-it-matter sort of feeling gagging his sense of obedience to law, while Tom, through the loophole, instructed Sion to go and see Huw Auctioneer and ask if any money had been received on account of yesterday's sale. By this time it was broad day, but still it was a surprisingly short time which elapsed before the auctioneer, his heart being so much softer than his head, was trying to pass the whole amount through the slit, in utter defiance of all law and order, while old Humphry was afflicted with a new spasm of sun worship, standing with his gaze very steadfastly set upon the outline of Moel y Gaer, purple yonder to the east against the rising sun.

      But Tom thrust it back, explaining, —

      "No! no! give it to my wife; it is for her I wanted it. She is in the constable's house. Give it to her."

      And by way of receipt the auctioneer got Gwennie's exclamations, — "How much is it? What a lot of money! Is it all for the lawyers?"

      What puzzled him most, now he came to think of it, was the fact that Jacob Shop had never asked for any of his money back, which was queer, considering that he was reputed to be keen after money and was seven sheep short of the tally paid for.

      So queer did it strike him as being, that, while Gwennie got permission first of all to cook a little speciality and carry it to her husband for breakfast before sitting down herself, he took Sion with him to rout out Owen Bevan and repeat what had entirely slipped his memory yesterday at Aberalyn.

      That day was a woful day for Gwennie. In the first place, when, folk being now astir, she went across to the house of the solicitor, she could only grasp from the expression of his face what he meant by saying that he was sorry to find that Llysowen, whom he had hoped would have sat as the most important magistrate at Tom's examination, was laid up with a new and more ferocious attack of the gout. This meant that Mr. Clifford Brown-Rice, the bran new gentleman retired from business in Birmingham, would be very much to the fore, and ready to take revenge for sundry snubs at the hands, or lips rather, of Llysowen, by coming down heavily upon any one whom Llysowen thought kindly of, — and all the country had heard of the pair of greys and the carriage at the wedding. All the country knew, too, that the gout never took Clifford Brown-Rice; he couldn't raise a decent ailment if he tried. Shop-asthma from narrow chested stooping over dusty merchandise, and stiffness of the knees from sitting on high stools, were more in his line, said folk.

      Sure enough, when Tom came before him later in the day, that benignant magistrate chose his words carefully in rebuking Gwennie's pathetically eager interruption in the court room, stringing out the ugliest he could think of and bringing a flush of hot indignation to her face, and a proud rejoinder from her tongue that procured her instant expulsion. Which, as he intended, caused Tom to make matters worse, for that the prisoner most assuredly did. His words had pointed reference to the magistrate's family and descent, with unpleasant comparisons between Brown-Rice Hall and a certain dingy shop in a back street of Aberalyn, whence the Rices had originally emigrated, to come back with a prefix which. folk said, was meant to indicate the condition of anyone who had ever had dealings with them, by the time they escaped from their clutches.

      Moreover Gwennie's ideal and plans together went down like ninepins when she found that she was not in any case to be allowed to testify concerning her husband, and that, too, forsooth, because he was her husband! As if that was not the more reason why she should be allowed to give evidence, since who should know more and better about a man than that man's wife? Nor did the explanation that the law wanted independent evidence at all pacify her; who should be more independent than she who had such good reason to know what manner of man the Freeholder really was?

      Yet, first and last, she never mentioned the real purpose of the Freeholder's visit. Not to her brother certainly; while to the lawyer she could not; but she would tell her husband when he was free, not adding to his troubles now. Besides, she had had no chance as yet to speak to him alone. Therefore Mynachty's specially prepared explanation of that visit was not needed during his preliminary examination as he had feared, partly because Sion could only tell the very little he had seen, and partly because Gwennie, having been expelled, had no chance to put Owen Bevan on the right track.

      But the rudest shock came to her when, at the conclusion of the brow-beating, she was told that her husband had been committed to take his trial at the assizes in a town away in the English marches; naturally she could not be brought to look upon this as another chance of freedom.

      Tom took hardly a more hopeful view of the case; arguing it with his lawyer in this way. If the people who know a man and know all about his enemy to boot, and what sort that enemy is, cannot acquit a man, then what chance has that man coming before a foreign judge and far away from his own valley, especially since that judge, after the manner of his kind, would set weight by the word of a Freeholder, — and one, moreover, who could speak English, — such as he would utterly deny to the protestations of a rough hillsider speaking no language but his own.

      And to all Owen Bevan's explanations and attempts at recapitulations of learned arguments in favour of the present state of things, he would reply, — "Ah yes, but 'twas law folk said that, to profit by it. Now I am an honest man, eager to be tried by the folk who know me and all about the whole case; leaving out the cuckoo-bred like this thing upon the bench to-day. And why should I be forced to go before a stranger in a strange place, where nothing will be known about me but what is spoken in the witness box, with men like Evan Bowen to twist the words to a contrary meaning?"

      And Owen Bevan could only go over the old arguments again, while lamenting that this unlucky attack of the gout had kept Llysowen away.

---

CHAPTER XXII.
"A OES HEDDWCH?"

IN the interval betwixt the commitment and trial of Tom Hawys there fell a notable day in Cildeg, the day of the local eisteddfod. That ancient institution was just coming into favour once more about this date, and while the Sir Somethings Somebodies of Some-sorts-of-Castles; followed by Broadacres Rentroll, Esquire, and his kin were pooh-poohing everything connected with it, the hillsiders and other simple folk were dreaming strange dreams as to its possibilities. The Freeholder followed the one fashion and laughed the idea to scorn, while Gwennie, with woman-like faith, waited in pathetic eagerness to put into execution a project secretly nursed since the evening of her husband's committal at the dictum of Clifford Brown-Rice.

      She would call upon the bards for justice.

      From early dawn the roads up and down the vale, and along each narrow valley running into it on either hand, were thronged with folk coming into the town and heading for the market square, where the Gorsedd of the bards was to be held. Here a dense throng had gathered round the mystic circle till by the time the procession of the bards reached it the square was packed. In that crowd stood Gwennie, close to the circle, with a wild hope in her heart. To her friends she had mentioned nothing of her intentions, nor said a single word until the ceremony reached the point where the white haired archdruid, half drawing the sword from the scabbard held aloft by the bards, cried in a piercing voice, —

      "A oes Heddwch?" (Is it peace).

      And from the crowd a great shout answered, —

      "Heddwch! Heddwch!" (Peace! Peace!)

      But in one heart was no peace and before the blade could be thrust home and redrawn for a repetition of the challenge, Gwennie had broken forward into the circle to cast back the answer of the people.

      "It is not peace! Draw the blade and cast the scabbard. It is not peace but oppression. Give me justice and loose my husband from the prison!"

      Swift silence fell upon the astonished multitude, for not often is a Gorsedd so broken in upon. Then through the pause she let loose a flood of wild, incoherent pleading, calling upon all alike to aid in the release of her husband.

      When the first shock of surprise was over, kindly hands and tender hearts bore her away, half fainting as she was, to care for and soothe her; while from the silver clarion pierced again the three peals, and from the high stone rang once more the question, — "A oes Heddwch?" to receive in answer, not the glad shout of a few minutes before, but a deep growl whose muttered tones belied the burden of "Heddwch."

      All that day the bitter drop was in the cup. First, after Gwennie was carried away, the impromptus of the bards most applauded were those that had a fang in them and sounded like the snap of a steel trap. Every once in a while a sustained effort had to be made to call silence, for men muttered so angrily to each other, and women spoke so sharply, that the hoarse hum was like to drown the harps and voices in the competitions. And when the prize was offered for the best "englyn," in the afternoon, the subject of it was found to be the injustice of the law.

      All day, too, Jacob Shop kept close in his back room, with the door between locked fast, and his wife to wait on the customers and tell them that he was gone away suddenly on business. He was only waiting for the night in order to slip away unperceived to Mynachty and the harbour of his confederate's companionship.

      For he did not know that Will Addis had chosen this day above all days upon which to come in and consult his solicitor.

      In the semidrunken privacy of the room, which for want of a better name we will call his study, the Uchelwr did not sufficiently appreciate the fact that this was the day of the eisteddfod. For one thing, being pretty well off for this world's gear, he did not feel any of the vague unrest, with its concomitant faith in the benefits of new dispensations, which fills the bosoms of folk who have a hard scratch for it to make a living.

      Thus situated he could only be expected to dismiss with a sneer that which he characterised as the frothing of fools, — the festival in Cildeg to wit. All the same he did not care to attract the comments of the crowd, and therefore he put off his going till the shades of evening dropped thick enough to hide him, as he thought. Naturally, with the feelings before described, he could not be expected to anticipate the extra lights which would cut up the darkness in the town this evening. And another factor he forgot to reckon with, namely, his own length.

      Six foot may be common enough to pass in a crowd, but an inch or two beyond that makes a wonderful difference, especially if it acquires but little added breadth or burliness to tone it down. One cannot be the tallest man in the country-side without being easy to know; nor have a slight peculiarity of gait as the result of a gun accident without emphasizing that case. Therefore he was proportionately disconcerted to hear, just when he had passed the bridge, the voice of Megan Wills call out sarcastically across the street, —

      "Good night! Uchelwr. Don't you think you'll be catching a bad cold, forgetting to put on your dog like that? And wearing no gun either! Dear! dear! Och! it's nothing less than pneumonia you'll catch."

      He was just pausing to rap out something comprehensive in return when a volley of jeers warned him that folk were gathering and ready to take part against him. He started to move on again. Not too fast, but as fast as he could decently walk; and more and more disconcerted to find that, instead of passing beyond the jeerers, these seemed to have turned and to be following him. Not too fast; but with a curious pang of apprehension to find that the jeers had travelled faster than he and were gone beyond him, running along like the joy fire of infantry upon the king's birthday. Not too fast; but the clamour grew louder behind, while in front it seemed to be travelling into the bowels of the town like the train that fires a magazine. The sound behind was ominous; that reaching forward into the distance was terrible and soul shaking. He paused again, irresolute to go or return. By this, however, the street behind was full of a trampling crowd, — in front was more open than that, at any rate, and moreover the distance to his destination was very little farther than the one to be retraced. He cursed his folly for coming afoot and started forward again. But those behind him had marked his hesitation and now, emboldened by it, pressed closer to the object of their demonstration. His trepidation increased; a stone knocked his hat off, — he fairly broke and ran for it.

      Then the street seemed suddenly alive with people and the voices grew to a roar as he ran. Coming to the square, the place seemed one blaze of light, from which the sight of him brought forth a deafening yell of eager rage. A swift footed young farmer, with faith in his own sinews, rushed to intercept him as he turned into the street of his haven. But the sight of that steadied the nerves of the fugitive and, bringing his head down just at the right moment, he charged on, leaving a case for the doctor behind him.

      And now stones began to hurl past him and out stretched hands to clutch at his clothing as he swept forward. He redoubled his efforts, with his eyes starting and his lungs like to burst, till, just when he felt at the last gasp and death appeared no longer to matter, he reached the house of his lawyer. Rushing through the open door and banging it behind him he heard it rattle again beneath the volley of stones intended for his head, and with a sob for breath he staggered into the hall chair while Evan Bowen shot the bolts and turned the key in its socket.

      Outside, from every inn and house rushed angry men, pouring from the black throats of the narrow streets running down to the river, and converging with ever increasing roar and volume upon the common centre in front of Evan Attorney's house. As if by magic every shadow seemed to disgorge men, eager to spring loose upon the hunt.

      Within three minutes every window shutter in the front of the house was splintered; only the iron bars preventing entrance, and the door itself was threatening to yield to the assaults upon it, while a band of young fellows was racing round to cut off retreat from the rear.

      The man gasping upon the chair inside rose to steal away by the back door. Too late! the overlapping torrent was even now surging against the walls of the outbuildings behind.

      "This way," said Evan Bowen, a dark grin upon his face as he led his client up the stairs, supporting him as he went. Reaching the landing of the second floor, a sort of a ladder way led still on to the attics above, and an ominous crash below warned the fugitive to make what speed he might in mounting.

      "The attic opens on the roof; do what you can in escaping while I go down to pacify them," shouted the lawyer, his voice barely audible above the deafening din.

      The other did not stop to answer; he climbed.

      Before Evan Bowen could reach the foot of the stairs, the party from the rear, with axe and hammer seized from the fuel house in the yard, burst their way in, to meet, midway, the crowd thronging in from the streets in front and utterly wrecking whatever was demolishable.

      "Pacify them," muttered the solicitor as he took in the scene. "I'd better move at once if I'm ever to move at all again," concluded he, as the crowd choked up the stairway in struggling to ascend. Then he caught his own name coupled with a threat, and he figured his course at once.

      "In the cellar!" he cried shrilly, pointing below. "Locked himself in," he went on, imitating the turning of a key.

      The stair rail went with a crash, precipitating some of the most eager upon the heads of those below, but this did not divert the attention of two or three, who, catching the solicitor's meaning from his pantomime, raised the cry at once, — "In the cellar! he's down in the cellar; locked in!"

      The way to that was beneath the stairs, by stone steps leading from the back end of the hallway. "I'll fetch a key!" shouted Evan Bowen, retreating upward before a couple of the more determined ones, who evidently did not intend him to escape. He turned and went up, three steps at a bound, licking his lips upon each landing he gained, for the ugly look of things had dried his mouth like a hot blast. Reaching the ladder way before the foremost of those below had quite decided whether he was really gone for the keys or not, he glanced behind him in the blackness and felt his knees shake a little as he heard his own name come up the stairway after him, coupled in the same yell with that of Mynachty. No time to be lost! Already their heavy feet were groping up; he must take the attic for it with his client. Gaining it, in a snap he had barred the door and was wildly snatching together the miscellaneous lumber of the place to barricade it, while through dry mouth and shrunken lips he gasped forth a hoarse string of weak, childish curses; for a fever of sick fear had loosened all his joints and he shook from head to foot as if with palsy. His pursuers were even now pressing to burst it in, but, thanks to the lack of foothold on top of the rude steps, it would hold for some minutes yet. The skylight! but he started back from that at sight of the sea of heads below. Ha! a way of escape struck him now. The attic had originally extended the width and length of the roof, but he had had it divided by a stout oaken partition. In this had been left a door extending from roof to floor; but carrying neither latch or handle to distinguish it, and in its finished state resembling the rest of the partition exactly, saving that he had once driven a row of strong nails in its upper portion and hung thereon some odds and ends of clothing. Here was salvation.

      Dashing hastily across he groped for the dusty clothes, opening the door upon the instant of touch and closing it softly behind him. Hardly had he done so when the barricade at the entrance from the ladder was burst away and the hunters entered the room. One of them was carrying the candle that the lawyer had dropped and which the finder had lighted to show the way in the search.

      "Nothing in this room," said they, turning to the open skylight after a hasty going round. The attorney on the other side of the partition wedged the point of his pocket knife into the crack of the door and, bending it sideways to keep that from moving, wondered how many men he might be able to kill with so small a blade, should they find him, and whether they would overpower him by numbers or smoke him out.

      Then his heart stood still and his teeth were near to snapping off at the stumps with the compression, as he heard one at the window shout to the crowd below, —

      "Did you see him go?"

      Although he could not know that, till now, those in the yard had had their attention concentrated upon the lower windows, not looking up till thus challenged from aloft, yet he could hear their answer, as it rose, —

      "No! is he gotten away?"

      "I think not," said the one at the window loudly, disregarding those outside and speaking to his companions in the room. "He'll be somewhere in this room. Let us look closer."

      Holding the candle aloft he began to examine the partition, beginning at one end and working with narrow scrutiny towards the point where the lawyer stood.

      The latter, turning his eyes over his shoulders, could catch the gleam of the light flashing through the cracks of the partition as it slowly neared him on the other side. In the darkness he let out his breath in a long sigh and smiled horribly to himself, — at that rate of progression he should still have time for a couple more breaths. He drew them, — and then almost dropped his knife in alarm as his teeth, in meeting to hold the last, came together with a click that sounded in his brain pan like a musket shot. They were at the door. Very well! now should he attempt to cut the first man's throat or should he stab at his eyes, dashing out the candle at the same time? perhaps he would have more chance in the dark.

      The searcher on the other side, coming to the clothes hanging, lifted them casually and allowed them to drop again, his ideas striking off at a tangent. "See what rubbish the skinflint stores up in his garrets!" he cried to the others; "we'll tear these at any rate; he shall not benefit by these." As he spoke thus he seized the garments and one by one began to jerk them from their nails and trample them underfoot.

      "What was that? Ah! only the shadow! I thought the crazy old partition was coming down," said another, watching the tearing of the rags from their hold.

      The man with the light looked narrowly at the speaker and then held the candle aloft as he reached up to seize one of the now unencumbered nails.

      Just at that moment, however, when only an inch lay between them and murder, a splintering crash, followed by a long howl of savage delight, rose from the hall beneath, — "They've got them!" "They've got them!" came up hoarsely with the din, and one man on the head of the stairs cried out to those in the attic to hasten, for the folk had won into the cellar.

      Never stopping to wonder how the attorney could have got into the cellar through that raging rabble below, the man with the candle hurried to light his companion down the ladder, following last himself; while Evan Bowen let the knife fall with a clatter from his slacked grip, as his breath escaped with a hiss through the teeth he could hardly unlock again. He leaned against the boards in the blackness of his hiding place and feebly wiped the huge drops of cold sweat from his brow.

---

CHAPTER XXIII.
"IF THIS BE PEACE THEN 'HEDDWCH!'"

ALL this time what of the Freeholder?

      When first he attained the attic, the darkness of it seemed stifling thick and he paused for an instant to wonder what next? He could not tarry here, the shouts of the mob nailed that; he must continue his moving, but whither? Remembering what his solicitor had said about the roof he groped his way forward, cursing everytime he found a rafter with his head or a box with his shins, till a grey square above him indicated the position of the skylight. Opening this by the simple process of lifting the sash bodily from its place and thrusting it aside on the slates, he leaned out and looked around. The crowd below was not yet so large as it was to become in a few moments, and its attention was still solely engaged upon the back entrance. Cautiously raising himself he passed his bulk through the opening and crouched upon his hands and knees outside. Fortunately for him a low coping ran along the edge of the roof, enabling him to steady his brain by a contemplation of its outline, showing dimly against the darkness, until he could decide upon his further movements. To stay where he was could only lead to his eventual capture, while to drop into the yard by means of any spout he might find handy was simply out of the question. Small as that crowd was, it was yet large enough to make a dash hopeless. Moreover the stream coming round from the street in front was swiftly broadening, — that way was madness. Turning to examine the chances of escape by the roofs he found that the one upon which he was rose almost twice as high as the one immediately to the right, and the same upon the left, the only way he might have gone. He could not drop that fifteen or twenty feet without crashing through the slates and probably breaking his limbs into the bargain. But there might be a spout leading down to it from the corner of this; why not? at any rate he could as well do that as wait here to be captured.

      With infinite care he slid slowly down the slates till his feet touched the coping and stayed him. Then, cautiously and scarcely daring to breathe, he wriggled his way along in the gutter, resting his body aslant upon the slates in his progress till he came to the corner. Malediction! the spout from there led only backwards to a huge rain cistern whose bulk loomed back a few feet below, propped as it was by great oaken baulks running up from the yard beneath. In the first breath of his disappointment he half resolved to retrace his advance and, taking his stand at the attic door, fight there for his life with whatsoever might come handiest as a weapon. They could not well come at him there with any advantage of numbers and he made no doubt whatever of holding his own against them, singly or by pairs even, in such a position. But — they might get ladders and take him in rear through the skylight with little ado; no, he must try some other plan for it.

      Then he grinned with bare teeth in the gloom as he crouched, for a new idea struck him. What was to prevent him dropping down into the rain cistern and hiding in that till the crowd melted away in baffled blankness. Why not? the thing was easy of accomplishment; let him try at any rate. Remembering that his outline, even in the darkness, would be visible against the sky to the crowd beneath, he peered cautiously at the cistern under him to note its shape. Just as he thought. It appeared to be a substantial square structure of smooth slate slabs, ground and chiselled to fit, and covered over with a frame of boards having a trap door at one end for use in cleaning it out; exactly such a receptacle as may be seen any day almost anywhere in Wales. Flattening his body to the side of the house as he moved, he let himself down, with tense muscles and held breath, till his feet touched the near end of the cover. Slowly, and with strictest caution still, he found the lid of the trap and raised it. Another moment and without the slightest splash or commotion he went down legs first into some five feet or more of chill rain water and pulled the door softly to over his head.

      His insertion raised the level of the water and a danger which he never dreamed of hovered round him. For the overflow pipe sent forth a whispering trickle of water upon the heads of the throng attempting to press into the back doorway. But those adown whose backs it fell were too full of their present purpose to study the meaning of such a phenomenon, — with the rain that had not fallen for a week and the water that should have been far below the overflow level; rare detectives those, — they only swore and struggled to get from under.

      Even in that hiding place the fugitive heard the wild shouts that followed upon the breaking of the cellar door. "They've got them! they've got them," swelled in one mighty roar inside and out, front and back, and while he listened he wondered.

      "Who the devil have they got? Or is it a couple of ladders to reach me with; I could have sworn they were too busy to see me," he muttered to himself. The thought made him so comfortable that he lifted the lid a little and jested with the sky above. "It'll be a rare find for the man that first sticks his jib into this hole to spy me out. 'Tis the gates of the Pit will be the first thing he'll ever see, for I'll warrant I can drown them as fast as they come if the water holds out and the lid doesn't burst up."

      Then the roar died down to a jeer of baffled rage and he wondered anew.

      Inside the house, when the cellar was first entered, one man shouted for a light, and another behind, the wish being father to the thought and his hopes too eager for his ears, — had taken it to mean that the fugitive was cornered and the light required to see to take him by. Therefore he took up the shout and put a tail to it.

      "Bring a light! They've got him," he cried in high glee.

      It was the tale of the three black crows, for another of like mind, next nearer the door, lifted the movement along.

      "Bring lights! they've got them!" And at once on every hand the cry was taken up and repeated, "They've got them both! They've got them both!" proving the salvation of Evan Bowen and the Freeholder alike. For it was the disappointment resulting upon the advent of lights that caused the growls and jeers which followed, and made the seekers more eager to seize upon the slightest clue or indication of the track of those disappeared, so that they led themselves astray.

      The cellar extended forward and was lit, during the daytime, by a window which received light through an iron grating in the sidewalk of the street. In the turmoil outside, by stones or otherwise, this grating had been smashed, together with the window beneath, and upon sight of this somebody immediately suggested that the fugitive had gone that way. It was dark enough at times for him to have done so when the mob was at its thickest; posing as one who had fallen unaware into the hole from whence he emerged. Ask them, anyhow, if some such man had not done so?

      This brought as many as could crowding to the point of inquiry in the street, and left room for those in the yard to surge into and through the house in their endeavour to learn what was going forward.

      Struck by the comparative stillness, the man in the cistern peered over and looked down below. Seeing the ground beneath him temporarily deserted he took an instant resolve. Now or never was the time to make a dash for it while the way was clear. Swiftly raising himself, he dropped over the edge, clinging to it with his hands till he found with his foot the pipe communicating with the interior of the house. From this he made his way by a desperate clutch to the nearest of the upright supporting beams. It was a matter of a few seconds only to slide down this and reach the ground beneath. Once safely landed, the sense of difficulties overcome caused him to pause and look round at the house; a pause that cost him dear. For while he looked, a man from one of the windows spied him in the dimness and leaped out to seize him, shouting as he came, — "There he is! There he is!"

      That was costly for him too, for the Freeholder, catching up a broken barrel stave, brought it down upon the fellow's pate with a force that stretched him senseless and made the nearest of his enemies draw back. Then dropping the stave he turned and sped into the darkness.

      But the discovery had been made and the bruit went round like magic. Like wolves from a wood the crowd leaped out again upon the track of the fleeing one and before he had gone a hundred yards he knew by the yells behind that they were well slipped. He was running in a pasture, parallel with the road back to the bridge. Which way should he head; home? Nay, that would be the first place they would seek him. And yet he could not hope to go far afoot; he must get a horse somehow. By the short cut to Mynachty he might reach it in time, since his pursuers must go round by the road. Anyway he must try it; it was his only chance.

      Here was a narrow entry to his left leading between the houses. Quick as thought he turned along it and, emerging into the road, found that entirely deserted and had the joy of hearing the mob overshoot the mark and go howling on past where he had turned. Not for long though, for hardly had he taken one of the narrow ways leading to the river than he heard them casting about and harking back. Fear made him fleet of foot and in another instant he had gained the stream and plunged in. A moment more and he emerged dripping upon the farther shore, while his enemies, evidently at fault, dinned along over the bridge, bound for Mynachty by the road.

      With the start he had and the advantage of the short cut he reached his house just in time. There upon the steps he found Jacob Shop, pale and gasping, his knees knocking together, praying and whining by turns in his terror as the hoarse roar of the oncoming rabble swelled nearer. Greeting the miserable wretch with an oath that made him jump and yell out with new fear, he called to him to follow as he dashed down to the stables where, luckily, someone had left a lighted lantern hanging between the stalls to greet him as he burst through the door. With feverish speed he saddled the black, bidding the other take the brown mare and, only stopping to seize a whip from the wall, led out and mounted. Hardly were they clear before the shouts of the pack betrayed it to have reached half way along the lane from the road to the house.

      "This way! Keep close to me," cried the Freeholder sharply, passing as he spoke through an open gate and leading across the great field into the darkness. Warily pressing on, the leader's knowledge of his own lands standing him in stead this hour of need, they passed through a gap in the next hedge and through a gate in the one beyond that. Still another field and gate, and then they found themselves in a farm lane leading to the ford and the highroad south of the town, where they could laugh at all pursuit.

      Behind them, the mob had reached the house and learnt from the terrified servants that their master had gone down to the stables. Instantly the human flood engulfed the farm quarters, only to find the saddle horses gone and to hear from the surly ploughman that their quarry had escaped.

      Furious at being thus baffled they surged about tentatively for a minute or two and then someone made back for the house. This man had not said anything, but a couple of others stood irresolute till he had moved some yards and then they followed. Half a dozen did the same by these, and next, as if moved by one impulse, like a rolling tide upon the shore the whole mass moved after them.

      In a trice the furniture and fittings of the house were wrecked as cleanly as if gunpowder had been used, and a huge bonfire was kindled in front to consume the splinters. The glare of the fire cast a lurid gleam upon the faces of the inner sea of folk while it threw fitful shadows upon those behind. Something in that glare working in the brains of one or two on the outer edge of the circle, suggested a greater thing, and they stole cautiously away again towards the farm buildings, unobserved by the many.

      A minute later and the shadows behind were suddenly borne backwards and dispersed. What was that? the faces nearest turned to see. Oho! a long thin tongue of flame was shooting up the side of one of the ricks.

      A sudden silence fell over all, broken only by the crackling of the old blaze and the hissing of the new, and men stood still while one might count a score. Slowly the flame broadened and increased, leaping higher and wider, catching from rick to rick and barn to building. Then at last, when it was seen that the fire was fairly caught, one mighty din of delight went up that told of ferocious satisfaction with the sight.

      And southward, beyond the town, the sudden glare that lit the sky above and the grey road beneath made the fugitives turn half round in the saddle, and drew from one of them such a torrent of wild blasphemy as made the other put up his hands to stop his ears.

---

CHAPTER XXIV.
PREPARING FOR THE TRIAL.

IT was the day before the opening of the trial, and in the assize town were gathered most of the persons concerned in this history. At the largest inn of the place, that trio of gentry, Will Addis, Jacob Shop, and Evan Bowen, had taken up their quarters pending the conclusion of their business, and just now they were going over, for the last time, the plan of proceedings and the line of evidence for the morrow.

      Since the day of his flight the Freeholder of Mynachty had gone about in a more ferocious mood than ever, and indeed the loss of substance resulting from that night's work might well have soured a temper sweeter than his had ever been reckoned. Fortunately for him, the harvest being a late one, the year's crops had not suffered beyond an odd stack or two of hay, but all the remnant of last year's was gone in company with the outbuildings and the great barns; as also most of the gear necessary for the working of the farm. In addition to all this the wrecking of the house came into the account, and when the whole was totalled it worked out to something enough to stagger the sufferer. Especially when, to the boot of that total, Evan Bowen's little bill had to be looked at and the smooth voice listened to in which he deprecatingly commiserated with the other upon its formidable bottom line, remarking in conclusion, with eyes that first looked archly from under lifted brows and then glittered suggestively beneath half closed lids, — "And indeed, my dear Mynachty, you really deserve to have the pleasure of seeing your friend Hawys hung, after the sum you are like to pay in trying for it."

      Now this new bill was one the Uchelwr had not thought of at all heretofore and when it was presented first, an hour or two ago, his earliest thought was to tell its presenter that he would see him hung first before he paid it. A moment's reflection, however, aided by a few hints from the attorney, convinced him to the contrary. In the first place he could not get back the money spent so far in the hunting of Tom Hawys, and neither could he recover all that the mob had destroyed. The only possible set off to either must come in the form of revenge, and for the obtaining of that he was now in the power of this "rascally lawyer," as he termed the solicitor to himself. Therefore he must perforce accept this new item, adding it to the heavy score against Tom Hawys, and being the more unsparing in his efforts at revenge.

      For it must be understood that, since finding the punishment of hanging had been abolished so far as it applied to the crime of sheepstealing, he had regarded his second effort as a rather greater failure than the first. The judge might give sentence of fourteen or twenty years and then there was the possibility of the fellow's dying before its expiration; whereas he had reckoned of late, and since his own illness, upon first bringing him to the gallows, and afterwards his wife to something worse. Moreover, looking back at his visit to Havod y Garreg upon the day of Tom's arrest, he had been very uneasy. "He must have been drunk," he said to himself bitterly, to have so jeopardised his case as to give Gwennie such a damning tale to relate against him, and he only wondered that it had not gone abroad yet. He could not understand the woman's feeling in such a matter.

      Nevertheless he had prepared a very pretty explanation of that visit, even to the rehearsing of the virtuous indignation with which, in the witness box, he would burst forth to refute the wife's story when once its full significance should have been borne in upon his incredulous innocence. After the first lesson anent the notice to quit he had taken as his motto, — "Thorough."

      But after paying the bill with as good a grace as might be, and mentally deciding during the operation that Jacob Shop should bear the loss, — Evan Bowen almost reconciled him to the parting by detailing the beautiful lift which the story of the riot, properly put, would give to the evidence on their side. The times were pretty shaky in England itself, where the judge came from, and agriculture was suffering from a labour spasm induced by a demagogue attack. These were the days of Rebecca and Rebecca had done this. What could be plainer, or easier of proof, than that this wrecking and burning was the result of the influence of this tenant farmer Hawys, who had been so often heard inveighing against the powers of landlords? Why, it proved itself! First there came the matter of his having refused to quit when his original notice expired, — here the attorney looked very straight at his hearer, who, in turn, nodded vigorously, — and then, his natural bias to revolutionary doctrines having by that miscarriage of justice been enhanced and exaggerated, he immediately became more violent than ever against the landlords. Of course his own landlord would naturally be the most immediate object of his machinations and when, recognizing that the law would enforce this second notice, he had arranged to bring his own stock to the hammer, he had taken the opportunity and attempted to gratify his constitutional hatred by stealing some of that landlord's sheep and selling them as his own.

      There again, by the way, he had doubtless only sold his own stock in order that with the gold safely in his pocket, — and thus easily portable, — he might in a more unfettered manner resist eviction when the time came, or, pushing that resistance to extremity, be less encumbered in flying from the consequences of it. Thereafter, upon his own arrest and incarceration, the result of his pernicious doctrines came at once to the front, when the believers in his theories met together in great numbers, using the folly of an eisteddfod as an excuse, and speedily brought their fermenting to bursting forth into all manner of excess; including an eagerness, providentially defeated, to commit murder.

      For a full minute after this enchanting work of art had been unfolded the Freeholder sat in contemplative admiration of the other. Then his commentary came out in whole souled simplicity, —

      "Well — I — will — be — d—d!"

      The solicitor nodded.

      "Shake hands," went on the other, holding out his palm, "I thought Jacob Shop was the handsomest liar I ever heard, but he can't pick out the words for you to put together even. After that, shake!"

      They shook. Evan Bowen felt a touch of professional pride in this tribute to his legal skill. Moreover, since that cycle of nightmare spent behind his attic partition he had a personal feeling in the matter of the man in jail.

      Then Jacob Shop was brought in and no sooner was the thing explained to him than he at once volunteered many details of Tom Hawys' topsy-turvy teachings, with several of the texts upon which he had expounded, and they all laughed gleefully as the evidence accumulated. Next Reuben Ploughman was sent for. He had a soul that felt keenly when a fellow creature got into a fix, you could see it plainly from the twinkle of his eye, and he supplemented what Jacob Shop knew with various veracities which he didn't know, — and altogether they were getting on swimmingly.

      Afterwards came Siencyn Bach, who had a limp in his off leg and a scar across the knee cap to assist his natural benevolence. He feathered out the tale beautifully, reading it in the eyes of the others, with a hint here and there to prompt him when his memory failed him. The fun was become fast and furious, for the two last seemed to take to it like ducks to water. In fact, quite as if they had been brothers to Shop or the Freeholder, — or even sons to Evan Bowen.

      Megan Wills must have foreseen this moment when, long ago, she explained to the master of Mynachty that his roof covered the essence of all the villainy in four cantrevs.

      It was the old proverb, "like master, like man."

      So pleased was the Freeholder with it all, and especially with the happy thought of robbing Peter to pay Paul, — that is to say, cheating Jacob Shop, who would not dare to kick, in order to use the money which should have paid for Havod y Garreg in paying the lawyer, — that he ordered a dinner for the whole of them, with copious appetizers to prepare the way and copious digestives to follow. They made a merry party; and a merry evening they spent of it.

      That same day, Owen Bevan, who, with his company, had taken up quarters at the inn which showed most pretence of rivalling the Freeholder's, managed, before the day had worn to noon, to procure for Gwennie an interview with her husband in the jail, such an interview as is accorded by law and ranks scantly better than none. The expectancy of the visitor and the visited, and the realization that staggers both, need not here be dilated upon; suffice it to say that the presence of the warder alone would have prevented Gwennie making that communication to which she had looked forward, namely, the story of Mynachty's visit to the Havod, When the heartsickening abortion of an interview reached its time limit and she was forced to leave, her misery was extreme. Outside her mother awaited her, together with the wife of Owen Bevan, and it needed the tenderest attentions of both to get her safely back to the inn again.

      Pleading the illness which was no stereotyped fiction she retired at once to her room and, locking herself in, gave the rein to her misery and wretchedness. But even through that she was haunted by the feeling that someway her husband ought to know what had occurred. And yet, how was she to communicate with him after this failure? In the midst of her dilemma the lawyer interrupted her tortures by sending for her to come down; he wished to satisfy himself upon some points of the case and to put a few unimportant questions.

      Something in her bearing struck him as peculiar as he asked her if there were anything she would like to add, or any new knowledge she wished to impart concerning the case. "Is it about Mynachty?" he concluded kindly.

      "Yes, it is; but I can't tell you. I wanted to tell my husband but I couldn't get the chance, — it's about that day he came up to Havod y Garreg," she answered bursting into tears.

      The lawyer did not waste time but slipped out at once to find his wife. She was in the next room. "Wife," said he, "will you just go in to Tom's wife and ask her what it is that is troubling her? Be gentle; I think it is something we ought to know to-morrow."

      "As if I should be anything but gentle with her!" returned that good lady scornfully as she swept out to obey.

      Thus, she being as kind of heart as her husband, it was not long till Gwennie had told over to her, — with many a pause and many a hesitance, her cheeks aflame the while and her lips alternately curling and quivering in indignation or hurt shame, the tale of Mynachty's foul proposal. What the lawyer's wife said was both hot and strong and there was plenty of it. But she was prompt also to see the importance of putting her husband into possession of the facts at once. Therefore, leaving Gwennie again alone, she returned to the next room without loss of time to recapitulate the facts she had just heard.

      His comment upon it all cannot be set down. But having relieved himself his next move was to despatch his wife to ask a question or two of Gwennie elucidative of the story and, getting the answer, to jot down the whole on paper; together with a suggestion or two as to the line of cross-examination to be followed to-morrow in court. This done, he took his hat and writing materials, reached for his stick, and departed prisonwards for his final interview with the accused man; preparatory to a brief colloquy with counsel by himself retained for that man's benefit.

      A solicitor's interview with his client is a much more satisfactory affair than that of a friend or relative with the same man, so far as the real ends of both are concerned.

      But when this solicitor was ushered into his client's cell he was very thankful, in view of what he had to impart to its inmate, to note the thickness of the doors and the stoutness of its bolts and locks, which might be trusted to prevent Tom from attempting murder upon the prison staff with a view to clearing the way to his enemy outside. Nevertheless he required to clear his throat and cough a good many times before he could bring himself to the point. Then of a sudden the thing struck him in a new light and he smacked his palm with his clenched fist and gave vent to a round oath of delight.

      The way was easy.

      "Tom! We've fairly won at last. We've heard to-day the thing that puts the extinguisher completely upon their schemes."

      The prisoner, however, did not seem to rise at this promising asseveration. On the night first after his commitment he had slipped straight into the Place Below; revelling grimly in rebellion against all things in heaven and earth. But, with the physical as well as mental reaction which of necessity followed, the knowledge of his innocence came to the front, influencing him as such a knowledge does influence men whose ignorance imagines that justice and the law are of near kin and have common aims. With each new day this returning confidence had strengthened till he had ceased to doubt his ultimate acquittal, and had come to spending the daylight in plotting his revenge and the darkness in dreaming of it. Therefore he showed no emotion at hearing the lawyer's words and merely answered them with a languid, — "Ah! So?"

      The lawyer felt a cold shock, but he set to work at once to try to pump up enthusiasm in the prisoner. He dilated upon the triumph of that thrilling moment to-morrow, when, a breathless court hanging upon counsel's words, one single little question should utterly shatter Mynachty's case. He pictured the rage of the Freeholder; the fear of Jacob Shop, and he double pictured and fairly gloated over the furious mortification of Evan Bowen.

      Still the prisoner remained as unsympathetic as before, and with a sinking spirit the speaker plunged on. He detailed the stern censure of the judge and struck each note on the way down till he even gave the pompous and proper scorn with which the usher and his fellows would wither the defeated ones. And the prisoner listened and said again, —

      "Ah! So!"

      In desperation the lawyer became sarcastic.

      "I suppose it wouldn't interest you to know what that question is?"

      "What is it?"

      "It is," replied the other with emphasis, and rising to mimic in voice and manner the counsel who was to put it on the morrow," It is. And now Mr. Addis, will you kindly tell the court what proposal you made to Mrs. Hawys when you climbed up to Havod y Garreg an hour or two after her husband's arrest?"

      But he was sorry almost before he had half finished and still more so when the prisoner said, in a whisper more distinct than a shout, — "Go on — the proposal?"

      "All right Tom; it's nothing much; sit down Tom —"

      The man came a step nearer. "Never mind the extra words, Owen; give me the plain devil's truth of it."

      The lawyer sat down feebly and the prisoner stood over him till he quite realized what the thing was which the other was saying.

      Then he stood up and translated the lawyer's vague, palliative descriptives into their naked meaning and the half dozen words or so which he used made the listener shrink from their raw edges, they cut in like sword strokes. For the next few minutes one of the two sat and held his breath or drew it in catches while he watched the dark fire of the other's eyes and noted the terrible grip of the lips over the shut teeth, with the stationary frame that seemed to quiver in the tenseness of its rigidity. Then, with a sigh of relief, he followed him with his eyes as he moved in sudden stride to come under the barred window-slit, where the western sun struggled dimly in, the sun that belonged to the freedom that lay outside those walls; the freedom which only was lacking for the swift avenging of this deadly dishonour. So terrible was this new hurt to the caged man and so just did he conceive his anger that he turned from the pagan gods of the mountains to the great God over all and, clutching the bars before him with a grip that made his hands white, he prayed to the eye of the sun.

      "Oh God! God of the scales! loose me from these four walls. Let me be free just once and long enough and I will welcome any punishment with which thereafter Thou mayest afflict me. Grant me but this, Almighty God! but this!"

      It seemed as though he were awaiting some answering sign, so still he leaned by the bars and so steadfastly he looked out. So still and steadfast that Owen Bevan felt grateful for the clang of the turnkey's step along the corridor outside and the sliding of the little eye wicket in the door as he looked in.

      "All right! I shall soon be finished now," he cried to the face at the door with as unconcerned a voice as he could command.

      The speech roused the prisoner and he turned, just as the wicket closed and the one outside moved away. "Is there anything more, Owen?" he said in a tired tone.

      "I think not," returned the solicitor, not reminding Tom that this thing was the point upon which he chiefly relied to win their case. A few generalities about the procedure of to-morrow followed and then, with a foreboding which he could not outwrestle, Owen Bevan took his departure, shaking hands with the man he left as if, in the words of his own after soliloquy, he had been shaking hands with one dying.

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CHAPTER XXV.
THE "TRIAL!"

THE court house wherein the trial was to take place was a very good model of what such a place ought not to be. Low, stuffy, dark and ancient; it was a fit precursor of the prison to which so many poor mortals came by way of its portals. The bench room itself was hardly large enough to accommodate the indispensable representatives of the law, much less spectators. Nevertheless the kind offices of Owen Bevan sufficed to procure for Gwennie a seat in one corner, whence she might catch a glimpse of her husband as he stood in the dock. For this was the day of the trial and in spite of the feeling of illness, so strong since yesterday, she made shift to attend. One disadvantage which hitherto had not occurred either to her husband or to herself in its full strength, lay in the fact that they were Welsh and spoke Welsh only. For successive governments, out of the prodigal wealth of their wisdom, always follow the law of Henry VIII. and appoint that legal and other official proceedings in Wales shall be not only conducted in English, but by Englishmen for the more part; in which respect the western land is so much worse off than a conquered and subject country of to-day. Had it consisted of a mile square island in mid-ocean, with a population of some hundred or two of niggers, — cannibals for choice, — owning a collective wardrobe of as many suits of shark tooth tattooing, with an old top hat in addition by way of regalia for the chief; then every official whose duties took him within sight of it would be required to pass a stiff examination in their language and about a dozen allied dialects to boot. So with some God-forsaken, forest-shut-valley in the Himalayan foothills, or fever stricken swamp of the African coast; but not for Wales.

      True, some hundreds of years ago, it was provided that an interpreter should attend all trials, and pocket his fees for the cumbersome help of his tongue. And apparently that provision exhausted the sagacity of Londonbury in relation to the point.

      To resume. When the prisoner was led in, Owen Bevan was struck by the change in his appearance since yesterday, but he put it down to lack of sleep consequent upon the news then imparted. Soon the case began and Thomas Jones was called upon to plead.

      That preliminary being in English of course he did not understand a word of it, but he looked keenly from one to the other as though he would catch the meaning of what was said in men's faces. It was the name of Jones that put him on the alert for, since his appearance before Clifford Brown-Rice, Esq., at Cildeg, he had never forgotten that his name was not Tom Hawys but Thomas Jones; though that was no comfort to him.

      Then the eminent barrister retained for the defence leaned across and spoke to Tom. He forgot, however his instructions to the effect that his client understood no English, and was therefore proportionately taken aback by the answering "Yes Sir" which, to fit the observation, ought to have been "No Sir!" For the prisoner, fearing that he was to be tried and sentenced with nothing said on his behalf, came out with the words he had heard most often in prison when one official answered another. Thereupon Owen Bevan, ignoring all rule and decorum in his consternation, cried out an explanation in Welsh, which Tom promptly answered, — for which crime the judge made a note against him, while at the same time making some few remarks to the unlucky solicitor which had the result of convincing that gentleman that he should be much happier dead.

      By this time the eminent barrister remembered and began to explain, but the judge was properly severe upon him as one who lent himself to a reprehensible attempt to hoodwink the bench.

      "He (the judge) did not believe Welsh people in court when they avowed their inability to speak the English language.^* He had come to the conclusion that it was generally a deliberate attempt to delay the proceedings and befog the court. Now this prisoner could speak English quite well enough for all practical purposes, as witness his answer when spoken to by his counsel. Therefore this case would be continued in English."

* These words were used in a Welsh court by an eminent English judge about the time this story was first written — since 1890. And this does not allude to the latest exhibitions of the same spirit.

      The attempted interference of the solicitor, who talked rapidly to counsel, only confirmed this decision, and accordingly when, after the usual preliminaries, the first witness was called, it was in English, —

      "Mr. William Addis!"

      But here disaster very nearly attended the use of the superior tongue, for the Freeholder had not heard his English name often enough to remember it at all times, and it was only by the assistance of the very vigorous context, which a moment of delay extracted from the official, that he woke up to the fact of who he was.

      Once safely in the box however, he managed to deliver himself of a very pretty story, and one which evidently pleased the judge immensely. But when he stepped down he was very careful not to look towards the dock.

      Then Jacob Shop was called, but he knew his own name well, — it was just the sort of knowledge which a mean, dirty little sniveller like him would have at his finger's ends, — and he stepped forward with an alacrity which quite disgusted the caller, leaving as he did, no chance for vituperation, and reducing him to simply saying that if every man had his due it would be the dock he'd be in, and not the box he was so eager to reach for the purpose of swearing a man's life away. And the obvious randomness of the speech did not prevent the draper from turning grey and half drawing back, till he saw that the door was opening and the official was damning him unconcernedly. He pulled himself together and marched.

      This witness' acquaintance with the English tongue was much less extensive than that of the former. Still, by the help of counsel and the benignity of the judge he got through at last in passable fashion.

      Neither did he look towards the dock as he went; though the prisoner seemed to regard him only with contempt.

      Thereafter followed Reuben Ploughman, so cited verbally, and, to the tail of him, Siencyn Bach, ditto. These required an interpreter naturally, pronounced the judge, with condescending blandness, since it was not to be expected that persons in their station of life would possess an English education. Therefore, and immediately the thing was done.

      Following these came Huw Auctioneer, subpœned by the prosecution to prove the sale, and his English, though it smacked of fair and market, and was more inclined to be forcible than polite, was yet good enough to make counsel nervous. Notwithstanding which, he did not please the judge at all; being evidently too firm a believer in the prisoner's innocence, and more than hinting his suspicions of the preceding witnesses.

      The statements of the constables having been taken, the evidence for the prosecution closed, — evidence of which the prisoner had only understood that portion tendered by the third and fourth witnesses, apparently believed by him to be two sudden lunatics. A very diverting and proper trial so far, — for such a case.

      There was only one witness of any importance for the defence, Sion Cradoc, and he made a mess of it at once by requiring the services of the court interpreter from the start. The judge very rightly took it that he was being defied after what he had said at the opening of the case, — Reuben Ploughman and Siencyn Bach not counting apparently; being labourers as against this young man's position as the son of a tenant farmer! — and his very natural anger grew all the greater when it was found that no amount of skill could extract the faintest indication of acquaintance with English from this witness. Such a man was, prima facie, a rogue, and there could be no shadow of a doubt that his story was a wicked perjury from beginning to end.

      Moreover, as soon as it was finished, the judge came down at once upon the gentleman for the prosecution. "How was it, he should really like to know, that this witness had not been indicted as a partner in the crime?"

      This question put such a new complexion upon the case as threw the whole court into confusion, during which a hint from Owen Bevan, and a little show of officiousness, put Sion in the way of slipping out of the hands of those nearest to him, and showing a clean pair of heels to the fat usher and constable who would have detained him.

      By the time the argument was settled the cause of it was beyond immediate pursuit and therefore counsel stood up to cross-examine the witnesses. That is to say, counsel for the defence did so; counsel for the prosecution having none to operate upon.

      The cross-examining counsel was in possession of the whole history of the facts bearing upon the case, from the day Tom first overtook Gwennie on the road to market, down to the time of speaking. He came very near upsetting the Freeholder right on the start. Was in not a fact that he, William Addis, had been caught by the prisoner insulting the beautiful girl with whom he was in love, — and whom, in fact, he afterwards married, and that he, Addis again, thereupon attacked him and, after getting the worst of the encounter, did he not, in a most contemptible and cowardly manner, come behind the prisoner with a great stone and, in attempting therewith to commit murder, cause the scar now visible upon the forehead of the aforesaid prisoner?

      The witness turned green, but his eminent counsel was a hawk and promptly covered his client by an objection. He had been expecting to hear that ridiculous and unfounded calumny brought forward, — a tissue of lies, — a farrago of absurdities, and he must most strongly object to such a thing being brought in; this was a case of sheep-stealing not of wife-stealing.

      The judge here interposed. "Could counsel for the defence bring any witnesses to prove this new story?".

      "No! because the only witness was now the wife of the prisoner."

      "And as such is barred from giving evidence. Really, Mr. Curliwig, I must caution you against the course you are pursuing. A very pretty story truly, very! I must certainly uphold the objection." He was most sarcastic.

      Counsel got very low in the mouth at this, and perhaps did not make so good a fight of it for the rest of the case as he otherwise might have done, yet still he girded himself up towards the end for that crowning question anent the visit to Havod y Garreg.

      But by this time the Freeholder had gotten himself in hand in expectation of its coming, and, encouraged by the fatherly countenance of the luminary upon the bench, he quite eclipsed all his rehearsals in the way he exploded at the bare insinuation. Upon which the lines of the mouth of the presiding genius grew very stern and he looked hard at the cross-examining counsel, while Owen Bevan swore in his throat and was glad the prisoner spoke no English, neither understood it.

      Thereafter the eminent barrister sat down and in due time the judge proceeded to sum up. One could see that he intended something that should be remembered. And it was; though he sat fated to have a larger knowledge upon this point one day in the future.

---

CHAPTER XXVI.
"VERDICT."

THE summing up was a marvel of judicial brilliance. We give a digest of it.

      "This was really a most extraordinary case; he had not often known one so much so, or one in which the point was plainer. He would not revert to the barefaced attempt to browbeat the court with which it opened, but would merely mention that the prisoner's words in the matter of pleading could leave very little doubt in the mind of any impartial hearer.

      "Now in weighing the probabilities of the case they must bear in mind that the prosecutor was a man of education, — as witness his command of the English language, — and of a high standing in the community of his native place; a freeholder of large property and long descent, while the defendant was an ignorant tenant farmer.

      "The prosecutor, wishing to increase his agricultural dealings, and at the same time to benefit his country by the breeding of high class sheep, had purchased the prisoner's holding from his then landlord, — a worthy tradesman in the town, whose evidence and straightforward appearance when in the witness box must have favourably impressed them, — stipulating that the tenant was to receive notice to quit that next rent day, in order that he, the purchaser, might have clear possession in a year's time. Through a clerical error this notice had been evaded by the tenant and the evasion condoned by the new landlord, who at once dropped the eviction proceedings, not wishing to be severe in his dealings with another. Yet, in spite of this clemency, there was ample evidence to prove that the prisoner went about threatening vengeance; vengeance that should not stop short of the shedding of blood; in fact clearly pointing to murder as its goal.

      "So much impressed was the prosecutor by the prisoner's carriage in this matter, that when, after a long and painful convalescence, following upon a severe and dangerous accident, he was enabled once more to get out, he felt constrained to provide for his safety by going about attended by a ferocious dog and armed with a loaded gun, — a very reprehensible practice, by the way, and one which must be discontinued for the future.

      "Then there was indubitable evidence, — evidence moreover which the defence had not even endeavoured to controvert, that the prisoner, in announcing by poster the sale of his few head of stock, while giving the numbers of the cattle and the rest, carefully refrained from specifying the total of the sheep, thus clearly showing premeditation and plainly indicating the direction in which dishonesty was to be practiced.

      "Next came the fact that when the prisoner was first acquainted with the charge against him, he immediately sought to assault the purchaser of the purloined animals, — none other than his former landlord, and when that person's clever escape frustrated his nefarious design, he became extremely violent. So much so, that, while in the hands of the constables, he threatened, in the hearing of all men, and using fanciful words in emphasizing his intent, to murder the person from whom he had stolen. Indeed, so furious did he become, that, when the prosecutor, having just discovered his loss, came unsuspectingly upon the scene to lodge an information with the police, he was at once set upon in a shockingly savage and brutal manner, so that it required the utmost efforts of the four constables, aided by the bystanders, to prevent a wanton murder.

      "Counsel for the defence had dwelt upon the prisoner's assertion as to his having marked and driven down from his holding the exact number announced at the commencement of the sale, and further, had followed that up by an entirely unsupported accusation against the plaintiff of having superficially marked seven of his own sheep with the prisoner's mark and of afterwards substituting them in the dead of night for a like number of the prisoner's flock. But he might at once dismiss that most preposterous story by asking, — 'why had not the seven animals abstracted been found and produced?' Surely if they existed at all outside the imagination of the defence, that existence could be traced and proved.

      "And here he might pause to remark that it was a monstrous thing to abuse the privilege of court proceedings in order to accuse a gentleman of such a depth of depravity as was here implied, upon no evidence at all beyond the bare suggestion of a man in the prisoner's position.

      "To resume. So far he had been dealing with the bare indications of the case; let them look now at motives. In the first place, take what had been advanced as the well-spring of it all by the defence. Had they ever heard such a lame and impotent explanation, — he would not say such a cock and bull story, — put forward under like circumstances? It was little short of scandalous for counsel to say, as had been said, that the purchase of the farm was made solely for the purposes of revenge; revenge for a cross in love, and that the first notice to quit had been a concerted attempt to do an unjust thing. What were the times coming to when they had to sit in court and listen to such assertions? But the worst feature of the whole case came last and thus, —

      "When the prosecutor, after recovering from the brutal illusage sustained at the hands of the prisoner, mounted, and, in spite of his injuries, rode up to Havod in order to offer grace to the prisoner's wife, promising that if the other sheep which he had also missed were found and returned, even under cover of darkness in the same way as removed, he would forbear to prosecute her husband and would even assist him to emigrate if he so chose to avoid disgrace, — after all this it was utterly disheartening to have his motives belied and bestial immorality imputed, such as would have disgraced the lowest scoundrel that breathed. But such an imputation overreached itself and could not but react most disastrously upon the imputers.

      "Thus far the defence, and now on the other side. Here, upon comparison they could not fail to be struck with the strength and straightforwardness of the theory of the prosecution, coming home as it did to every true and law-abiding citizen. It touched the maintenance of the British constitution and that nearly. They had all heard, and doubtless execrated, the pernicious teachings and dangerous doctrines with which the country was being honeycombed and eaten up. Revolutionary emissaries and demagogues were abroad in every agricultural district throughout the length and breadth of the land, while the towns were simply seething hives of panacea promoters; the said panaceas being all planned upon a foundation of presupposed anarchy. Knowing all this and trembling as all true patriots must for the future of their country; the facts attested before them this day would appeal with peculiar force to them. Before them stood a man whose whole strength had been directed to the assailing of the rights of property in their very foundation, namely, the indefeasible right of the owner of the soil to do what he would with his own.

      "Notwithstanding that his former landlord, in selling the land, had stipulated that the tenant should be no worse off, but rather better, for the transaction; and further in spite of the clemency shown him and the generous offers made him of assisting him to some new and superior farm, — as detailed in the witness box, — this man had, in defiance of common honesty, proceeded to plot mischief against his would be benefactor, and to spread malicious libels tending to bring his new landlord into utter abhorrence. Such most reprehensible attemptings, continuing unchecked through the mistaken forbearance of their object, could only be expected to culminate in a practising of the wild doctrines previously only preached by the prisoner, who, most probably to mark his resentment at the notice to quit, no doubt committed, — if he did commit, — the crime of which he stood charged, as a concrete example to others; aggravating it by attempted murder. Of course, as to the theft, there might be a doubt in their minds and, if so, they were reasonably bound to give the prisoner the benefit of it, but at the same time he must say that there was little, if any, in his.

      "But all the indications pointed to the prisoner's being a local disseminator of seditious principles; a leader of Rebeccaites, a probability which became almost a certainty in the light of events occurring shortly after his committal for trial at the hands of the magistrate of his native place, — which magistrate, by the way, the prisoner had most grossly insulted. He alluded, of course, to the deplorable and disgraceful proceedings upon the occasion of the eisteddfod, ending in the ferocious rioting and arson of the same night. Upon that night, as they had heard so graphically described, the prosecutor, a gentleman farming his own estate, was forced to flee for his life before a demoniacal rabble of labourers and tenant farmers, who hunted him as though he had been a mad dog, and who, when foiled in their blood-thirsty desire of capturing him, appeased their rage by wrecking his house and burning his farm-buildings; inflicting thereby a ruinous loss upon an innocent and much maligned man.

      "And for these gatherings, — Eisteddfoddau, Cymorthau, and what not, — whatever Welshmen might say about their intellectual aims and their ends of mutual assistance, they were well known to be mere vehicles of popular agitation. And history amply corroborated this view, since, as far back as the year 1400 or thereabouts, one of the first acts of one of the first Parliaments of Henry IV. sternly prohibited all such gatherings; penalizing them; for the reason that they were simply intended for, and used as, a means of spreading disaffection. That the same held substantially true to-day, in regard to the correctness of that ancient condemnation, was well proved by an examination of the occasion in review. There they had the popular gathering, shunned by the gentry and crowded by the lower classes, and to it there came the wife of a man in prison calling upon them to deliver him; with what result they all knew. So much for the plea that the riot had been a spontaneous outbreak, brought about by the presence of an unpopular person. And here it became a question, whether or not this woman should have been placed in the dock after her husband, for inciting to tumult? But leaving that, another strange feature of the case lay in the unexplainable oversight of the prosecution in failing to indict the accomplice of the one charge, and the effrontery of the defence in bringing that accomplice forward as a witness upon whose testimony they relied. The one was a set-off to the other in that respect, however, and both served to show that the practice of the law was fallible, in spite of the ostensible perfection to which long use and the experience of centuries had brought it.

      "Bearing all these painful things in mind, there could hardly be a question that the prisoner was a source of contamination and disorder, and it now remained for the jury to say whether he should continue to exercise his baleful influence unchecked, or whether society was to be protected from the machinations of sedition in the person of this man?"

      When this lucid and learned discourse ended there came a short interval while the jury retired to consider their verdict, and the spectators considered the judge. Mercifully, the two chief persons concerned understood nothing, and therefore only considered each other.

      And Evan Bowen smiled darkly, while Owen Bevan swore dumbly and wondered if this really were the trial or only a nightmare.

      The interval was not of sufficient duration for the various folk to tire of their respective occupations, and it seemed as though the foreman could hardly have had time to put the query before he was back again with his company and glibly informing the clerk that the prisoner was, —

      "Guilty!"

      The judge became impressive at once and put a good deal of feeling into his voice as he proceeded to inform the prisoner, — in a language that prisoner did not understand, — that he had been found guilty, and that, having regard to the threats and attempted murder which had accompanied and aggravated the offence, he, the speaker, should not consider himself to be doing his duty to society at large if he sentenced him to less than seven years penal servitude. The sentence of the court would therefore be that he be kept in penal servitude for the space of seven years.

      Which cheerful information seemed utterly lost upon the prisoner as he was removed, but if the judge could have seen him a few minutes later, when, in the cell, he asked the turnkey in dumb show what the result was, perhaps he would have felt amply satisfied for the outrage to his dignity. But after all we have the word of the judge himself from the bench that "the practice of the law is fallible."

[THE END OF BOOK II.]

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CHAPTER XXVII.
HOMECOMING.

PASS we now over the seven years of the sentence and come again to the scene of the introduction to our story, — Havod y Garreg in ruins.

      The gate of the lower croft still kept its post, though its weather beaten bars were useless now in presence of the yawning gaps in every fence wall of the place. The crofts were crowded with trespassing sheep, and the kitchen garden was become the home of rabbits and poisonous snakes. The ash tree was gone and with it the bench that ringed it. The door of the shippon was open, sagging upon one hinge, though the roof of it was still comparatively whole. But in the house itself the desolation was most marked. The door of that was fast; the window sashes gone and the roof entirely lacking, not taken off by hand of workman, the appearances forbade that assumption, for the eaves were still cumbered all round by ends of rafters and lath splinters holding slate fragments, while over all the roof tree, originally running the whole length of the building, now showed a shattered end projecting some three or four feet from the cross wall and ceasing above where the deserted hearth might be presumed to lie, — for we cannot open the door.

      In itself it was a pitiful sight: more pitiful far by contrast with the surrounding scenery. Let us look at that.

      The autumn day was waning. From here the distant glimpse of the vale of Cildeg was obscured by the soft haze which veiled even the nearer depth of the valley, while, southward, blue and beautiful across the vision lay the long line of Drumhir. Yonder to the east the rounded mass of Moel y Gaer flashed like the outpost of some enchanted land as the play of the tempered sunlight lit it through the silvery curtain. Westward the pinnacles of Aran y Ddinas floated dreamily in the sky, their sapphire outlines dimly distinguishable against the mellow primrose of the lift beyond. Behind us, to the north, the near crest line of the Cefn Du, upon which we stand, shut out with its orange and purple the dark frown of Y Garnedd. All round was beautiful; beautiful as only the handiwork of God is beautiful, and Havod y Garreg was its foil, — the handiwork of man.

      In the ivy of the great rock the daws had kept possession through the desolate years that had fallen, and to-day they were sleepily calling to each other as they watched the busy sheep absorbed in cropping the green crofts with none to make them afraid.

      Peace! Peace of ineffable tenderness, hovered over all with brooding wing, like a shepherd spirit from Eden comforting the wistful earth with croonings of the past. Ah earth! tired earth and backward-yearning mother! dreaming with aching heart of that first Paradise, how often do its tear washed gates still through their crystal bars and lucent panels flash, ever and anon, faint reflexes of that lost happiness, which fall, gently as echoes sweet of heaven's own Sabbath bells, on some sore spot of thee to hush and balm the weary throbbing of thine endless pain!

      But suddenly up from the valley winged a complaining scout of the daws. At once the grey headed sentinel sounded a sharp note of warning, and out from the shadows flew the expostulating tribe, wheeling round and round in interlacing circles of clamorous indignation. Next the sheep in the lower croft raised their heads and saw something. Stock still they stood for an instant regarding it, and then, with stamps and whistling snorts, bolted away up the mountain side, followed by a rush from every other croft in succession.

      The sight was certainly unusual, — by the lower gate a man was standing; a man with his black hair streaked with iron-grey, and a hard and stubborn expression upon his features. For a moment he remained thus, gazing at the prospect before him. Then the keen eyes dilated; the dark face grew livid; the seamed hands flung out and clutched the top of the wall, while the trembling lips seemed to mutter incoherently.

      Presently the figure straightened up again and the man, with feet that seemed heavy with years of sorrow, advanced by unsteady strides till he reached the rootstump, which was all that remained of the ash tree, and sank wearily upon it. Then his head fell upon his breast; the two hands drew the battered hat down over the quivering face and great sobs shook the whole frame.

      Long time he sat thus, even after the sobs had ceased, while the daws chattered and flew above his head and the sheep paused to scan him on their way back to the crofts.

      When at length he lifted his head to look round him, the flaming sun was just cutting its disc against the sharp edges of Aran, bulking in deepest indigo the silhouette of the mountain's majestic mass. Rising at the sight of it, with movements that betokened utter weariness, he walked to the door and tried to open it. It was fast and after a few futile attempts he stepped aside and surveyed the ruin quietly. Next, slowly as before, he went round the whole building and into the cattle end. Thence, sadly as ever, he continued moving, going from point to point to look into each separate enclosure in turn.

      At the first gap in the fence wall he stopped and began to repair it feverishly, till, recollection seeming suddenly to come upon him, he dropped his hands to his side and staggered back. Then on again with laggard steps he went, pausing often to take in the full significance of it all, and ever and anon to smite his forehead with loose hand as some new pang struck him. Through every croft he went, with wistful eyes that still seemed to twitch in hot pain, until he came to the lower gate and from it looked, in the old familiar fashion, as if seeking something in the valley below. But the pain was sharper there and, with a half-groan, he made once more for the ash root.

      Standing beside that he turned his gaze upon the door, thoughtfully regarding it for a little while. Seemingly decided at last, he stepped up to it and, making a short upward leap, caught the broken eaves of the house with his outstretched hands. A minute later and he had clambered over and was down on the inside, standing on the grass grown hearth. But the thing that arrested his attention was that which grew bushy before him; a single sapling ash.

      Not straight and lusty as such grow free in the forest, but with an enemy clutching at its throat and strangling it, where, accompanying it from the root, rose the tough and twisted stem of a honeysuckle. From the floor to the tangled crown was barely more than five feet, but the struggle had begun years ago and about half way up. At that point the honeysuckle had wound itself firmly round and round its supporter till its highest tendril reached the topmost bud of the ash. Then the Storm King in derision hurled down a sharp slate from the barn roof and cut the tops off both.

      The combat deepened as the next spring opened. Every new limb that tried to push its way from the maimed crown of the sapling was seized and dragged down by the relentless tendrils of the parasite. The rushing wind of the south west whirled down upon them through the open roof and swung the creeper to and fro till its tough stem abraded the smooth bark round which it clung. It ate into the wood beneath, tightening its grip ever more and more and all the while dragging down and smothering the struggling branches above, until the ash, its life sap exhausted in repairing that snaky wound, grew stunted and fantastically evil of aspect.

      Year after year the contest continued, till the effort to heal the abrasion resulted in a gnarled and twisted upper trunk three times as thick as the base. Winter after winter maimed with flying slates the weakly branches of the crown, till the upper half of the twisted portion was studded with spiky protuberances.

      Thus had the silent tragedy drawn on till the coming of this man, and thus its consequences showed before him now. In the gathering gloom he stared vacantly at the sapling, until, moved by a sudden impulse, he took out and opened a large clasp knife. Bending down, he severed the honeysuckle at the root and with a few vigorous wrenches and hasty slashes tore it away and flung it over the wall.

      Then he relapsed again into stillness.

      The shadows deepened in the valley. Over the shoulder of Moel y Gaer stilly and statelily the fair moon lifted, silvering all the mountain ridges and filling with mystic sheen the deep sweeps between. One by one, in sweet succession, the gentle stars came out, and, resting on the top of Drumhir, looked in child-eyed wonder at the house of the twisted sapling. The little zephyr that woke to whisper to them played round the place it could not enter and then stole softly away to moan its sad faring.

      And still the man never stirred, even to hide away the bright blade that glimmered in his hands.

      The moon floated higher in the sky and the stars tiptoed further up till they could look over the wall to see what that still figure would do. But he did not heed their beauty or note their wonderment at all. So still he stood and so long that one might have fancied him turned to stone or to be the moveless ghost of some old dweller by that cold ingle. At last he started, looking straight before him, and then, as if overcome by swift exhaustion, dropped down in sudden collapse and stretched himself along the cold hearthstone. Then the stars glanced at each other in pity, — they knew him now; they had seen him there prone before. Only that time they had looked through the window between the roses; not over the roofless wall.

      All through the night he lay there, while the passionless moon waxed and waned and the stars in mute grief paled in the birth of a new day.

      With the first call of the earliest daw he rose and shook himself. Noticing the knife in his hand he turned and sought a certain loose stone stuck behind the jamb of the inner door. Taking this out he whetted the blade upon it for a few passes ere he shut and dropped it back into his pocket. Then he applied the edge of the stone to the scar on his forehead for an instant, muttering something indistinguishable as he did so. Replacing the stone, he next clambered stiffly over the wall again and dropped on the ground outside. Here he paused to let his eye range once more over the ruined homestead and then, with a dry sob and a shiver, turned and left.

      Keeping to the grass grown and now scarcely marked track, he soon came to the place where it turned at the foot of the rock in the descent. At this point he stopped and pondered, not resuming his stride till a glance at his knee brought him together with a start. On down, but instead of keeping to the trail and joining the road thus, he struck aside to come at Glwysva, across its fields.

      George Nicholas, the tenant of the place, was just sitting down to breakfast when the clamour of his dogs announced the advent of a stranger. The stranger evidently knew his way for the next minute he opened the door and walked in. At sight of the family collected round the table, however, he started back.

      "Where is David Cradoc?" he cried.

      "David Cradoc left Glwysva six years ago, — I took it when he left."

      "Why did he leave?"

      "Mynachty bought it and gave him notice to quit."

      Then the tenant fell back to grasp the gun that hung on the wall behind him, for the curse that burst from the other was awful to hear. The stranger laughed to see the movement; a laugh one degree more horrible than the curse; and then spoke again, —

      "Will Uchelwr is at Mynachty now?"

      "No! he is away."

      "When will he be back?"

      "No one knows."

      Without another word the stranger turned on his heel and stalked out, while the dogs by the door slunk away to let his evil eye pass. Once outside, never hesitating or casting about for direction, he gained a gate in the farther field and climbed over into the road. There he set his face for Cildeg, but walking slowly like a man weary of foot and heavy of heart, and pulling the brim of his hat well down to hide his eyes.

      Never once did he look back, though the tenant watched till he passed out of sight down the valley.

      In Cildeg things did not appear to have altered much. The Red Dragon still swallowed up thirsty and hungry souls, to yield them again in due time to the streets and markets, full fed and refreshed to a genial mellowness. Perhaps the Shop that we know of was not so brisk looking as of old, and the bales might be commencing to look frowsy; but still it was there, and from it might be heard periodically the shrill tongue of its mistress or the howls of the boy who most resembled his father.

      In the justice's court, at the other side of the square, Clifford Brown-Rice, Esq., J.P. still attempted to get even with Cildeg in general because it contemptuously refused to touch its hat to him; while out at Llysowen the gout still occasionally closed its grip. The gossips still turned over everybody's doings with the same zest as of old, and the clerk still hunted up folk's proper legal names.

      The jail still stopped up the east end of Stryt Glyndwrdy, and before you came in sight of that, "Evan Bowen, Solicitor," still met the eye upon a brass plate to the left. Men now remarked of him that though he had little law business yet he seemed to do well and never lacked for money even in these hard times. The slim clerk, though, was gone; disappearing suddenly, shortly after the great trial, carrying with him, said his master, a sum of money purloined from the desk. We know better than that however. We know that his master, during the only foolish moment he could ever remember in the whole course of his professional experience; gave him, out of the ample sum paid by the Freeholder in footing his bill, a small instalment of the long dreamed over arrears, and that with this amount our friend the hungry clerk proceeded to indulge in an orgie of roast beef and pudding. Next day, with sufficient cash remaining hoarded in the fold of his neck kerchief to pay for one more such feed, he disappeared in quest of the recruiting sergeant, no more to return; whence it may be inferred that the two gorges had the desired effect of stretching his length and expanding his circumference sufficiently to fill the military doctor's eye. At any rate, that is the last Cildeg ever saw of him.

      "It was selfish of him though," said his master afterwards, "not to take the old servant with him for a camp follower."

      And finally, further along on the other side of the street, Mr. Owen Bevan still kept the secrets of the county families, and tied up their title deeds with red tape, or stuck their worries into pigeon holes and drank an odd bottle of their best from his cupboard with Huw Auctioneer, whenever he did not have his feet under the mahogany of one or the other of them. Altogether, much the same as ever, this town of Cildeg, with the auctioneer who still worried the printer, and the constable who still oiled the key of the cage door and looked forward to the day when he should have the extreme felicity of turning it upon the Uchelwr, Shop, & Co.

      On this particular morning Mr. Owen Bevan was looking out of his office window, and wondering whether he really hadn't better attend to that business of Bodawen's to-day, when his attention was arrested by an unfamiliar figure coming along the street. The figure came nearer, but he did not recognize it, and even when it walked straight to his door and entered he merely wondered, as he lifted a pen from the ledge, "Who the 'old gentleman' this was?"

      Then, as he looked, he heard a bitter voice, speaking in English and saying, — "I can speak English now, like the Uchelwr!" That sent him groping vaguely through the depth of his memory, but it was the scar upon the new comer's forehead catching his eye that placed him at last, and he put out his hand with a sharp "Good God! Tom Hawys! Tom Hawys!"

      He came round in a minute or two and cleared his throat. "Tom! dear heart! I didn't know you, — you are changed so!"

      "Aye, hell does scorch one in time I suppose. I am changed; you are right! This is not Tom Hawys but Thomas Jones, convict; returned from serving his time for sheep stealing."

      The other tried to stop him. "Don't Tom! don't! You know that, — that you are lying!" he broke out with sudden heat. Then he went on in a beseeching tone, — "No! No! Thomas Jones is dead; dead and buried. You left him behind on the other side the prison door when you stepped out. This is Tom Hawys come back again."

      It was now the other's turn to interrupt.

      "Wait a while, Owain. Yesterday I went through Cildeg without either eating or drinking, and I have tasted nothing since, — save sorrow. Give me something to eat and after that there will be enough of talking for us both, — I'll. warrant."

      This pleased the solicitor, for he dreaded the advent of his half of the talking to come, and therefore he was busy to furnish forth, or rather, to see that his wife and servant furnished, a meal of such appetizing components as might tempt a man to linger longest. He was clearly funking.

      But in spite of that, and also of the offering of this savour and that relish, with the desperate attempts at drawing him into discursive conversation which accompanied all, the guest did not eat like a famished man or dally like a full one. He had more the air of a man at a set task. Neither did he speak beyond monosyllabic samples till the feast was ended. Even then he only said, —

      "Shall we go to your office?"

      When they had passed through, the new man locked the door behind him. "It will be better so," he remarked, as the other looked at him.

      Then he began to speak, not sitting down but walking to and fro, three paces then a turn, eloquent of the past. And as he proceeded, his hearer noted with gathering dismay that, though he spoke in English, he yet used the poetic form which had always distinguished his use of his mother tongue. Which argued in the solicitor's mind that he also still kept his old mountain side simplicity of reasoning, and poetic notions of justice, instead of having exchanged them for decent, every day ideas upon such points, — such ideas as would have allowed him to become a respectable tenant farmer again for instance.

      He spoke briefly of the first few days of his prison life, but merely as one indicating the points of an ordinary existence, till he came to a certain day in particular. "That day," said he, "I was restless beyond usual for I was thinking of my wife, and was troubled because I knew that it was about then the baby should be born. Then at night I could not sleep, but lay through the darkness rigid with a strange fear. But, just before the dawn, the darkness stirred with life and —. Owain!" he broke off abruptly, "I knew from that moment that my wife and child were dead. Tell me how it happened!"

      The solicitor heaved a sigh as much of relief as of sympathy at finding his worst task forestalled in so marvellous a manner, — or so mad a one, as he said mentally to himself. But he took the other's hand, saying, as gently as he might, —

      "Your dream was true, Tom, your wife and child have been spared these years of sorrow."

      "That is — they are dead."

      "Yea, Tom, they have lain under the shade of the quiet yews, these seven years past. God help you, Tom!"

      He felt a tremor run through the grip in his hand, and heard the thick breath drawn hard through set teeth, but the face was turned away.

      In spite of his dream the man was hit beyond control of speech just now. He turned and walked to where an old print hung on the wall. Hard as he stared at that he did not see it, but he saw through his other senses that the other departed softly and locked him in, alone from all folk; alone with the Christ of Sorrows.

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CHAPTER XXVIII.
BETWIXT THE PAST AND THE FUTURE.

WHEN Owen Bevan returned, his eyes red and unsteady of glance, he found the other man standing by the table, and a hard grip of their two hands was the only sign for a minute or two. Then the solicitor fumbled in sudden business at the bottom of sundry drawers and beneath two or three lids. This having served its purpose of gaining steadying time, he took out his handkerchief and mopped his whole face vigorously to take the perspiration from his brows, and the dust especially from the corners of his eyes, — the weather is generally so extremely hot and dusty in houses with a north aspect at the tail end of autumn. So, too, he did not return the handkerchief till he had blown his nose violently two or three times. But having thus relieved himself he turned and drew a chair to the table, — from which the other had not in the meantime stirred, — and was glad of the same chair as his first glance at the waiting figure dissipated the new confidence. He got up again and made for the window. Standing there; looking out, with his back to the listener and speaking in his own tongue; he made shift to begin the story for which the broken man was waiting, —

      "When that day, — you know, — was over, your wife was very hard stricken. She made no great cry, but moved like one whose feelings were chained in some way, or a body whose spirit is away seeking something. Neither would she stay there in the town or tarry here with my wife for a day or two. Even at her mother's house she would not rest beyond the one night, and none of us could persuade her from going back to the Havod. Megan Wills went with her to keep her company, and Sion, too, used to come during the day and stay with them, passing the night away in the mountains because he was afraid the constables might creep in upon him in the darkness and clap the irons on him.

      "But this sort of thing could not last, and while we all looked for her will to change, when her baby should be born, we never thought of the end that did come.

      Day in; day out; she never shed a tear; and neither did she ever speak of Mynachty or the judge. Nor did the others speak of you in her hearing, after the first day or two, for when they did so she would hurry away out of reach of the words, so keenly did they hurt her. And always she grew stiller and more tense of grief, till it would have made any man shrink to look at her and think of how she suffered.

      "When the last day of the tenancy arrived she was troubled in her manner and excited to an extent that alarmed her mother, who had come up to be with her daughter and nurse her; while the others said they had not seen her so at any time before.

      "Probably she was expecting the Freeholder to come up and turn her out on that day, for she kept the gorse hook to her hand as if she were waiting for him; though of course be did not come or show himself at all, — neither he nor Jacob Shop having returned to Cildeg since the day of the trial.

      "And it was well for him that he kept away, for the rock at the turn of the track below the house was full of the wildest young fellows in the mountains that Sion had gathered to lie there with him. And all their word was of Llyn Du that has no bottom, and the shadows of Y Garnedd that lie upon it too heavily for a drowned man's body to rise and float.

      "Just at the edge of dark she went out to the gate of the lower croft and, leaning upon it, with old Gelert beside her, looked long and steadfastly at the lights of Glwysva twinkling in the valley below, where it was already night. But her mother went and brought her back, for the tears were shining in her eyes and she was all weary. Then, as she came to the ash tree, she flung her arms round it and kissed it passionately again and again, crying, — 'Ash tree! ash tree! my husband can never come home while thou art standing; the ravens are witness to that. Oh, fall soon, that my husband may come home to me.'

      "Her mother took her indoors, and with the night came her labour. She barely lived long enough to see her baby, neither did she give it a name, for she knew that it would need none in this world.

      "Then she turned her face to the wall and took the wee one with her; never a moan from either of them at parting, but a smile that was like a thanksgiving for rest upon the mother's features.

      "The next day, too, there was fresh trouble at Glwysva. Evan Bowen had bought the place for the Uchelwr and gave him notice to quit. Then the same day the scoundrel attorney went off to London, as he gave out, but everybody believed that he went to South Wales to join the other two and screw more money out of them.

      "All the country was angry at hearing of these things and had there been another eisteddfod there would like enough have been three places burnt instead of one. So when the funeral took place all the valley gathered to follow it and all the town went out to meet it, and young Sion walked in front of the coffin, bold and defiant, and no constable dared show to arrest him, for the folk were sullen.

      "Next day he went away to Aberalyn and enlisted.

      "A week afterwards Huw Auctioneer went up to fetch your furniture and house stuff, to store them in his warehouse against your return, but his wife put it into two rooms of the house, which she keeps locked up except when she goes in to clean up. He kept old Gelert, too, and gave him the kindest home dog ever had from that day till he died two years ago.

      "But that is not the point. What I want to say is that, after bringing down the things he remembered something which had been mislaid, and next day he went up again to fetch it. He came back in a fury, for in the night between some one had cut down the ash tree, falling it so that it should break through the roof and ruin the place.

      "It was said that the Freeholder himself did it; at any rate it was horses and men from Mynachty that drew the fallen tree away next summer and with its branches burned the trunk, scattering its ashes to the four winds afterwards. Then came the day for Glwysva to go; and he sold up, dish and spoon, and with the money went away to England, for he was too old to fight the Freeholder, he said, and would settle where he might never see him again. And we have heard no more of him or Sion from then to now.

      "When he was gone the Uchelwr came back, but not to make any figure. Moreover, the year after that, there came seven old wethers into the fair from away on the other slope of Aran, south westward. The man who brought them was a Gwilym Dwn, of Pennant in that country, and he said that the seven had strayed over there about two years before, where no one knew to whom they belonged. How Auctioneer spoke to him and found him an honest man; quite ready to turn them over at once for public auction on the spot.

      "That was a brisk auction, I warrant you, for the word had gone through the fair and there was a great crowd to rush up the price for the sake of the man that was some day to receive it. Never did seven sheep go at such a price at any sale in the country, — they might have been fat cattle and still been dear at the figure. When the hammer fell they brought the money to me and it lies in the bank, together with what Gwennie left, — you shall have it all to-day.

      "But we could not bring Will Addis into court on that alone, though everybody called for it, and he and Jacob Shop took fright and went away for safety. Since then he is away most of the time, sometimes alone and sometimes taking Shop with him.

      "Mynachty, too, is all but deserted now, for he furnished it but scantily after that eisteddfod affair, and the land is mostly grass, since men fight shy of dealing with, or working for him. Neither did he ever dare do anything with Havod y Garreg, which no one would take from him.

      "And that is all."

      In the silence which had followed the cessation of the narrative the solicitor found himself mildly wondering how it could come that in the telling he had adopted exactly the language and views of the most ignorant hillsider. Perhaps, it being a hillside story, and heard by him mostly from hillsiders, these things were part and parcel of it all, — the body of the story brought up from the depths of his mind must naturally appear clothed in the fashion and habiliments it wore when it was laid there.

      Through all his pondering he was listening for a sound from the man behind, but no sign came to relieve the tension till the tall clock in the corner struck the hour. Then he turned and found the other regarding him with calm face and only a certain sadness in the eyes to betray that he had heard anything to move him.

      The sadness extended to the drawn mouth as it relaxed into a faint smile over the sympathetic clasp of the hand which followed.

      "Owain, you have been a friend to me, indeed; and in what you did for my wife, you know what I think of that!"

      "Every man, — every honest man that is, was your friend; and is to-day," broke in the solicitor. "Wait till you see Huw Auctioneer!" It is natural for a man to try and shift the blame to somebody else.

      "Aye! you are both true friends to me. And is Huw thriving still?"

      "You shall see that for yourself. Come, we will go and see him at once, but don't tell the people in the street as you go who you are, or we shall never reach the place, — for it will be a rare day in Cildeg when folk hear that you are returned."

      The man they sought was sitting in his shirt sleeves on the top of a pile of miscellaneous "lots" in one of the sheds in rear of his house. He did not speak, but he rose and seized the hand offered with a grip that made Tom's fingers tingle. After the first glance at the face in front he kept his own eyes down to hide them till a husky voice said gently, —

      "Never mind Huw; I heard it all from Owain. You know — you —"

      The solicitor came to the rescue. "You can show him the furniture some other day, but just now we'll go over to the bank and see Wynn Meredith."

      The cheerful alacrity with which both men greeted this suggestion was astonishing; so easy is it to earn the gratitude of men in an awkward fix.

      Since the auctioneer's house was down by the river, they had some hundred yards of street to travel before they could reach the bank on the east side of the square.

      Almost as soon as they started they noticed that every door was open and had a head peering out of its gap, while before they had gone half way a small rabble of children was at their heels, whispering excitedly that Tom Hawys was come back to hang the Uchelwr.

      Then two or three women joined, and an odd man, too old to work. Then more women, — and the man sitting and nursing a broken arm started up and followed too. As they passed the blacksmith's shop out came the smith, with his striker and 'prentice boy, and the ploughman waiting to get his coulter sharpened, and the two men whose horses were to be shod. Then the excitement grew and grew, till the folk from the small shops rushed out, just in time, to join in the shout of the men from the mills and the wheelwright's by the river, who sprinted along to catch up, shouting as they sped, — "Tom Hawys is come! Tom Hawys!"

      The solicitor mended his pace briskly, but the crowd moved brisker yet, and by the time they reached the bank it was a rare job to win through the door at all, and a rarer still to close it after them and bolt the people out. Even as it was some of the more eager spirits had burst in at the first attempt to shut it, but after that, such is the nature of man, these lent so hearty a hand as speedily made good the barrier against those still on the steps. Belike they begrudged the sharing of their glory amongst the many, — at least their attitude of breathless awe, afterwards, as they watched Tom at the counter, seemed to say so.

      Wynn Meredith, Bank, was so fain to see the new arrival that he pooh-poohed all formalities and rules and "began to shovel out gold sovereigns with a flour scoop, just as if he had been old Gam Grocer in the flour, only more reckless," said the gazers in the rear. Why! look you! he didn't even count them! Dear king! he just shovelled them into a scale and weighed them, as if they had been chicken feed or any other rubbish.

      "And Tom Hawys; he was as rich as you please! Oh no! he didn't care about making himself into a packhorse with all that stuff. He'd just take an odd handful to buy himself some toothpicks with, or a shoelace if he should happen to break one. A great man was Tom Hawys! — he'd be sitting on the bench above Clifford Brown-Rice one of these days if he happened to feel inclined, he would!"

      And although it was not toothpicks or shoelaces Tom wanted, yet he did put back all the money save a little for present needs, smiling sadly as he did it.

      Then the solicitor spoke up, his heart swelling in pure joy. "Come you with us Wynn; we are going to my place to crack a bottle, — the clerk can get along for an hour without you, I know. Come now."

      And Meredith was so overjoyed that he made no real resistance when Huw Auctioneer, in sheer exuberance, seized him and dragged him half way over the counter. "Loose me!" he cried, "and then I'll come."

      And come he did, with a wallop that nearly upset the other, and then they all four laughed immensely, one in spite of himself. The men behind laughed too at that, while the clerk was so glad that he volunteered for overtime if need be, to overtake anything which might otherwise suffer from the manager's absence.

      "Well; if you have to put in overtime, I'll send across some right good stuff to keep you company," put in the auctioneer.

      "Nay! there'll be no overtime to-day at any rate," interposed the manager jovially.

      "Never mind!" replied the other, "you shan't cheat him out of the stuff. He shall go over to the Dragon and get it himself after closing."

      Then they opened the door. It was like breaking a dam and letting in a flood. The pressure outside had come to such a pitch that those on the steps were shot in amongst the door openers like coals from a sack, and the whole were carried backward and flattened against the farther wall. But the original possessors of glory fought manfully, and while they did so the four made to escape by the side door.

      That was no use though; that crowd was able to see through stone walls; at any rate it was already on the move as the first of them emerged, and by the time the fourth got his nose over the threshold they seemed to have been established on that side also in the same density ever since the bank was built.

      It was no use drawing back either, for the throng inside had followed and was pushing them forward. "No help for it! we must make for the Dragon," shouted the solicitor, laughing, as he tried to make the others hear above the glad din of the crowd. "To the Dragon! To the Dragon! To the Dragon!" shouted everybody. And all the way across the square folk strove and struggled to shake hands with Tom, or even to touch his coat, while over all rose a mighty and repeated shout, — "Tom Hawys is home again, — now for the Freeholder!"

      Every room in the Red Dragon was filled instantly, and every man in every room shouted out reckless orders for unlimited beer. But the doors were so thronged that nobody could be served in particular, and the mugs and the jugs, and the pitchers and the pewters, just passed as far as they contained anything, and everybody drank what was handiest or consoled his thirst by shouting, again and again, — "Tom Hawys is come back; hurroo!"

      While, in the innermost sanctum, upon the seat and at the table where his enemy had first arranged for his undoing, sat Tom, the hardness vanishing from his face by degrees, till he fairly broke down and hid his face, — with the auctioneer making no bones about it, but weeping openly; barring that the tears could not wash away the smiles entirely.

      The grey haired cobbler, all lame as he was, had meantime been struggling so stoutly that now he reached the table and, stooping his lips to Tom's ear, shouted, —

      "'Twas my own cousin, Gwilym Dwn, brought in the seven wethers and he'll be glad enough to tell you all about it."

      Thereat Tom lifted his head again and nodded; making the cobbler so pleased that he burst into a rousing chorus. This was all that had been lacking and instantly the tune was taken up with a deafening strength that shook the black rafters overhead and, rolling out, was caught up by the throng in front and swelled along until folk faring in from beyond the bridge hurried forward to find out what the matter might be that made Cildeg so happy.

      When the softness crept into Tom's face it stole into his heart also, slacking the iron will that had borne him through the night and thus far in the day, and making him remember how long and how bitter was the time since he had last slept and how tired he was; dead tired! Therefore he begged to be allowed to lie down somewhere; if only for an hour.

      Upon that the other three explained to the nearest members of the throng what the matter was and from them it flew from mouth to mouth so quickly that there was no insurmountable difficulty in getting foot room and gradually making way across the square and so to Owen Bevan's house, — for it was a self evident fact that there would be no sleep in the vicinity of the Red Dragon during one twenty four hours at least; somebody, nobody knew just who, having, apparently, paid for unlimited supplies of good ale. It is not known yet who paid, though most folk think it was the landlord himself.

      Once in bed Tom slept round the clock, calmly and peacefully as though the last eight years of his life had never been, and his friends put it down to the pleasure of his welcome. Waking, he sat far into the next morning with the solicitor and the auctioneer, whose day had been passed between congratulating themselves and everybody else over a drop of the right stuff in the sanctum of the Red Dragon and coming down to the house to enquire if Tom were awake yet, each time leaving instructions that a fast boy, — detained in the kitchen pending use, — should be despatched instantly with the news should the sleeper awake in their absence.

      Now that he was up, Owen Bevan slapped him heartily on the shoulder. "What did I tell you, Tom? 'Every honest man was your friend,' wasn't it? And isn't it so now you've seen it for yourself?" Then, as they sat before a dilatory supper, they went over again the chances of convicting the Freeholder; twisting and turning each scanty argument as though they would make it grow by cultivation or massage.

      And all the time Tom sat and said next to nothing, while the others put his reticence down to the natural pain of the reflections called up by the business in hand. Still, in spite of that, when at last they separated for bed, the two of them were very sanguine, — how could they be expected to read what was in the mind of the other?

---

CHAPTER XXIX.
SEETHING.

NOTWITHSTANDING the late retiring, breakfast was ready at the usual hour next morning in the house of Owen Bevan. The wonderful thing, though, was that the person mentioned was also ready for the breakfast; proving how well seasoned his head was. Tom was down too, and over the meal announced his intention of ranging over and finding this Pennant, in order to learn what he could about the affair of the seven sheep.

      His host readily assented to this, secretly thinking that it would do his guest all the good in the world to swing his legs over rock and heather once more, after seven terrible years of a prison cell. And the guest was at the same time thinking that the trip would pass one day of those which must intervene before the home-coming of his enemy, an event which he had heard was set for some three days hence.

      He took the valley road as far as the head of it; striking from there over Drumhir where it started first away from the buttressing of Aran. As he climbed higher and higher and felt the beauty of the day; as he breathed the air that to him was like nectar, and saw the mountains, ridge and peak for league on league uplifting to the blue, the bitterness of the prison life came back and wrapped him in double fold. This was one of the minor things he had been deprived of; forced to exchange for the narrow walls and gloomy foulness of a cell.

      So strong did the feeling become that he stopped and bared his head, loosing the button at his throat while he muttered inaudibly to himself. He knew that if he were but to turn round he should see, across on Cefn Du, the ruined walls of his home; but he started on again, keeping his eyes doggedly upon the sheep track he was following, till, gaining the highest line of the ridge, he had perforce to look about him and study the direction. From where he stood he knew the country well enough back to the point of Drumhir next above Mynachty's upmost pasture. He knew the long succession of bush clad cliffs that would make it easy for a man driving sheep to escape observation from anyone not directly in the track; especially if it were done in the grey of morning, before the people of the valley had time to climb the ridge. Southward of those cliffs lay a tangled wood wherein for miles no man dwelt, so that the person driving would have nothing to fear from that side. But now he wanted to examine the rest of the way between this and Pennant, distant yonder over the second ridge to the south westward. It was a rough country and he took it as no small indication of thoroughness that a man should choose such a line and such a distance, rather than kill the sheep and, burying them, run the risk of discovery. Moreover, as he said to himself, the Freeholder had not done it personally; there was not time betwixt day dawn and the hour of the sale in the Dragon yard to have traversed so many rocky miles and got back again to Cildeg. Some other man must have done that part of it; probably Reuben Ploughman, — now dead; killed by his team while drunk. Never mind, that did not make any difference in his plans.

      As he went on, crossing the first ridge, that ran due south, and scaling the second that trended south west, he wondered more and more at the character of the job of that morning seven years ago. But as he reached the other side, he came in sight of a thin wisp of blue turf smoke, rising amidst the birch and mountain ash which filled a great dingle just below him, cutting his wondering short and enabling him to guess at once that this was the place of Gwilym Dwn, and the end of his present journey.

      Had he been keen in his quest and bent upon pure evidence fit to go into court with, then he must have been sadly disappointed; for what Gwilym really knew took little time in the telling.

      He remembered well enough the day when he saw the seven wethers, more by token that his family had received an addition two days before and he was up on the mountain again after three days' absence. It was mid-day when he topped the ridge above the house and there he noticed at once seven wethers bunched together, travelling with their faces along the ridge and looking scared, like strangers to the country. He sent his dog round them to hold them till he could examine them and found they bore a mark which he had never seen before, so that he started them along again till they came to some sheep of his own, with which he left them. He did not notice them much afterwards, but at the next gathering and shearing they were still there, being wethers and not ewes, in which case they would most probably have made their way back again by hook or crook to the home range at lambing time.

      At the gathering no man on that side knew them, which was not strange considering that Cildeg and Llanisa market town, — to which that country naturally belonged, — were foreign towns to each other; something like twenty miles apart, and with the Aran to emphasize the boundary between. Therefore he had taken the fleeces himself, and spent the money, though that of course he would return.

      Tom however demurred vigorously to this and the tale went on.

      News of course could not cross the shoulders of Aran and only climbed slowly up from Llanisa, so that it was another year before he casually heard a strange story which put him on the right track. After that he pushed inquiries on every hand with the result that he became convinced as to the identity of the seven, and he resolved to drive them over to the next fair at Cildeg.

      "And the rest you know yourself," ended the narrator.

      "If you had been but a half hour earlier, you would likely enough have seen the man who drove them," said Tom. "Is there no one about here who might have been up on Aran that morning and seen them come?"

      "Nay! for I asked them all myself at the first shearing. Tan yr Allt or Bryn Caled would have known if anyone did, but neither of them could help me at all; in fact, no man on this side could put a single word in the case."

      All the same, if his testimony in the witness box, as far as it went, was worth anything, even ever so little, he would gladly attend the court and give it; for a Cildeg man was his cousin and he would not be backward in helping his cousin's countryman.

      "And anyhow they had better eat now."

      To which proposition Tom gave a most hearty assent, for the twelve or fourteen miles of God's country, after seven years of prison, brought the appetite to a new edge.

      How do rumours get about? When Tom reached the solicitor's house again that night he was as light as at starting, so far as evidence went. Yet, nevertheless, while he was busy discussing the fruitless journey over supper with his two allies, the story went round at once that he had got together most important proofs; sufficient indeed to hang Will Addis out of hand, with Jacob Shop to the feet of him for a strangling weight.

      This last fantastic figment so pleased the gossips as to leave it to this day an article of devout belief in Cildeg that, under certain circumstances, the government intended to have hung the two in the manner indicated, provided Tom Hawys paid the extra cost of the extra high gallows required. And it is the only grievance the town has against that stubborn man, that he chose to refuse this munificent offer, preferring to go his own way, thereby depriving the place of its just niche in the fabric of history.

      Very naturally several dear friends dropped in upon Jen Jacob Shop, one after another, to buy a packet of pins and explain the matter to her, or to get a length of tape and amplify the rumour, till she got into a rage and shut the door upon them all, while she sat down to write a laborious letter of abuse and threatenings to her absent spouse, by way of assisting him in the crisis.

      One of the younger Shops carried this to the post and she had to go inside to buy the stamp. Now this is a task peculiarly grateful to the budding mind by reason of its importance. For, first of all, comes the bustling up to the counter and then, while hanging the chin on one hand upon the edge of that to assist the tip toes in giving size, — there is the peremptory order for the article required and the chinking of the moist coin down on the counter, all of which are merely the mild prologue to the thing to follow. Who has not felt his small breast swell with pride when he licked his first stamp and thereafter paused to study the exact position it was to occupy. Or, again, finding to his horror that the stamp was upside down, who has not wrestled with the weighty problem as to whether it were surest to turn that round or apply the process to the rapidly soiling envelope itself. And, still proceeding, that point decided; think of the vigorous thumps with the heel of the fist to ensure adhesion; which performance again necessitates the missive being placed flat upon the counter, where a due triumph may be indulged in by letting folk see that letters are sent from "our "house. The small person in question went through all this joy with a full and generous appreciation of it.

      But alas, ere starting upon the errand, her mother had sternly enjoined her, under penalty of unheard of punishments, to let no one see the address. What's the use of posting a letter if it's going to nobody, or all the same as nobody?

      Therein, however, Jen Jacob Shop overreached herself and the toddler's disappointment was amply avenged, as we shall see. For, properly mindful of her mother's repeated commands, the plump little palm and chubby fingers of the left hand were carefully spread over the directions during the thumping process, and, of course, one of the several Paul Prys standing near suspected something from that and became eager instantly.

      Very naturally after all those thumps, the wee maid was seized with a fear lest the address might possibly have been jarred loose or obliterated in some dire manner and so, very carefully and a corner at a time, she raised her hand to see if it were still there. Paul Pry followed her movements for the same reason; he wanted to see also.

      Then the news went round at once, — or rather it didn't go round; it couldn't have done so in the time; it was round instantly, — that Jen Jaoob Shop had sent her husband a letter full of bank notes where with to pay his passage to America.

      After that one might have noted the growth of this seedling report. First it put forth a tender sproutlet to the effect that Jacob Shop and the Freeholder had been expecting what was going to happen and had therefore chosen the town of their present abiding as being handy to a seaport in South Wales. Then that sprout pushed a leaf to explain how the two had chartered a fast sailing ship which was to be in waiting, sails set and anchor apeak, with a boat full of strong rowers at the water's edge ready to put off on the instant should the news from Cildeg confirm their fears. Next followed another leaf stating the port of destination and the length of voyage. And finally it topped out into a very happy blossom describing that part of the programme falling to Evan Bowen, who was to sell the draper's business and the lands of Mynachty; with the proceeds of both which he was to join the fugitives abroad.

      There is no fiction so interesting as that whose birth one can watch and whose development one can either stimulate or follow. Good gossips of Cildeg! The scent of this, their latest full-blown plan penetrated to the council of three now resting in Owen Bevan's office. How? Well perhaps through the keyhole or down the chimney, or again maybe in the skirts of Huw Auctioneer's servant when she came to carry a message from his wife. Anyway it got there and the solicitor immediately despatched the auctioneer to examine and report upon the circumstance.

      He came back much relieved. No! the thing was merely a cultivation of that proverbial prevaricator, "They say." Meanwhile, however, one part of it was correct enough, and that was the name of the Freeholder's present place of exile. So much would be of great assistance to the police, said he.

      "What did you say the name of the place was?" asked Tom.

      "Tirowen in Gwent. Why?" replied Huw.

      "Oh, I like to picture him in my mind."

      The solicitor appeared troubled at this, and when they broke up their conclave for the night, took occasion in bidding the auctioneer good night in the street, to bestow upon him some vigorous mixed epithets and samples of advice. It was a mere waste however, for the other simply answered, in his tone of incorrigible good nature, —

      "Bosh! never trouble, Owain. He'll wait here for Mynachty and have him to jail. Else why did he go the long trail to Pennant for evidence, eh?"

      "Good night, and —" returned the solicitor in despair.

      "Be so and so'd, I suppose," laughed the other. "Ah well! good night to you and good luck to us all three, — an honest man will come out on top in spite of —"

      "The Place Below," chimed in the lawyer. "Well, we shall see about that if we live long enough. Good night!"

      The three days passed, and the fourth, but still no sign of the Freeholder.

      Tom had spent this fourth day in reading the account of his own trial, which the solicitor would gladly have kept from him, but could not when he demanded it point blank. It was a newspaper to him with a vengeance.

      While serving his time he had often pondered over the evidence of Reuben Ploughman and Siencyn Bach, and had never yet been able to come to any satisfactory conclusion concerning its point or aim. It had simply served to increase the wonder and incredibility of the whole affair. It was ludicrous, — or would have been but for the fangs of it.

      To day, however, as he read the whole for the first time, his astonishment refused belief till the solicitor's assurances and explanations convinced him that the account before his eyes was actually a faithful and true report of the proceedings. When at last it was borne in upon him, he seemed for awhile to sit in complete stupor.

      "Can it be possible?" he whispered to himself at last; "can it be possible?" he repeated more loudly. Rising, he looked at his solicitor. "God!" he cried. "If I had only understood! If I had but been tried by a judge of my own nation and language! If I could but have spoken for myself. But, — I will be even for it all yet! I will pay it all back, God is my witness, I will pay."

      Then he sank back in a kind of stupor, while the other looked on in helpless wretchedness. Not till darkness fell did the latter feel bold enough to break in upon the silence. But he got little comfort, for Tom gently refused to eat, but begged to be allowed to go to his room instead.

      The gleam of his eye, moreover, disturbed the solicitor so much, that when his guest had retired he put on his hat and went out to tell Huw Auctioneer not to call that evening, for Tom was in trouble; the events of the last few days having apparently thrown him somewhat off his mental balance; but a long night's rest would no doubt restore him completely.

      To which his hearer responded devoutly, —

      "Let us hope so, — please God!"

      Though Tom retired so early, yet it was not to sleep. Sitting on the edge of the bed he stared moodily before him for half the night.

      Something roused him at last. Supposing his enemy should fail to return? What was more likely? He was a coward and a guilty one. Perhaps after all the rumour was true and he really would sail for America. Here the sitter raised his face and voice together. "And what would he gain by it if he did? I would follow him, aye! if he borrowed wings of his own ravens; I would find him."

      The speaker paused for a little while, until, his mind flaring up once more, he sprang to his feet and began to walk beside the bed in the old reminiscent fashion, three paces and a turn. "Home! wife! child!" His steps had caught the cadence again, learnt and burnt into his heart, night after night in a narrow cell when the feet went bare upon the cold stones for fear of arousing the warders.

      "Home! wife! child!" he kept on, mechanically and under his breath at first, as in time past; but gradually growing louder and louder by degrees till it rang through every corner of the room. "Home! wife! child!" it thundered now through the house from attic to basement while his features were distorted with fury and his deep eyes gleamed like a madman's.

      The loud hammering at the door failed utterly to arrest his attention, and it was only the sight of the solicitor standing just within the room that broke the grim cadence of that stride. The look upon the incomer's face brought him to an irresolute pause; he laughed vacantly and then motioned to the other to advance.

      "It's something I used to do in prison, — just going over the score against the Uchelwr," he said at last.

      "The Uchelwr!" Bevan gulped down the curse which coupled itself with the name as he took the hand that trembled with rage in his, "I live in the hope of the day that villain is hung."

      The other lifted his head at the words and burst into a jarring laugh. "Nay! Owain! surely! Mynachty is a person of education and a gentleman of high standing in the community, — the judge said so."

      "D— the judge!" shouted the lawyer bitterly.

      "Ha! ha!" laughed his hearer; so horribly however, that Bevan put his two hands upon the shoulders of the other and forced him back to a seat upon the bed.

      "You must not be alone, Tom," he said. "It is not good for you to brood so; come down and we will sit together over something that will soothe you."

      But argument and pleading were alike fruitless. Nevertheless Tom would not break out again; he would promise that. He was tired now and perhaps he should sleep after this. In fact he was sure he should. And with this assurance the would-be comforter was fain to leave him.

      Passing out, however, he turned, looking long and earnestly into the other's eyes. Tom broke into a worn smile under the scrutiny, wringing his hand warmly as he said at parting, — "God bless you, Owain! God bless you for a true friend! Good night! Good night!"

      When the door closed he went back and, half undressing, was about to throw himself upon the bed when a new idea struck him. The window of the room was a bow, and, striding into it, he looked out. Yes! there it was! the squat jail, dimly visible at the end of the street.

      "What if I put him there first and hear what the judge has to say of him then? Aye! if I thought he would suffer as I did and for as long a time I would wait even all those years for the end. But, — he has no wife or child and hardly a home. No! it would not begin to be equal and, besides; he is guilty; I was innocent! So let it be; the soonest the best."

      Then he went back to the bed and slept like a log till daybreak.

      Over breakfast next morning he was very cheerful; so much so as to astonish his host, who hastened to try and provoke a further increase of the cheerfulness by retailing an especially funny series of stories; though he did not add that they were out of date amongst other folk, being close upon seven years old. And Tom made shift to see the points of all of them; bringing in the laugh exactly at the right moment. "Clearly," thought the lawyer, "I must be beforehand in telling Huw Auctioneer that either I was mistaken yesterday or else there has been a most marvellously complete recovery. It will be awkward otherwise if that blundering tongue enquires of Tom, in thick headed sympathy, how his lunacy is getting on."

      The solicitor never did give Huw credit, — a man's good points never are properly appreciated by his nearest friends.

      Making an excuse to the effect that he must just slip out and see a man upon important business for five minutes, the solicitor proceeded to provide against this possible future awkwardness by hastening down to the auctioneer's place and getting in the first word. Returning immediately, with the indigestion fiend putting in some nasty work under the belt, he congratulated himself immensely upon his foresight in the matter when Tom, calmly reaching down his beaver, — new, to match the new clothes bought two days before, — announced that he, too, was going out. He thought he should benefit by a good long walk, and therefore, — "Good morning!"

      "Good morning, Tom!"

      So pleased with himself upon the point was Owen Bevan, that the door had hardly closed behind the other ere he proceeded to open a cherished drawer of his desk and indulge in his rarest dissipation; a pinch of the finest snuff.

      The winning of a lawsuit was nothing to compare with providing against pain to his guest, if one might judge from his actions.

      Meanwhile, out in the street, that guest had paused at the corner to take stock of his surroundings. Evan Bowen was just emerging from his domicile; "the solicitor for the prosecution," thought Tom, quoting in his mind from the newspaper report of his trial, "I will speak to that smart attorney."

      The legal gentleman was affable. "Good morning, Mr. Hawys!"

      "Hawys? Jones you called me last!" replied Tom scornfully.

      "But, my dear friend! that was only in the way of professional business," rejoined the other.

      "Business! aye! the devil's business. Did you three think that the same devil would forget it? Nay! yourselves are surest that he never will. He is laughing over it now. Where is the Uchelwr? — 'the gentleman who wished to benefit his country!' — the devil has his shears in hand for the shearing of his sheep; nobody will steal them out of his hand.

      "And you, you sit here and write letters to tell them I am come back and what things I do, but I will go and dig the Uchelwr out of the hole he hides in and then, — you shall hear what the judge has to say a second time; I'll warrant you he will not speak so scornfully of me as once he did."

      Evan Bowen drew a long breath; he felt immensely relieved. He had feared personal violence. He had not feared the law, neither did he do so now; he had satisfied himself upon his own standing with regard to that years ago, — before the seven sheep were stolen. Oh, indeed! let him set the law in motion at once; this returned convict! He would find that the law does not readily admit that it can commit injustice; the law would bring its whole strength to crush any man who should presume to accuse it of such a thing by indicting his false prosecutors.

      Proceed! my good man; and get a few years more for false witness and the rest of it. The attorney, of course, only said this in the inside of him, while the outside carried a smile of superior pity as it passed back again into the house. Once safe on the other side of the locked and bolted door however he made speed to write to his client, advising him to return at once and appear to court public attention in order to put a good front upon his conduct. For he, the writer, had just found out that the returned convict intended to have him, — the client, — before the judge and get the whole affair of his own conviction gone into.

      There need be, of course, not the slightest doubt as to the ultimate result of any such trial; himself having, in fact, a plea prepared and pigeon-holed long since in connection with the case, which was enough to make a man smile, so complete and sufficing was it.

      Mr. Addis had better return at once, as he said before; indeed! come post haste; more by token that the convict had expressed his determination of seeking him in the place where he was now staying.

      And so; etc., etc.

      But neither during the time of writing this letter or afterwards did it occur to this astute attorney that he had totally failed to understand the right meaning of the convict's last sentence.

      And while he wrote Tom was pushing beyond the town, with his face set to the south, looking neither to the right or left, but striding along with a swing that was stirring to see.

---

CHAPTER XXX.
THE STEALING STRIDE OF NEMESIS.

TIROWEN was not a large or handsome town, nor yet was it famous as a health resort, but the Freeholder and his confederate had decided that it was quite good enough for them. Letters reached it quickly; only a post and a half from Cildeg, so they could easily keep themselves in touch with the course of events at home.

      To these two, however, there had come to be a good deal of mockery in that word home; Mynachty was more like a "so and so'd" barn than a house now, said its owner, while as for the Shop to its nominal owner, — well, he only used to smile in sickly fashion when the other would grimly comment upon his supposed enjoyment of any of his unfrequent visits to it.

      For the draper's life was now one unrelieved martyrdom. Whenever he did put in an appearance at home his wife took especial satisfaction out of him, and when he was abroad with the Freeholder that jovial soul practised new and alarming tortures upon him every day. It had passed into a settled thing for his confederate to reduce him to a state of collapse by threatening to turn crown's evidence; his ignorance of all things legal preventing Jacob from retorting that only the auxiliary villain was ever allowed such benefit. There were other ways also of twanging the strings, such as sudden news of Tom Hawys having escaped, with the threats of vengeance confided by him to a fellow convict a day or two before breaking loose; the threats being chiefly directed against the draper as having first betrayed him into the hands of his enemy. As the years went on, and the expiration of the seven years drew near, there came a never staling joy to Mynachty in suggesting and picturing the return of their victim; with the various ways in which he might take his choice of a suitable mode of wreaking vengeance upon the perfidious Shop. With what delight of slow drawn out detail the other would go over the scene, gloating over the terrified efforts of the miserable draper to get drunk before the climax could be reached; whether that were burning with hot irons; breaking each separate bone one at a time, or any other fanciful fashion of getting even. Sometimes he would take away the pitcher or tumbler and proceed to illustrate the narrative by half throttling the gurgling wretch, or exerting pressure upon the indicated lines till the bones cracked, and the victim yelled out in pain. Then, at this stage, every once in a while, Shop would become desperate, and, seizing the handiest weapon, would make frantic efforts to kill or disable the bigger villain, who would merely grin and pin him to the wall with one large hand while he disarmed him with the other; holding him thus till his impotent fury broke down into a drivel or lapsed to a sullen silence. Between whiles the Freeholder would unearth stories in books dealing with tortures of the Middle Ages, or foreign lands of to-day, and then invite his companion to hear them read, — and commented upon.

      It was a glorious life!

      Moreover, Shop had not profited by his villainy! Immediately after the trial he had a second time requested to be paid the price for Havod y Garreg, but the other had told him, point blank, that it would be no use bringing that bill forward for a year or two yet; the riot had cost him too much. The draper had blustered at this, threatening a suit at law; but the other grimly told him to go ahead and make ready for cross-examination by Evan Bowen. What of that? why, there was that attempt to get Tom Hawys evicted on a quit notice he had never received; that would hardly bear poking over by such an one as the attorney. For, of course, all the world knew that Jacob Shop had never really given that notice as agreed upon, having utterly forgotten it, and then, sooner than lose a sovereign or two like an honest man, he had sworn to the Freeholder, — who had been waiting for the fulfilment of his honest bargain made a year before, — that he had done so, and to make his lie good had written, signed, and endorsed, a spurious notice; thereby causing him, the said Freeholder, to run risk of imprisonment for false action at law, begun by him in his deluded and deceived state. The judge would see at once that the innocent Freeholder had been grossly imposed upon by that most notoriously grasping villain, Shop.

      That wouldn't affect the validity of the purchase and the bill given in payment, eh? Wouldn't it though! In the first place there would be the costs of that abortive law proceeding to come off the bill, and then there would be the damage sustained by the cheated Freeholder in not being able to fulfil his engagements in the matter of increasing his sheep business, he having, for want of the possession of Havod y Garreg, been forced to buy release from his contracts, at a ruinous loss, such as would eat up most of the price of the place. Moreover, he had agreed to the exorbitant sum charged because he wanted the accommodation of the land at the date specified, and the difference between that and a fair price would have also to be deducted.

      "In fact," Shop had interposed at this juncture, attempting to speak in scorn, "I'd better ask you to say no more about it, or you'll be figuring out that I owe you something on the deal."

      "Exactly," had grinned the other. And after that he had explained that no man could pluck the feathers from a fish or draw hen's teeth; he didn't possess the money in any case, and if he were pushed he would turn crown's evidence. He did not explain what was to prevent Shop himself from drawing the fangs of this last threat by hastening to turn crown's evidence first, neither did it occur to Shop at once to suggest it. When, later on, he did so, the other was ready with a reason to the effect that it was only the man of highest standing concerned who had the chance in each case. And, remembering what the judge had said about the other's standing in the community, the draper had said no more on that point, but had gone in for thinking thoughts that made him jump when a door banged, or turned his mouth dry whenever he saw the constable coming across the square.

      Afterwards the bill had been reduced in accordance with the Freeholder's showing of his losses and damages sustained, not, of course, to a fancy point, but to one that still made the victim groan and wish, in various keys, that he had never been born. This reduced bill was to carry substantial interest, however, which somewhat tended to soothe the draper, especially as it was to be paid in advance each six months, and he tried to solace his mind by jingling the first instalment in his pocket.

      Then presently the other had knocked the paint off his new agreement. For, first plying the other with the bottle, he had taken him at the right moment and borrowed the sum back again to pay the landlord's bill where they were staying; promising faithfully to repay it when the bank should open next day. The landlord was a keen blade, said he, and would not wait.

      And that was the last Shop saw of that instalment, he having previously signed the receipt for it.

      Next year it was a tale to the effect that Evan Bowen had become a bloodsucker and would wait no longer, but must have money, — and so on and so forth. Always some new and convincing excuse, and always a successful evasion, till the duped draper had ceased pushing the farce further, and had resolved in despair to take it out in kind, accompanying the other in his constant excursions about the country and running up the liquor bills to the steepest pitch, in a feeble attempt to get even. It was something at least to live like a fighting cock at another man's expense.

      Only the fighting cock possesses no mind to be tortured by the suggestions of another; nor does the ordinary fighting cock generally fear to meet a particular one of its fellows; or have any false witnessings to carry in remembrance and dread the retribution of. Happy fighting cock!

      The last two years of the time, however, had been absolutely the worst. Previous to that, the Freeholder, in using the attorney as an excuse, had always represented him as pressing for the payment of his lawful, though unjust, costs, incurred during the trial. Now, however, he put forth a new theory to say that Evan Bowen had turned round, plump and plain, and demanded money for his silence; alleging that he had only just discovered the fact of Tom Hawys' total innocence of the charge upon which he had been condemned. Taxed with his own fabrication of the evidence which procured that condemnation, he had replied readily that, relying upon the word of the Freeholder and his witnesses, he had then really believed in the man's guilt, and had thereafter, merely in accord with legal usage, set to work to procure the supposed criminal's conviction by any and every means in his power, — as was done in the law regularly, — and as any judge would let them know, did they turn restive.

      And the money had to be paid, Jacob Shop bearing his part in the disbursement. More than that, this tax recurred with a methodic regularity worthy of the legal training of its exactor, and with an insistence that brooked no delay; nay, notice in advance of the date of its falling due had come to be part and parcel of the impost.

      And this tale was no idle one of Mynachty's inventing, but a grim reality. Of course, Evan Bowen had not sprung such a thing upon his victims with the clumsiness of the Freeholder's description, nor had that man yielded as easily as his own tale might infer; but the brute strength of the one was helpless before the casuistic skill of the other and, with the lesson of his own victim's fate at the hands of the law confronting him, the master of Mynachty had been compelled to yield to the drain. He had, however, by dint of strenuous arguments and even counter threats, reduced the amount to be paid, and furthermore, though Jacob Shop had not been mentioned in the matter, had resolved to make the draper contribute a full quota of the total, that it might fall the lighter on himself.

      The attorney, in truth, had hesitated a long time before resorting to such a desperate and risky throw, but circumstances, as he deemed, had left him no choice saving thus to apply the screw. The fact was that, since the trial of Tom Hawys, his previous bad odour had increased to such an extent that most men preferred to yield their cases undefended to the mercy of the court, rather than incur the stigma of employing such an one as he. Those who elected still to hire him, rather than no attorney at all, were generally of a kind whose very stubbornness precluded his making much out of them, and therefore his finances had gone from bad to worse, till the lean old servant had struck work in desperation and taken to standing before him with arms akimbo, or following him from room to room squeaking for her money. At this same juncture, also, the tradesmen had flatly refused to give further credit and talked loudly of sueing him in his own courts, so that at last, — he tapped the Freeholder.

      And the Freeholder, in his turn, as we have said, took a savage satisfaction out of Jacob Shop, and found a ferocious enjoyment in playing cat and mouse with his wretched victim over the unpaid price of Havod y Garreg.

      On this particular morning the Freeholder was feeling facetious, a careful noting of the preliminary signs of which had early driven his confederate to a manful endeavour to get tipsy in time. But the tormentor, taking cognizance of that out of the corner of his eye, had first passed a few pleasant gibes that made the draper squirm like a speared eel, and then despatched him to the post office to enquire for any letter that might be there.

      Meanwhile, being already half drunk himself, he gathered round him a few choice spirits, both in bottles and breeches, from the bar below, and, as soon as Shop returned with the expected letter, genially requested the whole company to fill up and listen while he told them a little story. And the twinkle in his eye caused Shop to groan inwardly.

      Then the story began, — cutting extremely fine. It was about a poor but honest man who was arrested for stealing sheep; seven sheep. It appeared, however, that this man was totally innocent of any such crime, and had, in fact, never even seen the seven sheep till they came into court! It was Jacob Shop who was the prosecutor, and he pushed the matter so vindictively that the poor fellow got seven years' penal servitude over the job. Now they could judge for themselves what sort of a villain Shop was, since, all this time, he had really done the thing himself, and all because the man had cut him out with the prettiest girl in the place, — though that was not much of a job if one looked at that bald head, with half a score of carroty hairs hanging round it like straws from a hedge stump, and a face below that would make cows give buttermilk all ready. If ever a man was born to be hanged it was a man with a headpiece like that. However, as for Shop he gained no benefit by his labour, for the girl wouldn't have him anyhow, — indeed, drove him off with a gorse hook when the villain visited her afterwards to make a scoundrelly proposition to her. And now the seven years were just up and that was why Jacob was here with him in Tirowen, — he feared to go home and meet the man he had injured. He was a sorry villain, indeed, was Jacob Shop!

      And the hero of this tale smiled feebly and muttered something about a good story.

      But in the midst of the dutiful ribaldries which this recital extracted from the guests round the table, the teller of it bethought him of the letter, and Shop, thankful as he was to escape the ultimate development of the other's present vein of humour, yet trembled with fear as he watched the breaking of the seal, for he dreaded the writing inside it.

      A hasty perusal of it brought the Freeholder to his feet to inform the company that important business required attending to, and he further emphasized the announcement by seizing the bottle and draining it into his own glass.

      Upon which unmistakable hint, the choice spirits in breeches, internally thankful for the spirits now in their interiors, marched solemnly out on their way below stairs again.

      The letter was the one from Evan Bowen at whose penning we were present, and a short council of two, sitting upon its contents, speedily decided to follow the advice contained therein.

      "D—n him! Jacob!" said the Freeholder, " he can't let us come to harm. Not only he'd lose so much money by that, but his neck is in the same noose with ours, — we'll go."

      And notwithstanding the suggestive elegance of this last simile, which made the draper catch at his Adam's apple, that person could advance no good and sufficient reason for flouting this decision, and he, too, said, "We'll go!"

      They were become too old stagers at travelling to need long notification, and inside a brisk hour their reckoning was paid and themselves departed; one with set jaws and knitted brows, and the other with flabby limbs and a goneness beneath the waistband which no amount of brandy could fortify.

      But first, in spite of their obvious hurry, they had been careful to explain to the landlord that they were only going to Dolgadoc and would be back in three or four days.

      Noon of the next day a stranger arrived at the "White Lion," and lost no time in calling for something to eat. In confab with the landlord he stated that he was come on business; urgent business, wishing to meet one Mr. William Addis, — was he still in the town?

      "Well, no! that is, he was newly gone over to Dolgadoc, but was to be back to-morrow."

      Then Tom Hawys engaged a bed and went up to occupy it at once.

      Next day he early ensconced himself in a corner of the bar whence he could get a good view of the street outside, through the window near by. He could thus note the arrival of any one coming into the town, without himself being seen. But though he waited from rim of day to edge of dark the man he looked for did not put in an appearance. Then he grew suspicious and questioned mine host so narrowly that that personage disappeared in the direction of the stables, to reappear, after a usefully improved five minutes, with a properly primed stableman, who was able to assure the questioner that Mr. William Addis had that very morning started on his way back from Dolgadoc, but was turned aside half way to tarry overnight with a new friend, and so would not reach Tirowen till to-morrow.

      Next day wore slowly on, till the watcher in the bar, suspecting a trick, grew sullen and, settling his bill in savage silence, started to walk to Dolgadoc. It was a little before break of day when he reached his destination, and he employed the interval before folk were astir in sleeping with his length across the dust of the roadway, that no man might steal out of the place in the darkness without his knowledge.

      But when, with the first curl of smoke, he rose and proceeded to prosecute his enquiries, he found that neither the landlord of the "Talbot Arms," the only inn of the place, nor the blacksmith; or any one else in fact, knew anything whatever of the man he sought.

      He stayed no longer than to wash and eat before he took the road to Tirowen again, never using so much as an exclamation of impatience at the way he had been tricked.

      "He cannot escape me," he muttered, "God's eye will not shut."

      It was late at night before he came to Tirowen once more. He did not trouble himself to call at the White Lion and inform its landlord that he was a liar; such a thing did not matter now, it could make no ultimate difference; but he passed on at once to the "Three Feathers" and ordered a substantial supper and a good bed. Over breakfast, next morning, a message came to the effect that there was a letter newly arrived at the post office for a Mr. Tom Hawys, and was that for him?

      It was.

      When he had finished reading it a grim smile of satisfaction came over his features. Owen Bevan wrote to say that the Freeholder and Jacob Shop were just returned to Cildeg, where they carried themselves lordlily, aided and abetted thereunto by Evan Bowen.

      The writer suspected that since he, Tom, was gone away suddenly, it would be to seek his enemy, and therefore this letter was addressed to Tirowen on the off chance of finding him there. Should it do so, then would he kindly write back at once and say what was to be done in the matter previously by them discussed?

      Tom's answer was short. "Keep the Freeholder. I shall be with you in two days or so." Then he turned his back to Tirowen and his face to Cildeg and swung forward.

      When this comprehensive answer reached the solicitor, Huw Auctioneer was with him and the two took counsel together as to what it might mean. For, of course, they could not be expected to understand that it meant just what it said in all its naked simplicity; that is, "keep him! knock him on the head! tie him up, or fasten him in a cellar, or anything else you like, only keep him."

      Such a notion is all very well for a man of one idea, but it does not do at all for a man with his living to get and a wife and family to look to. Therefore they could only watch and wait.

      That same evening a close confab took place in Bowen's office, where Mynachty and Shop were both anxious to know what the nature of the plea was, of the merits of which he had written so confidently.

      The attorney, however, was very mysterious about this, and could only be induced to give evasive answers, bidding them wait a day or two till he had quite furbished every link of it, and had, if possible, discovered the special line of argument his rival would employ. But even so, saying nothing definite but all in hints, his keen and confident manner yet impressed his clients into an answering confidence as great as his own seemed to be. There was a cruel little hint of a smile flitting and flickering in his eyes and lips which told of vindictive pleasure in the hidden plan, whatever it should prove to be when laid bare. Mynachty remembered the same smile in the inn at the assize town the day before the trial of their victim, and he was satisfied; while Shop, having already had a big drink or two, was quite ready to think with pitying scorn of what might be attempted against them by a man who hadn't Evan Bowen for a lawyer.

      Thus it came about that those two had retired to the back room of the shop to congratulate themselves upon their prospects when Tom Hawys, having received an unexpected lift by reason of Huw Auctioneer having sent a fast gig to meet him, drove into Cildeg that night.

      Few persons saw him enter the house of his solicitor, but in the present state of the public mind one with just a suspicion would have been plenty, and the child most resembling his father speedily burst in upon that father's presence to tell him, in great glee, that Tom Hawys was in the town.

      Whereupon, after duly cuffing the messenger, congratulation was at once exchanged for motion. In spite of their newly born confidence the two rose and stole away for Mynachty.

      Meanwhile Tom, with his feet under Owen Bevan's table, was listening, while he took supper, to the conversation of his two friends, who talked of anything and everything which might do to stave off a weighty moment with.

      When he had finished and gone back with the others to the office, he seated himself at the table and gave the opening point.

      "Well?"

      Then the lawyer detailed the difficulties of taking action in the case as it stood. After that they talked it over again, Huw Auctioneer hopefully and jubilantly, while Tom nodded occasionally, or interjected a monosyllable when he thought the others might be hurt by his continued silence.

      Owen Bevan was troubled as he watched his guest. "Tom," said he, "you do not seem to have much faith in getting justice on the Uchelwr?"

      "Justice!" said Tom, grimly, "no! not full justice. But as near as it is possible to get justice upon this earth I shall get it. I am very sure of that."

      The tone of absolute faith and cold determination in which this was said brought an awkward pause upon them till Tom spoke up again.

      "At what hour did my wife die?"

      "Shortly before the break of day," put in Huw Auctioneer.

      "Were you at the Havod then, Huw?"

      "Yes! I was there all the day before and could not come down in the dark, so I stayed till morning."

      "Thank you, Huw. And now it wants about an hour of mid-night, and I must go!" rising as he spoke.

      "Go! Go where, Tom Hawys? The night is thick for rain, and where should you sleep but here?"

      "Sleep! nay; not to-night. I am going to the Havod. I shall be here again to-morrow, ready to go to the court, but to-night I wish to be home once more. Good night!"

      And the two men stood aside to let him pass out.

---

CHAPTER XXXI.
CROWN'S EVIDENCE.

THE Freeholder was right when he said that Mynachty was become little better than a barn. Only one room had been refurnished for him since the visit of the mob, and that one his study. Here, during his short visits, he dined, or sat, or did whatever there was to do, while the rest remained empty and forlorn. The surroundings of the house were of a piece with this state of things; the lawn and paths overgrown with weeds; the shrubbery wild and unkempt, and the whole aspect of the place suggesting the abode of a miser or a misanthrope.

      Only the old housekeeper remained permanently in the house, the maids who formerly felt her despotic hand therein having been banished on the plea of stern economy. It was not the master, however, who promulgated the edict, but old Lowry herself; she deciding that, after the losses by the fire, "we" must be economical. Moreover, when the master growled at the reduction of his establishment, he was sternly told that though he might not care a rap even if he were to come home some day and find the bailiffs in possession, yet she was no such sinful wastrel, and as long as she was alive, at any rate, she was not going to have any such thing happen. So that he might make up his mind at once that all extravagances were to be stopped in that house at least, and superfluous labour dispensed with till things looked up again.

      And against this decree what could the master do? She had been servant so long at Mynachty, in one capacity or another, that she would sooner have thought of discharging its owner than of being discharged by him, for, as she was fond of reminding him, she was at work in that house before his father was born, let alone him, and, for the matter of that, was born there, too, herself. Therefore he could only go to the front door and relieve his feelings by anathematising all housekeepers soever, — and be considerably disconcerted to hear her put in from behind to the effect that he might swear as long as he liked, and as hard as he liked, but she wasn't going to have the family made paupers of for all that.

      Then he gave in with a sigh, and told her that there was no doubt that the devil had lost his dam, and if she had any of the feelings of a mother she would at once hasten to the Place Below and comfort him in his adversity.

      To which she pleasantly replied that she could not well be much nearer the old gentleman than at present, in her idea.

      However this little interchange of civilities so far relaxed old Lowry's decision that she allowed one of the farm labourer's daughters to come up, for an hour or two each day, whenever the master was at home; and that made things a little more comfortable.

      But, through the seven lean years which had fallen upon Mynachty, age had stepped in and laid its hand upon her. Before that time the Freeholder had been wont to say, when his bonds galled more than usual, that she was of the race of donkeys, which never die but dry up and blow away. But now even he could have brought no further objection on that score, for she was become stone deaf and more than half blind, while the click of her stick had become painful to hear in its slowness.

      Therefore, this night she grumbled mightily when the master and his companion came in from Cildeg and ensconced themselves in the study, redoubling her cackle when the master took her by the shoulders and pushed her upstairs, at the same time relieving her shaking hand of its burden of keys.

      When she was gone, and even the sound of her tongue could no longer be heard, the two below set themselves to making things comfortable. From the larder they fetched the elements of a substantial meal, and from a cupboard in the room itself the bottle which had become an integral part of their existence.

      They also piled fresh fuel upon the fire, and altogether they were very comfortable indeed, — so far as outward appearance went.

      One of the first things they had done upon entering had been to fasten all the windows and bar the outer doors. More especially they drew the ponderous oaken beam across that had held the front door secure ever since the house was built. But they forgot to fasten the old housekeeper.

      So very merry were they over their meal; making such a noise to prove to each other how light of heart they were concerning to-morrow's business, — when all the while it was the present night they feared, — that they entirely failed to hear, first, the beam thrust back into its slot in the wall and, next, the front door open. Thus they were not troubled by knowing that old Lowry was on her way down to the labourer's quarters to fetch up someone to wait upon them.

      Before she got well along the path through the shrubbery however, the chill and the darkness struck to her marrow and she repented of her journey. There were ghosts about the broken wall in that thicket too; old monks with cloven skulls and snake girdles; monks with lopped limbs and gaping, slashed throats, and Inco the Redhand and his merry men to chase them hither and hither with swords that forked about like lightning. She could hear the pit-pat of the scandalled feet of the flying ones, — she was not deaf in her own estimation, — with the pad, pad, of the hide shod outlaws pursuing, — and och! there was one of them coming straight at her!

      She turned and fled for the house as fast as her stiff limbs would bear her. So scared she was that she utterly forgot to close and bar the door, but made the best of her way upstairs to bed, muttering between her gasps, as she went, that folk who came home at that time of night might wait upon themselves for all of her.

      And all this time the two in the study continued to be comfortable.

      Midnight is the proper time for ghosts and this must be one of them stealing so silently along the shrubbery path. The dogs down at the barns had sniffed it long ago, but the wind was against them, and so their barking came up too faintly to disturb the comfort of that inner room.

      This ghost evidently desired to be comfortable also, for it stole noiselessly round to the window whence the light shone and there peeped in, — heavens! what a white face it had, and what a hungry glare in its eyes!

      Then cautiously and stealthily, hands upon the wall and feet upon the grass, it shifted along till it reached the open door.

      It passed in.

      The meal had been finished and its remains cleared away, leaving only the bottle and tumblers to balance the candlestick upon the table between the two in the study. They were playing cards, and the Freeholder was dealing, when the door quietly opened and the ghost stood silently inside.

      Jacob Shop was nearest, with his back to it, but something clutched at his heartstrings and he turned and saw the entrant. With a choked scream of fear he sprang up. "Look! look! Tom Hawys!"

      The expression on the ghost's face was demoniacal. Frantic with terror, the chattering Shop grasped the heavy brass candlestick as a weapon and made for the door. The ghost simply seized him and flung him, candlestick and all, through into the passage behind.

      The Freeholder had picked up the bottle and now, in the red light of the fire, hurled it with all his strength at the one before him. But, missing its mark, it flashed on and struck the sprawling wretch beyond, stretching him senseless in the outer darkness.

      Then with a spring the ghost cast aside the table between and fell upon the object of its consuming hatred.

***X5

      An hour later, Jacob Shop, weak and bleeding, staggered over the threshold of his home in Cildeg, his whole being in a state of terror that rendered him utterly insensible to the bitter tongue of his wife.

      "Money!" he cried, "give me what money is in the house; give it to me now! I must get away from this to-night! at once! to America! to any where across the sea! Give me the money; quick! I tell you, and don't stand there gaping like a stuck pig."

      For his wife was completely taken aback by this second contempt for her authority, — so dazed that she answered mildly, and by argument, —

      "You know there is nothing in the till; I paid some bills to-day, You'll have to wait and get it from the bank to-morrow."

      "The bank!" He groaned as he saw the ground slip from under his feet. "I tell you I haven't a penny in the bank; nor have I had for a twelvemonth now past. He made me draw it all out!"

      "What!" screamed his wife, "no money in the bank? He made you draw it all out! What ails you? What are you talking about? You — you idiot! you must be drunk or mad!" and seizing the drivelling wretch she shook him till his teeth rattled ere she flung him violently to the floor, and struck an attitude in waiting for an explanation.

      But he had none to give. Instead he rose and, deftly overturning a huge pile of cloth upon his angry partner, gained the door and fled into the night.

      Once beyond the edge of the town, and safe from his wife's pursuit, he paused to gather breath and consider what next he should do. Fear was tugging at his heart as he glanced back in the direction he had come. "Ptah!" He jumped half a yard into the air, for a fleeting glimpse of the moon shewed him the black outline of the jail. His knees smote together; his heart knocked at his ribs; he collapsed.

      Rolling over and over in the wet road he tore at his scanty hair, plastering it thick with mud. Och! och! at last he really should be put in prison and then hung, as Mynachty had always assured him. But no, he would not be hung! he would not; they should not hang him; he would turn crown's evidence, now, at once, and pretend that he thought it didn't matter which man did it, and that the first to confess would get the benefit, — they couldn't hang the father of so many children, and such a quiet, honest, respectable man as he was, after that. He would run now and escape the awful fate which wrecked his imagination.

      Trembling with haste, he rose and ran with all the strength he could muster towards the house of Owen Bevan. Just as he passed the jail, however, a dark form sprang out from the shadow and attempted to seize him. The apparition struck him dumb with new terror; this could be nothing less than some fiendish incarnation of justice itself, endeavouring to prevent him reaching salvation. The strength fled from his sinews, his bones failed him, a few steps he staggered in falling, and then the thing clutched him and he dropped senseless.

      Evan Bowen, kneeling in the darkness upon this one of his clients, muttered vindictively between his teeth, — "I wonder if it wouldn't be wisest to cut his throat here and fasten that on Tom Hawys to-morrow?"

      The attorney had been sitting late, polishing up his case, till his senses whirled, and he had at last resolved to quit poring over paper and take a quiet stroll along the street, to see if that would help him in controlling his restless brain, and here, at the jail, he had caught the flying draper.

      The point where Shop fell was about mid-way of the short distance betwixt the jail and Owen Bevan's place, and the lawyer, kneeling upon the prostrate man and noting the nearness of the window light, decided that what he did, he must do swiftly. The murderous impulse that first flashed through his brain at finding a human being absolutely helpless and in his power; alone with him under cover of the darkness with no eye to see what befel; prompted his hesitancy and sent his hand groping through his pockets.

      Damnation! his knife was lying upon the desk in his office; ten thousand curses upon that act of forgetful folly! But the thing beneath him would have a knife! Carefully, yet hastily, his lips parted, and his tongue parched from the flame in his head that burnt his eyeballs to hot stones, he passed his right hand through the clothes of the other. Hell fire! no knife was there either. Bah! he would throttle him; strangle him! choke him till his tongue lolled thick and swollen on his blackened jaws, drawn tight in sucking for breath, and the eyeballs started out on the cheeks below them. Devils! devils! devils!

      That clutch upon his throat roused the returning senses of the draper. This must be the strangulation of the rope fitted by that apparition. With the desperate spring of a man in the throes of death he flung himself against the power that was choking him. The suddenness of the movement made the other's knees slip off into the mud and that caused the grip to slacken for an instant; an instant full ample for his victim.

      With a yell that woke the echoes of the street Shop redoubled his struggles, crying between his blows, "I am crown's evidence; I was coming to confess."

      The door of the lighted house flew open and out rushed Owen Bevan, followed by the Auctioneer. Evan Bowen in the midst of his furious, mad thirst for murder saw what was coming and, in a last supreme transport of demon lust, fastened his teeth in the draper's ear and tore it clean away. Then, with a horrible growl, like that of a mad dog, he rose and fled for the open country.

      When Huw Auctioneer, leading, came first upon the writhing form of the draper, he was tempted to fall upon him also, but the burden of that agonized appeal, — "I am crown's evidence! I am crown's evidence! Come to confess!" rising alternately with howls of pain and squeals of fear from the totally unnerved wretch, caught his ear and stayed him.

      It took some little time, however, before they could persuade Shop that he was in no immediate danger of the gallows, and that he might make use of their assistance in the confession he wished to set forth. When at last this idea penetrated his terror and reached his understanding, he sprang to his feet at once, forgetting his pain for an instant as he grasped at the new safety.

      "And I can be crown's evidence? You'll be my warranty for that?" he repeated in tones of quavering joy.

      When they had convinced him that nothing was more sure, he eagerly accompanied them to the house, where the first sight of him, as he stood between the candles, brought a round oath of astonishment from the auctioneer.

      And in truth that mud and bloodstained figure presented a pitiful sight. Ill favoured he had ever been, but now, with the blood from a wound on his head and from the place whence the ear was missing, running down in crimson streams over the mire that coated his neck, he looked a horrible object. So great, however, was his joy at discovering a way of escape from the reason-sapping anticipations of the gallows, that he would not hear of any delay in the taking down of his confession, but, with a rude bandage of handkerchiefs round his head, poured his words forth so eagerly that he had to be called upon to stop, every few moments, to allow the pen to catch up.

      In the relation he laid great stress upon the fact that he was, first, foremost, and above all things, an honest, peaceful, law abiding man, who had a great natural affection for Tom Hawys, as stood to reason, seeing how good a tenant that man had been to him. But the Freeholder had lied to him and cunningly entrapped him, buying Havod y Garreg from him, and then withholding the price till Tom Hawys should be crushed. And of course he, being a poor man, as was well known to everybody, was thus forced to do what otherwise he would not have done in order to get his money. And in the end he never got it at all, but even lost what other money he had; so that Tom Hawys had done him overwhelming harm, and he wished he had never seen him, for he was a poor man in an evil plight this day, and all because of him, that would not let the Freeholder marry Gwennie Cradoc. Such a pair of fools and madmen, those two! as if any particular wife were less misfortune to a man than another!

      And it was Mynachty who planned everything, first and last, and made him help him; and it was also Mynachty that had lifted the sheep on to the ponies, when they changed them in the field, that night seven years ago. And it was Reuben Ploughman, whose own team killed him afterwards, that had driven the seven over to Pennant at break of day, and he, himself, Jacob Shop, was now crown's evidence, and this was it!

      Moreover it was Evan Bowen who got up all the evidence; Evan Attorney with the tongue that would condemn the devil himself if he did but get that devil in prison once, and have him in the dock to carve. And that attorney had also ruined the Freeholder and himself; stripping them of everything, for he was to have one mortgage on Mynachty and another on the shop this coming day for getting them quit of this new trial, — though the Freeholder had planned to delay the signing till after they were clear again, and then to invite the lawyer over to take the inventory of Mynachty, and there throttle him and bury him beneath the stone floor that was beside the broken wall of the monk's building, — and that would lay the ghosts too; which would be a good job. And this was his confession, and now he would not be hung, would he? And he had not a penny piece in the world, and he wished he had never been born, — being an honest man who went to chapel regularly. And he had no more crown's evidence to give, unless they would tell him what they wanted him to say, as Evan Attorney did.

      When it was all finished and written down he signed it, with Huw Auctioneer to witness it, and the solicitor to write remarks above and below, and endorse it all round. Then he begged them to put the hour as well as the date of it, and would they mind putting it a little earlier, say midnight, for he should like to be before Evan Bowen, who would most certainly write out his own confession and date it yesterday, — so little the draper understood of laws or men, and so little did he suspect the identity of his assailant in the street.

      "And he should not be hung now, should he?"

      Huw had been mixing a glass of something hot and here, in his exultation, he handed it to the draper, comforting the piteous beseeching of the ghastly head-piece with a fervent, —

      "Not this time; I'm afraid. But never mind Jacob; keep a stout heart; an honest man like you is born to be hung, — even if he does it himself. Drink that!"

      After that the "crown's evidence" was escorted to the scullery for a thorough wash, and some clothes were found for him to don. A world too big they were, but they were "dry and would keep him from catching cold," said the auctioneer cheerfully. It would never do to let him be taken with a sickness and die out of hand just when he was becoming useful; not to mention the cheating of the rope of its due.

      And so he spent a very happy hour or two betwixt then and dawning, holding his bandaged head in his hands, and drinking warm consolation from the glass which Huw Auctioneer so comfortingly replenished, as often as it got low.

---

CHAPTER XXXII.
"THE RAVENS OF ARAN ARE MOCKING THY MOTHER AND THEE."

DAYLIGHT was some two hours old when Tom Hawys, true to his promise, returned.

      But a great fear fell upon his friends as they read the expression of his face. There was a stern triumph in his eye, and a loftiness in his carriage, that seemed to transfigure him. This man conceived himself to have become an incarnation of inexorable justice in all its terrible majesty. Henceforth he towered over all the haphazard happenings and pointless incidents of life; he was beyond reach of its possibilities.

      When Jacob Shop beheld him he fell back, white and trembling, and crying out in a weak voice, — "I have confessed; it is all written down and signed."

      The incomer turned and gazed steadily at him, for an instant, while he said, in an even voice, — "But you were only the poor fool of a tool. The Freeholder was the one."

      Then, striding to the hearth, he faced about and stood before them, and the solicitor felt his heart sink as he looked at him. "Poor, poor Tom," he whispered softly to himself, "his reason is gone at last, he is mad now; full mad; in truth he is poor Tom!"

      In his hand he carried a staff; a veritable club, twisted and gnarled, and bristling with knotty protuberances. But that was not alone what made the gazers shudder as they looked at it; it was rather the dark stain enveloping half its length; a stain they all knew too truly for blood.

      Then the other three listened in silence as in exalted strain he took up his story.

      "You remember, Owen, that you told me how Mynachty felled the ash tree. Well! when its branches crashed through the roof, a seed of it must have fallen beneath the wreck on the floor below. That seed grew up to be this!" and he swung up the thing in his hand.

      "On the day when I first came back from prison I did not stay, nor speak with any man, but passed straight through Cildeg and on to Havod y Garreg. I have told you since then, Owen, of my dream that I dreamed years before, and now I tell you that when I saw my old home, I made no more doubts as to the truth of what I had dreamed.

      "I climbed over the broken eaves and dropped upon the weed-grown slates heaped on the floor inside. There I found this ash growing, and I guessed how it had come there; cursing in my heart the pitiful spite that had cut down its parent tree. There was a honeysuckle strangling and warping it, so I took out my knife and cut the choking thing way, leaving the sapling free to grow again. But could it ever straighten up and be a fair tree again? Never!

      "All that night I stayed beside this twisted sapling, striving with myself. I looked at this mis-shapen thing, and pondered over it, till I knew it for God's token that my prayer was granted, and His sign that my desire upon my enemy was just; for here to my hand, and on my own cold hearth, was a weapon of His own fashioning, growing in unexpected answer to my years of importuning. Moreover, it was a symbol of myself. Like me, it had been straight and true, until an enemy" seized upon it and dragged it down, making it ugly to look at, — fit only to be an instrument of vengeance.

      "But I was not glad to have my desire granted and then bound to this way of fulfilment. All the years in prison I had looked forward to using my bare hands alone, as a strong man should. So I was stubborn now and would have it so, even yet; in spite of the twisted sapling. I stood for hours and strove, until at last, out from the shadows came my mother. Just as she last appeared in life, so she was now, burning me through and through with the fire of her eyes and pointing with a steady finger to the ash. Then I fell down, and when I looked up again she was gone, only the tops of the young tree trembled still.

      "So I knew that I must use the sapling, and that God had guided the spite of my enemy to his own destruction, since, if he had not cut down the ash, this weapon would not have grown to be his own destruction. Then, having yielded, I lay there till day dawned and I climbed out and came away.

      "You know how since that time I have waited and wandered, looking for the man who broke my life. Last night I found him; found him where I always knew I should find him for though I followed him in other places, that was only to drive him to the one spot — he sat in his own house, at his own hearth.

      "His tool was with him; poor fool! but he ran away, taking the light with him, and leaving me face to face at last with the man I had so hungered to meet.

      "I had always pictured myself as standing still at first, drinking in the joy of being within arm's length of him; but now he seemed to pluck up such a courage as made me wonder and eager to have hold of him. A pride sprang up in me that he should fight after all and not die tamely like a sheep.

      "He was a tall man; taller than I, while I, too, was wasted by my so long time in prison, — but his strength was gone in years of brandy. Still, he was fighting for his life; he knew that though no word was said; and he loved his life and hated me with a hate that thirsted for my blood to finish what he had already done to me. But I was fighting for revenge, and I laughed at his straining sinews and his struggles.

      "While we wrestled, gasping and panting, his foot struck the faggot on the hearth, throwing a thousand sparks about the floor. Then, as we went down together, the flames leaped up and shewed the fury of his face, grey and despairing, and gleamed upon the white teeth behind the dry, drawn lips, and lighted up the hate that smoked in his staring eyeballs. And I laughed at him, for I felt him getting weaker.

      "While I laughed I had gotten a new hold on him and now, in spite of his sinews that cracked and his veins that swelled, I turned him face down, feeling the place shake beneath the stroke of his body.

      "Then he slacked his strength by a bursting curse, and I, taking that moment sharply, set my knee in his back, and brought his two wrists behind and with the cloth from my neck made them fast.

      "So he was mine, and I tied his feet with his own neckerchief, and turned him over again and set my foot upon him and spoke, —

      "'Uchelwr! where is my wife?'

      "But he was foaming now, and shouted back, —

      "'With your child! dead!'

      "And I, that had not expected that, fell back a pace, and he raised his head and laughed in turn.

      "Then the flame in me leaped up, dimming my eyes and hammering at my temples till I had killed him as he lay, only that, through all those long years behind, his death had been planned for another place. So I did but set my foot upon his throat and press till the eyes seemed starting out of his head, and his body squirmed like an adder's.

      "When by the flicker of the fire I saw his face grow black, I lifted my foot and stood away, hidden in the shadow, till he came round again. At first, as he revived, he seemed to wonder how he came to be tied so, and he struggled feebly with his bonds. Then he started, looking wildly round, and, seeing no one, cried with white lips, — 'Help! Help!'

      "At that word I stood out into the firelight and jeered him; but the foretaste of death had squeezed the courage from his heart, like water from a sponge, and he shouted louder yet, — 'Help! Help!'

      "Then, seeing that his new courage was gone, I took the short end of a brand from the hearth and stuck the green part betwixt his teeth, gagging him.

      "'There! Uchelwr,' said I, 'that is what they used to do to me in prison before I learnt to curse you under my breath. What do you think of prison ways now?'

      "After that I searched through the house till I found a strip of board, light and strong, and I bound my captive along it, so that he lay as helpless as a log and as easy to carry.

      "'And now at last, Mynachty,' I said again, 'the ravens of Aran are mocking thy mother and thee.'

      "Valley and mountain side, it is four long rocky miles from Mynachty to Havod y Garreg, but I dragged him to the step of his own door, and swung him upon my back, and started.

      "You know that, before I was sentenced, there came no man into Cildeg who could stagger under the weight I used to laugh at. The thought of that was in my mind when I first planned to carry my enemy up the breast of Cefn Du, but now, when the moment came, I found that the prison had made me old, and my bones seemed to creak under the burden. So I laid him down, and went into the pasture by the lane where there was an old mare of his own. Then I tied him upon her with the rope that had fastened him to the board, and so I started, checking the snorting of the mare with the twitch I kept close hold of. The dogs barked in the farmhouses as we passed up the valley, but we met no one.

      "The night was clouded and dark, and the track from Glwysva on was rough and difficult, but I missed no inch of the way; I had travelled it too often in my mind to forget it now. Time after time did I stop to breathe the mare, for she was old and the burden was heavy. And each time as we rested I told him by how much we had shortened the gap betwixt him and death, and how little remained to be travelled. The gag was firm in his mouth and smothered all answer.

      "At last we passed the gate of the lower croft and came to the house, and there I dropped him down upon the root of the ash; letting the nag go, while I sat down to breathe myself beside him. When I had got my wind again I rose, and, taking a corner stone from the garden wall, under the elder bush, drove the house-door from its fastening and burst it wide open.

      "Then I dragged him inside.

      "What made the moon show forth so sudden then and shine so long? What but the will of God to prove the righteousness of what I was going to do! I told this to the Uchelwr, as I placed him with his back to the wall and took out my knife. Then I took a loose stone from the wall, and asked him if he remembered the day he tried to murder me with that?

      "After I had whetted the knife upon it, I stood by the sapling and told him its history, — and all the answer was only a dim moaning from behind the gag. Then I bent down and cut the ash plant through, trimming away the branches and leaving it as it is now.

      "Next I fastened the door firmly, and, turning again, untied the neck-cloth from his feet. Then standing him upright in the middle of the room, I spoke to him once more, — for the last time, —

      "'Will, son of Jen Lwyd of the curse! Freeholder of Mynachty! I would not have it upon my soul that I had killed you leaving you no time to pray for mercy. From here your wildest cry can bring no earthly help, so, when I take out the gag, address yourself to God, — now!'

      "With that I pulled the gag from his mouth and stood back, gripping the sapling ready in my two hands. Him! he stood ghastly in the moonlight, stock still for an instant. Then, as the torments of near hell anticipated death and tore his soul, he gave one long scream, like the scream of the damned, and turned to run.

      "But his hands were tied, and I knew that he could not climb the walls or get through the door, and I watched him as with spluttering lips and straining muscles he strove to burst his hands free. Frantic at last, he turned, with foaming mouth, and made to rush at me. One step I leaned forward, bringing down the sapling glancingly upon his head. He stopped, shuddered, stiffened upright, and met the second blow that came with a crash and dropped him; a quivering heap; dead at my feet.

      "Swift at the stroke the clouds covered the moon, and a blast from the west shook the house, while, thick and awful, I heard the cry of the hell dogs that carried away the loosened soul, — for he had not prayed for heaven's help to save him from them."

      The terrible tale paused for a moment, while the speaker, gripping the weapon, swung it up as though in fancy he were repeating the blow. Then, speaking mechanically, he said, — "'It was shortly before the break of day when he died.'"

      And the auctioneer, remembering his own using of the words, shuddered.

      The figure on the hearth resumed, —

      "I waited there till day rose and it was time to come away and give myself up to the dock and the gallows; for I want to have a word with the law and its judge, that are so full of form and so empty of justice.

      "But as I left I saw the ravens of Aran circling, and I hastened to leave them to the blood they had betrayed.

      "And now, Owen, here I stand, the executioner of the man who made me a convict, and murdered my wife and child, — take me to the judge!"