c 
 
 • f 
 
 /^«- 
 
 
 I I B R.AR.Y 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UN IVE.R5ITY 
 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 1877 
 V. I
 
 ^ 

 
 GWEN WYNN.
 
 G W E N W YN N: 
 
 §. "gommxa oi i^e Mm. 
 
 BT 
 
 CAPTAIN MAYNE REID, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "LOST LENORE," "THE WHITE GAUNTLET," "HALF-BLOOD, 
 "THE RIFLE RANGERS," "THE MAROON," ETC. 
 
 IX THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 TINSLEY BROTHERS, 8, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND. 
 
 1877. 
 
 [All Rights Reserved.]
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED BY WOODFALL AND KINDEB^ 
 
 MILFORD LANE, STRAND, W.C.
 
 V.i 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 ,^ PROLOGUE . 1 
 
 L 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 ■^ The Heeoine ....•••• ^ 
 
 13 CHAPTER II. 
 
 20 
 The Hero 
 
 ^ CHAPTER III. 
 "^ A Charon Corrupted ^ 
 
 ^ ■ CHAPTER IV. 
 
 On the River 
 
 ^ CHAPTER Y. 
 
 *^ Dangers Ahead . . • • 
 
 ^ ... 62 
 
 oi " CHAPTER YI. 
 
 . 77 
 A Ducking Deserved 
 
 <!-
 
 VI CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER YII. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 An Iveteeate Novel Reader .... 91 
 
 CHAPTER YIII. 
 A Suspicious Stranger 102 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 Jealous already • . 114 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 The Cuckoo's Glen 128 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 A Weed by the Wyeside 137 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing .... 148 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 Among the Arrows 164 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 Beating about the Bush 176 
 
 CHAPTER XY. 
 A Spiritual Adviser 190
 
 CONTENTS. Vll 
 
 CHAPTEK XVI. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 CoKACLE Dick 208 
 
 CHAPTER XYII. 
 The "Corpse CA^-DLE" 222 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 A Cat in the Cupboaed 238 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 A Black Shadow Behind 251 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 Under the Elm 267
 
 GWEN WYNN 
 
 % %\onxmxa of tbe Wim. 
 
 PEOLOGIJE. 
 
 Hail to thee, Wye — famed river of Siluria ! 
 Well deserving fame, worthy of warmest 
 salutation ! From thy fountain-head on 
 Plinlimmon's far slope, where thou leapest 
 forth, gay as a girl on her skip-rope, through 
 the rugged rocks of Brecon and Eadnor, 
 that like rude men would detain thee, 
 snatching hut a kiss for their pains — on, as 
 woman grown, with statelier step, amid the 
 wooded hills of Herefordshire, which treat 
 thee with more courtly consideration — still 
 on, and once more rudely assailed hy tbe 
 hold ramparts of Monmouth — through all 
 thou makest way — in despite all, preserving 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 Z GWEN WTNN. 
 
 thy purity ! If defiled before espousing 
 the ocean, the fault is not thine, but Sabrina's 
 — sister born of thy birth, she too cradled 
 on Plinlimmon's breast, but since child- 
 hood's days separated from thee, and 
 straying through other shrines — perchance 
 leading a less reputable life. No blame to 
 thee, beautiful Yaga — from source to Severn 
 pure as the spring that begets thee — fair to 
 the eye, and full of interest to reflect on. 
 Scarce a reach of thy channel, or curve of 
 thy course, but is redolent of romance and 
 rich in the lore of history. On thy shores, 
 through the long centuries, has been enacted 
 many a scene of gayest pleasure and sternest 
 strife ; many an exciting episode, in which 
 love and hate, avarice and ambition — in 
 short, every human passion has had play. 
 Overjoyed were the Eoman Legionaries to 
 behold their silver eagles reflected from thy 
 pellucid wave; though they did not succeed 
 in planting them on thy western shore till 
 after many a tough struggle with the 
 gallant, but ill-starred, Caractacus. Long, 
 too, had the Saxons to battle before they
 
 PROLOGUE. 3 
 
 could make good their footing on tlie 
 Silurian side — as witness tlie Dyke of Offa. 
 Later, the Normans obtained it only through 
 treachery, by the murder of the princely 
 Llewellyn ; and, later still, did the bold 
 Glendower make thy banks the scene of 
 patriotic strife ; while, last of all, sawest 
 thou conflict in still nobler cause — as of 
 more glorious remembrance — when the 
 earnest soldiers, of the Parliament encoun- 
 tered the so-called Cavaliers, and purged 
 thy shores of the ribald rout, making them 
 pure as thy waters. 
 
 But, sweet Wye ! not all the scenes thou 
 hast witnessed have been of war. Love, 
 too, has stamped thee with many a tender 
 souvenir, many a tale of warm wild passion. 
 Was it not upon thy banks that the hand- 
 Some " Harry of Monmouth," hero of 
 Agincourt, first saw the light ; there living,, 
 till manhood-grown, when he appeared 
 •" armed cajp-a-jpie, with beaver on '' ? And 
 did not thy limpid waters bathe the feet of 
 Fair Eosamond, in childhood's days, when 
 she herself was pure ? In thee, also, was 
 
 B 2
 
 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 mirrored the comely form of Owen Tudor, 
 which caught the eye of a queen — the 
 stately Catharine — giving to England a 
 race of kings ; and by thy side the beauteous 
 Saxon, ^dgitha, bestowed her heart and 
 hand on a Cymric prince. 
 
 Nor are such episodes all of the remote 
 past, but passing now ; now, as ever, pa- 
 thetic — as ever impassioned. For still upon 
 thy banks, Vaga, are men brave, and women 
 fair, as when Adelgisa excited the jealousy 
 of the Druid priestess, or the maid of Clif- 
 ford Castle captured a king's heart, to be- 
 come the victim of a queen's vengeance. 
 
 Not any fairer than the heroine of my 
 tale ; and she was born there, there brought 
 
 up, and there 
 
 Ah ! that is the story to be told.
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE HEROINE. 
 
 A TOURIST descending the Wye by boat 
 from the town of Hereford to the ruined 
 Abbey of Tintern, may observe on its banks 
 a small pagoda-like structure ; its roof, 
 with a portion of the supporting columns, 
 o'er-topping a spray of evergreens. It is 
 simply a summer-house, of the kiosk or 
 pavilion pattern, standing in the ornamental 
 grounds of a gentleman's residence. Though 
 placed conspicuously on an elevated point, 
 the boat traveller obtains view of it only 
 from a reach of the river above. When 
 opposite he loses sight of it ; a spinny of 
 tall poplars drawing curtain-hke between 
 him and the higher bank. These stand on 
 an oblong island, which extends several 
 hundred yards down the stream, formed by 
 an old channel, now forsaken. With all
 
 b GWEN WYNN. 
 
 its wanderings the W3^e is not suddenly 
 capricious ; still, in the lapse of long ages 
 it has here and there changed its course, 
 forming aits^ or cyots, of which this is one. 
 
 The tourist will not likely take the aban- 
 doned channel. He is bound and booked 
 for Tintern — possibly Chepstow — and will 
 not be delayed by lesser " lions." Besides, 
 his hired boatmen would not deviate from 
 their terms of charter, without adding an 
 extra to their fare. 
 
 Were he free, and disposed for explora- 
 tion, entering this unused water way, he 
 would find it tortuous, with scarce any 
 current, save in times of flood ; on one side 
 the eyot, a low marshy flat, thickly over- 
 grown with trees ; on the other a continuous 
 cliff, rising forty feet sheer, li^fagade grim 
 and grey, with flakes of reddish hue, where 
 the frost has detached pieces from the rock 
 — the old red sandstone of Herefordshire. 
 Near its entrance he would catch a glimpse 
 of the kiosk on its crest ; and, proceeding 
 onward, will observe the tops of laurels 
 and other exotic evergreens, mingling their
 
 THE HEROINE. / 
 
 c^labrous foliasfe witli that of the indis^enoTis 
 holly, ivy, and ferns ; these last trailing over 
 the cliff's brow, and wreathing it with fillets 
 of verdure, as if to conceal its frowning 
 corruofations. 
 
 About midway down the old river's bed 
 he will arrive opposite a little embayment 
 in the high bank, partly natural, but in 
 part quarried out of the cliff — as evinced by 
 a flight of steps, leading up at back, chiselled 
 out of the rock i?i situ. 
 
 The cove thus contrived is just large 
 enough to give room to a row-boat ; and, if 
 not out upon the river, one will be in it, 
 riding upon its painter ; this attached to a 
 ring in the red sandstone. It is a light 
 two- oared affair — a pleasure-boat, ornamen- 
 tally painted, with cushioned thwarts, and 
 tiller ropes of coloured cord athwart its 
 stern, which the tourist will have turned 
 towards him, in gold lettering, " The Gwen- 
 doline." 
 
 Charmed by this Idyllic picture, he may 
 forsake his own craft, and ascend to the top 
 of the stair. If so, he will have before his
 
 8 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 eyes a lawn of park-like expanse, mottled 
 with clumps of coppice, here and there a 
 grand old tree — oak, elm, or chestnut — 
 standing solitary ; at the upper end a 
 shruhbery of glistening evergreens, with 
 gravelled walks, fronting a handsome house ; 
 or, in the parlance of the estate agent, a 
 noble mansion. That is Llangorren Court, 
 and there dwells the owner of the pleasure- 
 boat, as also prospective owmer of the house, 
 with some two thousand acres of land Ij'ing 
 adjacent. 
 
 The boat bears her baptismal name, the 
 surname being AYynn, Avhile people, in a 
 familiar w^ay, speak of her as " Gwen 
 Wynn ; " this on account of her being a 
 lady of proclivities and habits that make 
 her somewhat of a celebrity in the neigh- 
 bourhood. She not only goes boating, but 
 hunts, drives a pair of spirited horses, pre- 
 sides over the church choir, plays its organ, 
 looks after the poor of the parish — nearly 
 all of it her own, or soon to be — and has a 
 bright smile, wdth a pleasant word, for 
 everybody.
 
 THE HEROINE. 9 
 
 If she be outside, upon tlie lawn, the 
 tourist, supposing him a gentleman, will 
 withdraw ; for across the grounds of Llan- 
 gorren Court there is no ''right of way," 
 and the presence of a stranger upon them 
 would be deemed an intrusion. Neverthe- 
 less, he would go back down the boat-stair 
 reluctantly, and with a sigh of regret, that 
 good manners do not permit his making 
 the acquaintance of Gwen Wynn without 
 further loss of time, or any ceremony of 
 introduction. 
 
 But my readers are not thus debarred ; 
 and to them I introduce her, as she saunters 
 over this same lawn, on a lovely April 
 morn. 
 
 She is not alone ; another lady, by name 
 Eleanor Lees, being with her. They are 
 nearly of the same age — both turned 
 twenty — ^but in all other respects unlike, 
 even to contrast, though there is kinship 
 between them. Gwendoline Wynn is tall 
 of form, fully developed ; face of radiant 
 brightness, with blue-grey eyes, and hair of 
 that chrome yellow almost peculiar to the
 
 10 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 Cymri — said to liave made such havoc 
 with the hearts of the Eoman soldiers, 
 causing these to deplore the day when re- 
 called home to protect their seven-hilled 
 city from Groths and Visigoths. 
 
 In personal appearance Eleanor Lees is 
 the reverse of all this ; being of dark com- 
 plexion, brown-haired, black-eyed, with a 
 figure slender and petite. Withal she is 
 pretty ; but it is only prettiness — a word 
 inapplicable to her kinswoman, who is pro- 
 nouncedly beautiful. 
 
 Equally unlike are they in mental cha- 
 racteristics ; the first-named being free of 
 speech, courageous, just a trifle fast, and 
 possibly a little imperious. The other of a 
 reserved, timid disposition, and habitually 
 of subdued mien, as befits her station ; for 
 in this there is also disparity between them 
 — again a contrast. Both are orphans ; 
 but it is an orphanage under widely difi'erent 
 circumstances and conditions : the one 
 heiress to an estate worth some ten thousand 
 pounds per annum ; the other inheriting 
 nought save an old family name — indeed.
 
 THE HEROINE. 11 
 
 left without other means of livelihood, than 
 what she may derive from a superior educa- 
 tion she has received. 
 
 Notwithstanding their inequality of for- 
 tune, and the very distant relationship — for 
 they are not even near as cousins — the rich 
 girl behaves towards the poor one as though 
 they were sisters. No one seeing them 
 stroll arm-in-arm throusfh the shrubberv, and 
 hearing them hold converse in familiar, 
 affectionate tones, would suspect the little 
 dark damsel to be the paid " companion " of 
 the lady by her side. Yet in such capacity 
 is she residing at Llangorren Court. 
 
 It is just after the hour of breakfast, and 
 they have come forth in morning robes of 
 light muslin — dresses suitable to the day 
 and the season. Two handsome ponies are 
 upon the lawn, its heritage dividing their 
 attention with the horns of a pet stag, 
 which now and then threaten to assail them. 
 
 All three, soon as perceiving the ladies, 
 trot towards them ; the ponies stretching 
 out their necks to be patted ; the cloven- 
 hoofed creature equally courting caresses.
 
 12 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 They look especially to Miss Wynn, who is 
 more their mistress. 
 
 On this particular morning she does not 
 seem in the humour for dallying with them ; 
 nor has she brought out their usual allow- 
 ance of lump sugar ; but, after a touch with 
 her delicate fingers, and a kindly exclama- 
 tion, passes on, leaving them behind, to all 
 appearance disappointed. 
 
 "Where are jou going, Gwen?" asks 
 the companion, seeing her step out straight, 
 and apparently with thoughts preoccupied. 
 Their arms are now disunited, the little in- 
 cident with the animals having separated 
 them. 
 
 " To the summer-house," is the response. 
 " I wish to have a look at the river. It 
 should show fine this bright ihorning." 
 
 And so it does ; as both perceive after 
 entering the pavilion, which commands a 
 view of the valley, with a reach of the 
 river above — the latter, under the sun, 
 glistening like freshly polished silver. 
 
 Gwen views it through a glass — a bi- 
 nocular she has brought out with her ; this
 
 THE HEROINE. 13 
 
 of itself proclaiming some purpose afore- 
 thought, but not confided to the companion. 
 It is only after she has been long holding it 
 steadily to her eye, that the latter fancies 
 there must be some object within its field 
 of view more interesting than the Wye's 
 water, or the greenery on its banks. 
 
 " What is it ? " she naively asks. '' You 
 see something ? " 
 
 " Only a boat," answers Gwen, bringing 
 down the glass with a guilt}'' look, as if 
 conscious of being caught. " Some tourist, 
 I suppose, making down to Tintern Abbey 
 — like as not, a London cockney." 
 
 The young lady is telling a " white lie." 
 She knows the occupant of that boat is 
 nothing of the kind. From London he 
 may be — she cannot tell — but certainly no 
 sprig of cockneydom — unlike it as Hyperion 
 to the Satyr ; at least so she thinks. But 
 she does not give her thought to the com- 
 panion ; instead, concealing it, she adds, — 
 
 " How fond those town people are of 
 touring it upon our Wye ! " 
 
 " Can you wonder at that ? " asks Ellen.
 
 14 GWEN t\t:nn. 
 
 " Its scenery is so grand — I should say, 
 incomparable ; nothing equal to it in Eng- 
 land." 
 
 " I don't wonder/' says Miss W3mn, 
 replying to the question. " I'm only a 
 little bit vexed seeing them there. It's like 
 the desecration of some sacred stream, leav- 
 ing scraps of newspapers in which they 
 wrap their sandwiches, with other picnick- 
 ing debris on its banks ! To say nought of 
 one's having to encounter the rude fellows 
 tliat in these degenerate days go a-rowing 
 — shopboys from the towns, farm labour- 
 ers, colliers, hauliers, all sorts. I've half 
 a mind to set lire to the Gtvendoline, burn 
 her up, and never again lay hand on an 
 oar. 
 
 Ellen Lees laughs incredulously as she 
 makes rejoinder. 
 
 " It would be a pity," she says, in serio- 
 comic tone. " Besides, the poor people are 
 entitled to a little recreation. They don't 
 have too much of it." 
 
 " Ah, true," rejoins Gwen, who, despite 
 her grandeeism, is neither Tory nor aristo-
 
 THE HEROINE. 15 
 
 crat. " Well, I've not yet decided on that 
 little bit of incendiarism, and shan't burn 
 the Gwendoline — at all events not till we've 
 had another row out of her." 
 
 Not for a hundred pounds would she set 
 fire to that boat, and never in her life was 
 she less thinking of such a thing. For just 
 then she has other views regarding the 
 pretty pleasure craft, and intends taking 
 seat on its thwarts within less than twenty 
 minutes' time. 
 
 " By the way," she says, as if the thought 
 had suddenly occurred to her, " we may as 
 well have that row now — whether it's to be 
 the last or not." 
 
 Cunning creature ! She has had it in 
 her mind all the morning; first from her 
 bed-chamber window, then from that of the 
 breakfast-room, looking up the river's reach, 
 with the binocular at her eye, too, to note 
 if a certain boat, with a salmon-rod bend- 
 ing over it, passes down. For one of its 
 occupants is an angler. 
 
 " The day's superb," she goes on ; " sun's 
 not too hot — gentle breeze— just the weather
 
 16 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 for a row. And the river looks so inviting 
 — seems calling us to come ! What say 
 yon, Nell?" 
 
 " Oh ! I've no objections." 
 
 " Let us in, then, and make ready. Be 
 quick about it ! Eemember it's April, and 
 there may be showers. We mustn't miss a 
 moment of that sweet sunshine." 
 
 At this the two forsake the summer- 
 house ; and, lightly recrossing the lawn, 
 disappear within the dwelling. 
 
 ■JlC ^ 'Jp 7^ ■5|C 
 
 While the anglers boat is still opposite 
 the grounds, going on, eyes are observing it 
 from an upper window of the house ; again 
 those of Miss Wynn herself, inside her 
 dressing-room, getting ready for the river. 
 
 She had only short glimpses of it, over 
 the tops of the trees on the eyot, and now 
 and then through breaks in their thinner 
 spray. Enough, however, to assure her 
 that it contains two men, neither of them 
 cockneys. One at the oars she takes to be 
 a professional waterman. But he, seated 
 in the stern is altogether unknown to her,
 
 THE HEROINE. 17 
 
 save by sight — that obtained when twice 
 meeting him out on the river. She knows 
 not whence he comes, or where he is resid- 
 ing; but supposes him a stranger to the 
 neighbourhood, stopping at some hoteh If 
 at the house of any of the neighbouring 
 gentry, she would certainly have heard of 
 it. She is not even acquainted with his 
 name, thouo^h lon^^ins: to learn it. But she 
 is shy to inquire, lest that might betray 
 her interest in him. For such she feels, has 
 felt, ever since setting eyes on his strangely 
 handsome face. 
 
 As the boat again disappears behind the 
 thick foliage, she sets, in haste, to effect the 
 proposed change of dress, saying, in solilo- 
 quy — for she is now alone : — 
 
 " I wonder who, and what he can be ? A 
 gentleman, of course. But, then, there are 
 gentlemen, and gentlemen; single ones 
 and " 
 
 She has the word "married" on her 
 tongue, but refrains speaking it. Instead, 
 she gives utterance to a sigh, followed by 
 the reflection — 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 " All, me ! That would be a pity — a 
 dis " 
 
 Again slie checks herself, the thought 
 bein^^ enough unpleasant without the 
 words. 
 
 Standing before the mirror, and sticking 
 long pins into her hair, to keep its rebel- 
 lious plaits in their place, she continues 
 soliloquising — 
 
 " If one only had a word with that young 
 waterman who rows him ! And were it 
 not that my own boatman is such a chat- 
 terer, I'd put him up to getting that word. 
 But no ! It would never do. He'd tell 
 aunt about it ; and then Madame la Chate- 
 laine would be talking all sorts of serious 
 things to me — ^the which I mightn't relish. 
 "Well; in six months more the old lady's 
 trusteeship of this young lady is to termin- 
 ate — at least legally. Then I'll be my own 
 mistress ; and then — 'twill be time enough 
 to consider whether I ought to have — a 
 master. Ha, ha, ha ! " 
 
 So laughing, as she surveys her superb 
 figure in a cheval glass, she completes the
 
 THE HEKOINE. 19 
 
 adjustinent of her dress, by setting a hat 
 upon her head, and tightening the elastic, 
 to secure against its being blown off while 
 in the boat. In fine, with a parting glance 
 at the mirror, which shows a satisfied 
 expression upon her features, she trips 
 lightly out of the room, and on down the 
 stairway. 
 
 c 2
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 THE HERO. 
 
 Than Vivian Eyecroft — handsomer man 
 never carried sling-jacket over his shoulder, 
 or sabretasche on his hip. For he is in the 
 Hussars — a captain. 
 
 He is not on duty now, nor anywhere 
 near the scene of it. His regiment is at 
 Aldershot, himself rusticating in Hereford- 
 shire — whither he has come to spend a few 
 weeks' leave of absence. 
 
 Nor is he, at the time of our meeting 
 him, in the saddle, which he sits so grace- 
 fully ; but in a row-boat on the river Wye 
 — the same just sighted by Qwen Wynn 
 through the double lens of her lorgnette. 
 No more is he wearing the braided uniform 
 and " busby ; " but, instead, attired in a 
 suit of light Cheviots, piscator-cut, with a 
 helmet-shaped cap of quilted cotton on his
 
 THE nsr.o. 21 
 
 head, its rounded rim of spotless wliite in 
 striking, but becoming, contrast ^Yitll liis 
 bronzed complexion and dark military 
 moustache. 
 
 For Captain Eyecroft is no mere stripling 
 nor beardless youth, but a man turned 
 thirty, browned by exposure to Indian 
 suns, experienced in Indian campaigns, 
 from those of Scinde and the Punjaub to 
 that most memorable of all — the Mutiny. 
 
 Still is he personally as attractive as he 
 ever was — to women, possibly more ; among 
 these causing a flutter, with rapprochement 
 towards him almost instinctive, wdien and 
 wherever they may meet him. In the 
 present many a bright English lady sighs 
 for him, as in the past many a dark damsel 
 of Hindostan. And without his heaving 
 sigh, or even giving them a thought in 
 return. Not that he is of cold nature, or 
 in any sense austere ; instead, warm-hearted, 
 of cheerful disposition, and rather partial to 
 female society. But he is not, and never 
 has been, either man-flirt or frivolous trifler ; 
 else he would not be fly-fishing on the Wye
 
 22 
 
 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 — for that is what he is doing there — 
 instead of in London, taking part in the 
 festivities of the " season," by day dawdling 
 in Eotten Eow, by night exhibiting himself 
 in opera-box or ball-room. In short, Yivian 
 Eyecroft is one of those rare individuals, 
 to a high degree endowed, physically as 
 mentally, without being aware of it, or 
 appearing so ; while to all others it is very 
 perceptible. 
 
 He has been about a fortnight in the 
 neighbourhood, stopping at the chief hotel 
 of a riverine town much affected by fly- 
 fishermen and tourists. Still, he has made 
 no acquaintance with the resident gentry. 
 He might, if wishing it ; which he does 
 not, his purpose upon the Wye not being to 
 seek society, but salmon, or rather the sport 
 of taking it. An ardent disciple of the 
 ancient Izaak, he cares for nought else — 
 at least, in the district where he is for the 
 present sojourning. 
 
 Such is his mental condition, up to a 
 certain morning ; when a change comes over 
 it, sudden as the spring of a salmon at
 
 THE HERO. 23 
 
 the gaudiest or most tempting of his flies 
 — this brought about by a face, of which he 
 has caught sight by merest accident, and 
 while follo^ving his favourite occupation. 
 Thus it has chanced : — 
 
 Below the town where he is staying, some 
 four or five miles by the course of the 
 stream, he has discovered one of those 
 places called " catches," where the king of 
 river fish delights to leap at flies, whether 
 natural or artificial — a sport it has oft 
 reason to rue. Several times so, at the 
 end of Captain Eyecroft's line and rod ; 
 he having there twice hooked a twenty- 
 pounder, and once a still larger specimen, 
 which turned the scale at thirty. In con- 
 sequence that portion of the stream has 
 become his choicest anghng ground, and at 
 least three days in the week he repairs to 
 it. The row is not much going down, but 
 a good deal returning ; five miles up stream, 
 most of it strong adverse current. That, 
 however, is ie«s his affair than his oarsman's 
 — a young- waterman by name Wingate, 
 whose, ^at and services the hussar clficer
 
 24 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 has chartered by the week — indeed, engaged 
 them for so long as he may remain upon 
 the AYye. 
 
 On the morning in question, dropping 
 down the river to his accustomed Vv^hipping- 
 place, but at a somewhat later hour than 
 usual, he meets another boat coming up — • 
 a pleasure craft, as shown by its style of 
 outside ornament and inside furniture. Of 
 neither does the salmon fisher take much 
 note ; his eyes all occupied with those upon 
 the thwarts. There are three of them, two 
 being ladies seated in the stern sheets, the 
 third an oarsman on a thwart well forward, 
 to make better balance. And to the latter 
 the hussar officer gives but a glance — -just 
 to observe that he is a serving-man — wear- 
 ing some of its insignia in the shape of a 
 cockaded hat, and striped stable- waistcoat. 
 And not much more than a glance at one 
 of the former; but a gaze, concentrated 
 and long as good manners will permit, at 
 the other, who is steering ; w^hen she passes 
 beyond sight, her face remaining in his 
 memory, vivid as if still before his eyes.
 
 THE HERO. 25 
 
 All tliis at a first encounter; repeated in 
 a second, which occurs on the day succeed- 
 ing, under similar circumstances, and almost 
 in the self-same spot ; then the f\ice, if 
 possible, seeming fairer, and the impression 
 made by it on Yivian Ej^ecroft's mind sink- 
 ing deeper — indeed, promising to be per- 
 manent. It is a radiant face, set in a 
 luxuriance of bright amber hair — for it is 
 that of Grwendoline Wynn. 
 
 On the second occasion he has a better 
 view of her, the boats passing nearer to one 
 another ; still, not so near as he could wish, 
 good manners again interfering. For all, 
 he feels w^ell satisfied — especially with the 
 thought, that his own gaze earnestly given, 
 though under such restraint, has been with 
 earnestness returned. Would that his secret 
 admiration of its owner were in like manner 
 reciprocated ! 
 
 Such is his reflective wish as the boats 
 widen the distance between ; one labouring 
 slowl}^ up, the other gliding swiftly down. 
 
 His boatman cannot tell who the lady is, 
 nor where she lives. On the second day he
 
 26 
 
 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 is not asked — the question having been put 
 to him on that preceding. All the added 
 knowledge now obtained is the name of the 
 craft that carries her ; which, after passing, 
 the waterman, with face turned towards its 
 stern, makes out to be the Givendoline — 
 just as on his own boat — the Mary, — 
 though not in such grand golden letters. 
 
 It may assist Captain Eyecroft in his 
 inquiries, already contemplated, and he 
 makes note of it. 
 
 Another night passes ; another sun shines 
 over the Wye ; and he again drops down 
 stream to bis usual place of sport — this day 
 only to draw blank, neither catching salmon, 
 nor seeing hair of amber hue ; his reflect- 
 ing on which is, perchance, a cause of the 
 fish not taking to his flies, cast carelessly. 
 
 He is not discouraged ; but goes again 
 on the day succeeding — that same when his 
 boat is viewed through the binocular. He 
 has already formed a half suspicion that 
 the home of the interesting water nymph 
 is not far from that pagoda-like structure, 
 lie has frequently noticed on the right bank
 
 THE HEEO. 27 
 
 of the river. For, just below the outlying 
 eyot is where he has met the pleasure-boat, 
 and the old oarsman looked anything but 
 equal to a long pull up stream. Still, 
 between that and the town are several other 
 gentlemen's residences on the river side, 
 with some standing inland. It may be any 
 of them. 
 
 But it is not, as Captain Eyecroft now 
 feels sure, at sight of some floating drapery 
 in the pavilion, ^vith two female heads 
 showing over its baluster rail ; one of them 
 with tresses glistening in the sunlight, 
 bright as sunbeams themselves. 
 
 He views it through a telescope — for he, 
 too, has come out provided for distant ob- 
 servation — this confirming his conjectures 
 just in the way he w^ould wish. Now there 
 will be no difficulty in learning Avho the 
 lady is — for of one only does he care to 
 make inquiry. 
 
 He would order Wingate to hold way," 
 but does not relish the idea of letting the 
 waterman into his secret ; and so, remain- 
 ing silent, he is soon carried beyond sight
 
 28 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 of the summer-house, and along the outer 
 edsre of the islet, witli its curtain of tall 
 trees coming invidiously between. 
 
 Continuing on to his angling ground, he 
 gives way to reflections — at first of a pleas- 
 ant nature. Satisfactory to think that she, 
 the subject of them, at least lives in a hand- 
 some house ; for a glimpse got of its upper 
 storey tells it to be this. That she is in 
 social rank a lady, he has llitherto had no 
 doubt. The pretty pleasure craft and its 
 appendages, with the venerable domestic 
 acting as oarsman, are all proofs of some- 
 thing more than mere respectability — rather 
 evidences of style. 
 
 Marring these agreeable considerations is 
 the thought, he may not to-day meet the 
 pleasure-boat. It is the hour that, from 
 past experience, he might expect it to be 
 out — for he has so timed his own piscatorial 
 excursion. But, seeing the ladies in the 
 summer-house, he doubts getting nearer 
 sight of them — at least for another twenty- 
 four hours. In all likelihood they have 
 been already on the river, and returned
 
 THE HEEO. 21) 
 
 home again. Why did he not start 
 earlier ? 
 
 While thus fretting himself, he catches 
 sight of another boat — of a sort very differ- 
 ent from the Gicendoline — a heavy barge- 
 like affair, with four men in it ; hulking 
 fellows, to whom rowing is evidently a new 
 experience. Notwithstanding this, they do 
 not seem at all frightened at finding them- 
 selves upon the water. Instead, they are 
 behaving in a way that shows them either 
 very courageous, or very regardless of a dan- 
 ger — which, possibly, they are not aware of. 
 At short intervals one or other is seen start- 
 ing to his feet, and rushing fore or aft — as 
 if on an empty coal-waggon, instead of in 
 a boat — and in such fashion, that were the 
 craft at all crank, it would certainly be 
 upset ! 
 
 On drawing nearer them Captain Eye- 
 croft and his oarsman get the explanation 
 of their seemingly eccentric behaviour — its 
 cause made clear by a black bottle, which 
 one of them is holding in his hand, each 
 of the others brandishing tumbler, or tea-
 
 30 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 cup. They are drinking; and that they 
 have been so occupied for some time is 
 evident by their loud shouts, and grotesque 
 gesturing. 
 
 " They look an ugly lot ! " observes the 
 young waterman, viewing them over his 
 shoulder; for, seated at the oars, his back 
 is towards them. " Coal fellows, from the 
 Forest o' Dean, I take it." 
 
 Eyecroft, with a cigar between his teeth, 
 dreamily thinkiDg of a boat with people in 
 it so dissimilar, simply signifies assent with 
 a nod. 
 
 But soon he is roused from his reverie, 
 at hearing an exclamation louder than com- 
 mon, followed by words whose import con- 
 cerns himself and his companion. These 
 are : — 
 
 " Dang it, lads ! le's goo in for a bit 
 o' a lark ! Yonner be a boat coomin' down 
 wi' two chaps in 't ; some o' them spick- 
 span city gents ! S pose we gie 'era a 
 capsize ? " 
 
 " Le's do it ! Le's duck 'em ! " shouted 
 the others, assentingly ; he with the bottle
 
 THE HERO. 31 
 
 dropping it into the boat's bottom, and lay- 
 ing hold of an oar instead. 
 
 All act likewise, for it is a four-oared craft 
 that carries them; and in a few seconds' 
 time they are rowing it straight for that of 
 the angler's. 
 
 With "^astonishment, and fast gathering 
 indignation, the Hussar officer sees the 
 heavy barge coming bow on for his light 
 fishing skiff, and is thoroughly sensible of 
 the danger ; the waterman becoming aware 
 of it at the same instant of time. 
 
 " They mean mischief," mutters Win- 
 gate ; " what'd we best do. Captain ? If 
 jou like I can keep clear, and shoot the 
 Mary past 'em — easy enough." 
 
 " Do so," returns the salmon fisher, with 
 the cigar still between his teeth — but now 
 held bitterly tight, almost to biting off the 
 stump. " You can keep on ! " he adds, 
 speaking calmly, and with an effort to keep 
 down his temper ; " that will be the best 
 way, as things stand now. They look like 
 they'd come up from below ; and, if they 
 show any ill manners at meeting, we can
 
 32 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 call them to account on return. Don't 
 concern yourself about your course. I'll 
 see to the steering. There ! hard on the 
 starboard oar ! " 
 
 This last, as the two boats have arrived 
 within less than three lengths of one 
 another. At the same time Eyecroft, draw- 
 ing tight the port tiller-cord, changes course 
 suddenly, leaving just sufficient sea-way 
 for his oarsman to shave past, and avoid the 
 threatened collision. 
 
 Which is done the instant after — to the 
 discomfiture of the would-be capsizers. As 
 the skiff glides Hghtly beyond their reach, 
 dancing over the river swell, as if in 
 triumph and to mock them, they drop their 
 oars, and send after it a chorus of yells, 
 mingled with blasphemous imprecations. 
 
 In a lull between, the Hussar officer at 
 length takes the cigar from his lips, and 
 calls back to them — 
 
 " You ruffians ! You shall rue it ! Shout 
 on — till you're hoarse. There's a reckon- 
 ing for you, perhaps sooner than you 
 expect."
 
 THE HERO. 33 
 
 " Yes, ye d — d scoun'rels ! " adds the 
 young waterman, himself so enraged as 
 almost to foam at the mouth. " Ye'll have 
 to pay dear for sich a dastartly attempt to 
 waylay Jack Wingate's boat. That will 
 
 ye. 
 
 " Bah 1 " jeeringly retorts one of the 
 roughs. " To blazes wi' you, an' yer boat ! " 
 
 " Ay, to the blazes wi' ye ! " echo the 
 others in drunken chorus ; and, while their 
 voices are still reverberating along the ad- 
 jacent cliffs, the fishing skiff drifts round a 
 bend of the river, bearing its owner and 
 his fare out of their sight, as beyond ear- 
 shot of their profane speech. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 A CHARON CORRUPTED. 
 
 The lawn of Llangorren Court, for a time 
 abandoned to the dumb quadrupeds, that 
 had returned to their tranquil pasturing, is 
 again enlivened by the presence of the two 
 young ladies ; but so transformed, that they 
 are scarce recognisable as the same late seen 
 upon it. Of course, it is their dresses that 
 have caused the change ; Miss Wynn now 
 wearing a pea jacket of navy blue, with 
 anchor buttons, and a straw hat set coquet- 
 tishly on her head, its ribbons of azure hue 
 trailing over, and prettily contrasting with 
 the plaits of her chrome-yellow hair, 
 gathered in a grand coil behind. But for 
 the flowing skirt below, she might be mis- 
 taken for a young mid, whose cheeks as yet 
 show only the down — one who would " find 
 sweethearts in every port."
 
 A CHARON CORRUPTED, 35 
 
 Miss Lees is less nautically attired ; hav- 
 ing but slipped over her morning dress a 
 paletot of the ordinary kind, and on her 
 head a plumed hat of the Neapolitan pat- 
 tern. For all, a costume becoming ; espe- 
 cially the brigand-like head-gear which sets 
 off her finely- chiselled features, and skin 
 dark as any daughter of the South. 
 
 They are about starting towards the 
 boat-dock, when a difficulty presents itself 
 — not to Grwen, but the companion. 
 
 " We have forgotten Joseph 1 " she ex- 
 claims. 
 
 Joseph is an ancient retainer of the 
 Wynn family, who, in its domestic affairs, 
 plays parts of many kinds — among them 
 the metier of boatman. It is his duty to 
 look after the Gwendoline, see that she is 
 snug in her dock, with oars and steering 
 apparatus in order ; go out with her when 
 his young mistress takes a row on the river, 
 or ferry any one of the family who has 
 occasion to cross it — the last a need by no 
 means rare, since for miles above and below 
 there is nothing in the shape of bridge. 
 
 D 2
 
 36 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 "]N'o, we haven't," rejoins Joseph's mis- 
 tress, answering the exclamation of the 
 companion. " I remembered him well 
 enough — too well." 
 
 " Why too well ? " asks the other, looking 
 a little puzzled. 
 
 " Because we don't want him." 
 " But surely, Gwen, you wouldn't think 
 of our going alone." 
 
 " Surely I would, and do. Why not ? " 
 "We've never done so before." 
 " Is that any reason we shouldn't now ? " 
 " But Miss Linton will be displeased, if 
 not very angry. Besides, as you know, 
 there may be danger on the river." 
 
 For a short while Gwen is silent, as if 
 pondering on what the other has said. Not 
 on the suggested danger. She is far from 
 being daunted by that. But Miss Linton 
 is her aunt — as already hinted, her legal 
 guardian till of age — head of the house, 
 and still holding authority, though exer- 
 cising it in the mildest manner. And just 
 on this account it would not be right to 
 outrage it, nor is Miss Wynn the one to do
 
 A CHARON CORRUPTED. eS7 
 
 SO. Instead, she prefers a little subterfuge, 
 which is in her mind as she makes re- 
 joinder — 
 
 " I suppose we must take him along ; 
 though it's very vexatious, and for various 
 reasons." 
 
 " What are they ? May I know them?" 
 
 " You're welcome. For one, I can pull 
 a boat just as well as he, if not better. 
 And for another, we can't have a word of 
 conversation without his hearing it — which 
 isn't at all nice, besides being inconvenient. 
 As I've reason to know, the old curmudgeon 
 is an incorrigible gossip, and tattles all over 
 the parish, I only wish we'd some one else. 
 What a pity I haven't a brother, to go with 
 us ! But not to-day y 
 
 The reserving clause, despite its earnest- 
 ness, is not spoken aloud. In the aquatic 
 excursion intended, she wants no companion 
 of the male kind — above all, no brother. 
 Kor will she take Joseph; though she 
 signifies her consent to it, by desiring the 
 companion to summon him. 
 
 As tlie latter starts off for the stable-
 
 38 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 yard, where tlie ferryman is usually to be 
 found, Gwen says, in soliloquy — 
 
 '' I'll take old Joe as far as the boat 
 stairs; but not a yard beyond. I know 
 what will stay him there — steady as a 
 pointer with a partridge six feet from its 
 nose. By the way, have I got my purse 
 with me ? " 
 
 She plunges her hand into one of her 
 pea-jacket pockets ; and, there feeling the 
 thing sought for, is satisfied. 
 
 By this Miss Lees has got back, bringing 
 with her the versatile Joseph — a tough old 
 servitor of the respectable family type, who 
 has seen some sixty summers, more or 
 less. 
 
 After a short colloquy, wdth some ques- 
 tions as to the condition of the pleasure- 
 boat, its oars, and steering gear, the three 
 proceed in the direction of the dock. 
 
 Arrived at the bottom of the boat stairs, 
 Joseph's mistress, turning to him, says — 
 
 " Joe, old boy, Miss Lees and I are going 
 for a row. But, as the day's fine, and the 
 water smooth as glass, there's no need for
 
 A CHARON CORRUPTED. 89 
 
 our having you along with lis. So you can 
 stay here till we return." 
 
 The venerable retainer is taken aback by 
 the proposal. He has never listened to 
 the like before ; for never before has the 
 pleasure-boat gone to river without his 
 being aboard. True, it is no business of 
 his ; still, as an ancient upholder of the 
 family, with its honour and safety, he 
 cannot assent to this strange innovation 
 with out entering protest. He does so, 
 asking : 
 
 " But, Miss Grwen ; what will your aunt 
 say to it ? She mayent like you young 
 ladies to go rowin' by yourselves ? Besides, 
 Miss, ye know there be some not werry 
 nice people as moat meet ye on the river. 
 'Deed some v' the roughiest and worst o' 
 blaggarts." 
 
 " Nonsense, Joseph ! The Wye isn't the 
 Kiger, where we might expect the fate of 
 poor Mungo Park. Why, man, we'll be as 
 safe on it as upon our own carriage drive, 
 or the little fish-pond. As for aunt, she 
 won't say anything, because she won't know.
 
 40 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 Shan't, can't, unless you peach on us. The 
 which, my amiable Joseph, you 11 not do — 
 I'm sure you will not ? " 
 
 "How'm I to help it. Miss Grwen? 
 When you've goed off, some o' the house 
 sarvints '11 see me here, an,' hows'ever I 
 keep my tongue in check " 
 
 " Check it now ! " abruptly breaks in the 
 heiress, " and stop palavering, Joe ! The 
 house servants won't see you — not one of 
 them. When we're off on the river, you'll 
 be lying at anchor in those laurel bushes 
 above. And to keep you to your anchorage, 
 here's some shining metal." 
 
 Saying which, she slips several shillings 
 into his hand, adding, as she notes the 
 effect, 
 
 " Do you think it sufficiently heavy ? If 
 not — but never mind now. In our absence 
 you can amuse yourself weighing, and 
 counting the coins. I fancy they'll do." 
 
 She is sure of it, knowing the man's 
 weakness to be money, as it now proves. 
 
 Her argument is too powerful for his 
 resistance, and he does not resist. De-
 
 A CHARON CORRUPTED. 41 
 
 spite his solicitude for the welfare of the 
 Wynn family, with his habitual regard of 
 duty, the ancient servitor, refraining from 
 further protest, proceeds to undo the knot 
 of the Gioendoline s painter. 
 
 Stepping into the boat, the other Gwen- 
 doline takes the oars, Miss Lees seating 
 herself to steer. 
 
 "' All right ! Now, Joe, give us a push 
 off." 
 
 Joseph, having let all loose, does as 
 directed ; which sends the light craft clear 
 out of its dock. Then, standing on the 
 bottom step, with an adroit twirl of the 
 thumb, he spreads the silver pieces over his 
 palm — so that he may see how many — 
 and, after counting and contemplating with 
 pleased expression, slips them into his 
 pocket, muttering to himself — 
 
 "I dar say itil be all right. Miss 
 Gwens a oner to take care o' herself; 
 an the old lady neen't a know any thin' 
 about it." 
 
 To make his last words good, he mounts 
 briskly back up the boat stairs, and en-
 
 42 
 
 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 sconces himself in the heart of a thick- 
 leavecl laurestinus — to the great discomfort 
 of a pair of missel-thrushes, which have 
 there made nest, and commenced incuba- 
 tion.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ON THE RIVER. 
 
 The fair rower, vigorously bending to the 
 oars, soon brings through the bye-way, and 
 out into the main channel of the river. 
 
 Once in mid-stream, she suspends her 
 stroke, permitting the boat to drift down 
 with the current ; which, for a mile below 
 Llangorren, flows gently through meadow 
 land, but a few feet above its own level, and 
 flush with it in times of flood. 
 
 On this particular day there is none such 
 — no rain having fallen for a week — and the 
 Wye's water is pure and clear. Smooth, 
 too, as the surface of a mirror ; only where, 
 now and then, a light zephyr, playing upon 
 it, stirs up the tiniest of ripples ; a swallow 
 dips its scimitar wings; or a salmon in 
 bolder dash causes a purl, with circling 
 eddies, whose wavelets extend wider and
 
 44 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 wider as they subside. So, with the trace 
 of their boat's keel ; the furrow made bv it 
 instantly closing up, and the current re- 
 suming its tranquillity ; while their reflected 
 forms — too bright to be spoken of as 
 shadows — now fall on one side, now on the 
 other, as the capricious curving of the river 
 makes necessary a change of course. 
 
 Never went boat down the Wye carrying 
 freight more fair. Both girls are beautiful, 
 though of opposite types, and in a difi'erent 
 degree ; while with one — Grwendoline Wynn 
 — no water Nymph, or Naiad, could com- 
 pare ; her warm beauty in its real embodi- 
 ment far excelling any conception of fancy, 
 or flio:ht of the most romantic imao^ination. 
 
 She is not thinking of herself now ; nor, 
 indeed, does she much at any time — least 
 of all in this wise. She is anything but 
 vain; instead, like Yivian Eyecroft, rather 
 underrates herself. And possibly more than 
 ever this morning ; for it is witli him her 
 thoughts are occupied — surmising whether 
 his may be with her, but not in the most 
 sans^uine hope. Such a man must have
 
 ON THE RIVER. 45 
 
 looked on many a form fair as hers, won 
 smiles of many a woman beautiful as she. 
 How can she expect him to have resisted, 
 or that his heai*t is still whole ? 
 
 While thus conjecturing, she sits half 
 turned on the thwart, with oars out of 
 water, her eyes directed down the river, as 
 though in search of something there. 
 And they are; that something a white 
 helmet hat. 
 
 She sees it not ; and as the last thought 
 has caused her some pain, she lets down 
 the oars with a plunge, and recommences 
 pulling ; now, and as in spite, at each dip 
 of the blades breaking her own bright 
 imasre ! 
 
 During all this while Ellen Lees is 
 otherwise occupied ; her attention partly 
 taken up with the steering, but as much 
 given to the shores on each side — to the 
 green pasture-land, of which, at intervals, 
 she has a view, with the white-faced " Here- 
 fords " straying over it, or standing grouped 
 in the shade of some spreading trees, form- 
 ing pastoral pictures worthy the pencil of a
 
 46 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 Morland or Cuyp. In clumps, or apart, 
 tower up old poplars, through whose leaves, 
 yet but half unfolded, can be seen the 
 rounded burrs of the mistletoe, looking like 
 nests of rooks. Here and there, one over- 
 hangs the river's bank, shadowing still 
 deep pools, where the ravenous pike lies in 
 ambush for " salmon pink " and such small 
 fry ; while on a bare branch above may be 
 observed another of their persecutors — the 
 kingfisher — its brilliant azure plumage in 
 strong contrast with everything on the 
 earth around, and like a bit of sky fallen 
 from above. At intervals it is seen darting 
 from side to side, or in longer flight follow- 
 ing the bend of the stream, and causing 
 scamper among the minnows — itself startled 
 and scared by the intrusion of the boat 
 upon its normally peaceful domain. 
 
 Miss Lees, who is somewhat of a natu- 
 ralist, and has been out with the District 
 Field Club on more than one *' ladies' day," 
 makes note of all these things. As the 
 Gwendoline glides on, she observes beds of 
 the water ranunculus, whose snow-white
 
 ON THE RIVER. 47 
 
 corollas, bending to the current, are oft 
 rudely dragged beneath; while on the 
 banks above, their cousins of golden sheen, 
 mingling with the petals of yellow and 
 purple loosestrife — for both grow here — 
 with anemones, and pale, lemon-coloured 
 daffodils — are but kissed, and gently fanned, 
 by the balmy breath of Spring. 
 
 Easily guiding the craft down the slow- 
 flowing stream, she has a fine opportunity 
 of observing Nature in its unrestrained 
 action — and takes advantage of it. She 
 looks wdth delighted eye at the freshly- 
 opened flowers, and listens with charmed 
 ear to the warbling of the birds — a chorus, 
 on the Wye, sweet and varied as anywhere 
 on earth. From many a deep-lying dell in 
 the adjacent hills she can hear the song of 
 the thrush, as if endeavouring to outdo, 
 and cause one to forget, the matchless strain 
 of its nocturnal rival, the nightingale; or 
 making music for its own mate, now on the 
 nest, and occupied with the cares of incu- 
 bation. She hears, too, the bold whistling 
 carol of the blackbird, the trill of the lark
 
 48 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 soaring aloft, the soft sonorous note of tlie 
 cuckoo, blending with the harsh scream of 
 the jay, and the laughing cackle of the 
 green woodpecker — the last loud beyond all 
 proportion to the size of the bird, and bear- 
 ing close resemblance to the cry of an eagle. 
 Strange coincidence besides, in the wood- 
 pecker being commonly called " eekol " — a 
 name, on the Wye, pronounced with striking 
 similarity to that of the royal bird ! 
 
 Pondering upon this very theme, Ellen 
 has taken no note of how her companion 
 is employing herself. Nor is Miss Wynn 
 thinking of either flowers, or birds. Onl}^ 
 when a large one of the latter — a kite — 
 shooting out from the summit of a wooded 
 hill, stays awhile soaring overhead, does 
 she give thought to what so interests the 
 other. 
 
 " A pretty sight ! " observes Ellen, as 
 they sit looking up at the sharp, slender 
 wings, and long bifurcated tail, cut clear as 
 a cameo against the cloudless sky. " Isn't 
 it a beautiful creature ? " 
 
 *' Beautiful, but bad ; " rejoins Grwen,
 
 ON THE RIVER. 49 
 
 ** like many other animated things — too 
 like, and too many of them. I suppose, it's 
 on the look-OTit for some innocent victim, 
 and will soon be swooping down at it. Ah, 
 me ! it's a wicked world, Nell, with all its 
 sweetness ! One creature preying upon 
 another — the strong seeking to devour the 
 weak — these ever needing protection ! Is 
 it any wonder we poor women, weakest of 
 all, should wish to " 
 
 She stays her interrogatory, and sits in 
 silence, abstractedly toying with the handles 
 of the oars, which she is balancing above 
 water. 
 
 " Wish to do what ? " asked the other. 
 
 " Get married ! " answers the heiress of 
 Llangorren, elevating her arms, and letting 
 the blades fall with a plash, as if to drown 
 a speech so bold; withal, watching its 
 effect upon her companion, as she repeats 
 the question in a changed form. "Is it 
 strange, Ellen ? '*' 
 
 "I suppose not," Ellen timidly replies ; 
 blushingly too, for she knows how nearly 
 the subject concerns herself, and half believes 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 the interrogatory aimed at her. " Not at 
 all strange/' she adds, more affirmatively. 
 " Indeed very natural, I should say — that 
 is, for women who are poor and weak, and 
 really need a protector. But you, Gweu — 
 who are neither one nor the other, but 
 instead rich and strong, have no such need." 
 
 " I'm not so sure of that. With all my 
 riches and strength — for I am a strong 
 creature ; as you see, can row this boat almost 
 as ably as a man " — she gives a vigorous pull 
 or two, as proof, then continuing, "Yes; 
 and I think I've got great courage too. 
 Yet, would you believe it, Nelly, notwith- 
 standing all, I sometimes have a strange 
 fear upon me ? " 
 
 "Fear of what?" 
 
 " I can't tell. That's the strangest part 
 of it; for I know of no actual danger. 
 Some sort of vague apprehension that now 
 and then oppresses me — lies on my heart, 
 making it heavy as lead — sad and dark as 
 the shadow of that wicked bird upon the 
 water. Ugh ! " she exclaims, taking her 
 eyes off it, as if the sight, suggestive of
 
 ON THE RIVER. 51 
 
 evil, had brought on one of the fear spells 
 she is speaking of. 
 
 "If it were a magpie," observes Ellen, 
 laughingly, "you might view it with sus- 
 picion. Most people do — even some who 
 deny being superstitious. But a kite — I 
 never heard of that being ominous of evil. 
 No more its shadow ; which as you see it 
 there is but a small speck compared with 
 the wide bright surface around. If your 
 future sorrows be only in like proportion 
 to your joys, they won't signify much. 
 See ! Both the bird and its shadow are 
 passing away — as will your troubles, if you 
 ever have any." 
 
 " Passing — perhaps, soon to return. 
 Ha! look there. As I've said!" 
 
 This, as the kite swoops down upon a 
 wood-quest, and strikes at it with out- 
 stretched talons. Missing it, nevertheless; 
 for the strong- winged pigeon, forewarned 
 by the other's shadow, has made a quick 
 double in its flight, and so shunned the 
 deadly clutch. Still, it is not yet safe ; its 
 tree covert is far off on the wooded slope, 
 
 E 2 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF iLUNOlS
 
 52 GWEN TVTNN. 
 
 and the tyrant continues the cliase. But 
 the hawk has its enem}^ too, in a game- 
 keeper with his gun. Suddenly it is seen 
 to suspend the stroke of its wings, and go 
 whirling downward ; while a shot rings 
 out on the air, and the cushat, unharmed, 
 flies on for the hill. 
 
 "Good!" exclaims Gwen, resting the 
 oars across her knees, and clapping her 
 hands in an ecstacy of delight. " The 
 innocent has escaped ! " 
 
 " And for that you ought to be assured, 
 as well as gratified ; " puts in the com- 
 panion, " taking it as a symbol of your- 
 self, and those imaginary dangers you ve 
 been dreaming about." 
 
 " True ; " assents Miss Wynn, musingly, 
 " but, as you see, the bird found a protec- 
 tor — just by chance, and in the nick of 
 time," 
 
 "So will you ; without any chance, and 
 at such time as may please you." 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaims Gwen, as if endowed 
 with fresh courage. " I don't want one — 
 not I ! I'm strong: to stand alone."
 
 ON THE RIVER, 53 
 
 Another tug at the oars to show it. 
 *' No/' she continues, speaking between the 
 plunges, " I want no protector — at least 
 not yet — nor for a long while." 
 
 "But there's one wants you," says the 
 companion, accompanying her words with 
 an interrogative glance. " And soon — 
 soon as he can have you." 
 
 " Indeed ! I suppose you mean Master 
 George Shenstone. Have I hit the nail 
 upon the head?" 
 
 " You have." 
 
 '' Well ; what of him ? " 
 
 " Only that everybody observes his atten- 
 tions to you." 
 
 " Everybody is a very busy body. Being 
 so observant, I wonder if this everybody 
 has also observed how I receive them ? " 
 
 " Indeed, yes." 
 
 "How then?" 
 
 "With favour. 'Tis said you think 
 highly of him." 
 
 " And so I do. There are worse men in 
 
 the world than George Shenstone — possibly 
 
 ew better. And many a good woman
 
 54 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 would, and might, be glad to become bis 
 wife. For all, I know one of a very 
 indifferent sort who wouldn't — that's Gwen 
 Wynn/' 
 
 "But he's very good-looking?" Ellen 
 urges ; " the handsomest gentleman in the 
 neighbourhood. Everybody says so." 
 
 " There your everybody would be wrong 
 again — if they thought as the}^ say. But 
 they don't. I know one who thinks some- 
 body else much handsomer than he." 
 
 '•' Who ? " asks Miss Lees, looking 
 puzzled. For she has never heard of 
 Gwendoline having a preference, save that 
 spoken of. 
 
 " The Eev. William Musgrave," replies 
 Gwen, in turn bending inquisitive eyes on 
 her companion, to whose cheeks the answer 
 has brought a flush of colour, with a spasm 
 of pain at tlie heart. Is it possible her rich 
 relative — the heiress of Llangorren Court 
 — can have set her eyes upon the poor 
 curate of Llangorren Church, where her 
 own thoughts have been secretly straying ? 
 With an effort to conceal them now, as the
 
 ON THE RIYER. 00 
 
 pain caused her, she rejoins interrogatively, 
 but in faltering tone — 
 
 " You think Mr. Musgrave handsomer 
 than Mr. Shenstone ? " 
 
 " Indeed I don't. Who says I do ? " 
 
 " Oh — I thought," stammers out the 
 other, relieved — too pleased just then to 
 stand up for the superiority of the curate's 
 personal appearance — "I thought you 
 meant it that way." 
 
 " But I didn't. All I said was, that 
 somebody thinks so ; and that isn't I. 
 Shall I tell you who it is ? " 
 
 Ellen's heart is again quiet ; she does not 
 need to be told, already divining who it is 
 — herself. 
 
 " You may as well let me," pursues Gwen, 
 in a bantering way. " Do you suppose. 
 Miss Lees, I haven't penetrated your secret 
 long ago ? Why, I knew it last Christmas, 
 when you were assisting his demure rever- 
 ence to decorate the church ! Who could 
 fail to observe that pretty hand play, when 
 you two were twining the ivy around the 
 altar- rail ? And the holly, you were both
 
 56 GWEN W\^N. 
 
 SO careless in Landling — I wonder it didn't 
 prick your fingers to the bone ! Why, Nell, 
 'twas as plain to me, as if I'd been at it 
 myself. Besides, I've seen the same thing 
 scores of times — so has everybody in the 
 parish. Ha ! you see, I'm not the only one 
 with whose name this everybody has been 
 busy ; the difference being, that about me 
 they've been mistaken, while concerning 
 yourself they haven't ; instead, speaking 
 pretty near the truth. Come, now, confess! 
 Am I not right ? Don't have any fear, you 
 can trust me." 
 
 She does confess ; though not in words. 
 Her silence is equally eloquent; drooping 
 eyelids, and blushing cheeks, making that 
 eloquence emphatic. She loves Mr. Mus- 
 grave. 
 
 " Enough ! " says Grwendoline, taking it 
 in this sense ; " and, since you've been candid 
 with me, I'll repay you in the same coin» 
 But mind you ; it mustn't go further." 
 
 " Oh ! certainly not," assents the other, 
 in her restored confidence about the curate^ 
 willing to promise anything in the world.
 
 ox THE RIVER. Oi 
 
 " As I've said/' proceeds Miss Wynn, 
 *' there are worse men in the world than 
 George Shenstone, and but few better. 
 Certainly none behind hounds, and I'm told 
 he's the crack shot of the county, and the 
 best bilHard player of his club. All accom- 
 plishments that have weight w^ith us women 
 — some of us. More still ; he's deemed 
 good-looking, and is, as you say ; known 
 to be of good family and fortune. For all> 
 he lacks one thing that's wanted by " 
 
 She stays her speech till dipping the oars 
 — their splash, simultaneous w^ith, and half- 
 drowning, the words, " Grwen Wynn." 
 
 " What is it ? " asks Ellen, referring to 
 the deficiency thus hinted at. 
 
 "On my word, I can't tell — for the life 
 of me I cannot. It's something undefin- 
 able ; which one feels without seeing or 
 being able to explain — -just as ether, or 
 electricity. Possibly it is the last. At all 
 events, it's the thing that makes us women 
 fall in love ; as no doubt you've found w^hen 
 your fingers were — were — well, so near 
 being pricked by that holly. Ha, ha, ha ! "
 
 58 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 With a merry peal she once more sets to 
 rowing; and for a time no speech passes 
 between them — the only sounds heard being 
 the songs of the birds, in sweet symphony 
 with the rush of the water along the boat's 
 sides, and the rumbling of the oars in their 
 rowlocks. 
 
 But for a brief interval is there silence 
 between them ; Miss Wynn again breaking 
 it by a startled exclamation : — 
 
 "See!" 
 
 "Where? where?" 
 
 " Up yonder ! We've been talking of 
 kites and magpies. Behold, two birds of 
 worse augury than either ! " 
 
 They are passing the mouth of a little 
 influent stream, up which at some distance 
 are seen two men, one of them seated in a 
 small boat, the other standing on the bank, 
 talking down to him. He in the boat is 
 a stout, thick-set fellow in velveteens and 
 coarse fur cap, the one above a spare thin 
 man, habited in a suit of black — of clerical, 
 or rather sacerdotal, cut. Though both are 
 partially screened by the foliage, the Httle
 
 ON THE RIVER. 59 
 
 stream running between wooded banks, 
 Miss Wynn has recognised them. So, too, 
 does the companion; who rejoins, as if 
 speaking to herself — 
 
 "One's the French priest who has a 
 chapel up the river, on the opposite side ; 
 the other's that fellow who's said to be such 
 an incorrigible poacher." 
 
 " Priest and poacher it is 1 An oddly- 
 assorted pair ; though in a sense not so ill- 
 matched either. I wonder what they're 
 about up there, with their heads so close 
 together. They appeared as if not wishing 
 we should see them ! Didn't it strike you 
 so, ISTelly?" 
 
 The men are now out of sight ; the boat 
 having passed the rivulet's mouth. 
 
 "Indeed, yes," answered Miss Lees ; 
 ''the priest, at all events. He drew back 
 among the bushes on seeing us." 
 
 " I'm sure his reverence is welcome. I've 
 no desire ever to set eyes on him — quite the 
 contrary." 
 
 " I often meet him on the roads." 
 
 " I too — and off them. He seems to be
 
 60 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 about everywhere skulking and prying into 
 people's affairs. I noticed liim, the last 
 day of our hunting, among the rabble — 
 on foot, of course. He was close to 
 my horse, and kept watching me out 
 of his owlish eyes, all the time ; so imper- 
 tinently I could have laid the whip over 
 his shoulders. There's something repul- 
 sive about the man ; I can't bear the sight 
 
 of him." 
 
 " He's said to be a great friend and very 
 
 intimate associate of your worthy cousin, 
 
 Mr. ." 
 
 " Don't name /liin, Nell ! I'd rather not 
 
 think, much less talk of him. Almost the 
 
 last words my father ever spoke — never to 
 
 let Lewin Murdock cross the threshold of 
 
 Llangorren. No doubt, he had his reasons. 
 
 My word ! this day with all its sunny 
 
 brightness seems to abound in dark omens. 
 
 Birds of prey, priests, and poachers ! It's 
 
 enough to bring on one of my fear fits. I 
 
 now rather regret leaving Joseph behind. 
 
 Well ; we must make haste, and get home 
 
 again."
 
 ON THE RIVER. 61 
 
 " Shall I turn the boat back?" asks the 
 steerer. 
 
 '''No; not just yet. I don't wish to 
 repass those two uncanny creatures. Better 
 leave them awhile, so that on returning we 
 mayn't see them, to disturb the priest's 
 equanimity — more like his conscience." 
 
 The reason is not exactly as assigned ; 
 but Miss Lees, accepting it without sus- 
 picion, holds the tiller cords so as to keep 
 the course on down stream.
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 DANGERS AHEAD. 
 
 For another half mile, or so, the Gwendoline 
 is propelled onward, though not running 
 trimly ; the fault being in her at the oars. 
 "With thoughts still preoccupied, she now 
 and then forgets her stroke, or gives it un- 
 equally — so that the boat zig-zags from side 
 to side, and, but for a more careful hand 
 at the tiller, would bring up against the 
 bank. 
 
 Observing her abstraction, as also her 
 frequent turning to look down the river — 
 but without suspicion of what is causing it 
 — Miss Lees at length inquires, 
 
 " What's the matter with you, Grwen ?" 
 *' Oh, nothing," she evasively answers, 
 bringing back her eyes to the boat, and once 
 more giving attention to the oars.
 
 DANGERS AHEAD. 63 
 
 "But why are you looking so often 
 below ? I've noticed you do so at least a 
 score of times." 
 
 If the questioner could but divine the 
 thoughts at that moment in the other's 
 mind, she would have no need thus to 
 interrogate, but would know that below 
 there is another boat with a man in it, who 
 possesses that unseen something, like ether 
 or electricity, and to catch sight of whom 
 Miss Wynn has been so oft straining her 
 eyes. She has not given all her confidence 
 to the companion. 
 
 Not receiving immediate answer, Ellen 
 again asks — 
 
 ** Is there any danger you fear ? " 
 
 " None that I know of — at least, for a 
 long way down. Then there are some 
 rough places." 
 
 " But you are pulling so unsteadily ! It 
 takes all my strength to keep in the middle 
 of the river." 
 
 "Then you pull, and let me do the 
 steering," returns Miss Wynn, pretending 
 to be in a pout ; as she speaks starting up
 
 C4 GWEN WTNN. 
 
 from the thwart, and leaving the oars in 
 their thole pins. 
 
 Of course, the other does not ob- 
 ject ; and soon they have changed 
 places. 
 
 But Grwen in the stern behaves no better, 
 than when seated amidships. The boat 
 still keeps going astray, the fault now in 
 the steerer. 
 
 Soon something more than a crooked 
 course calls the attention of both, for a time 
 engrossing it. They have rounded an 
 abrupt bend, and got into a reach where 
 the river runs with troubled surface and 
 great velocity — so swift there is no need 
 to use oars down stream, while upward 
 ^twill take stronger arms than theirs. 
 Caught in its current, and rapidly, yet 
 smoothly, borne on, for awhile they do 
 not think of this. Only a short while ; 
 then the thought comes to them in the 
 shape of a dilemma — Miss Lees being the 
 first to perceive it. 
 
 " Grracious goodness ! " she exclaims, 
 '* what are we to do ? We can never row
 
 DANGERS AHEAD. 65 
 
 back up this rough water — it runs so strong 
 here!" 
 
 " That's true," says Gwen, preserving 
 her composure. " I don't think we 
 could." 
 
 " But what's to be the upshot ? Joseph 
 will be waiting for us, and auntie sure to 
 know all — if we shouldn't get back in 
 time." 
 
 " That's true also," again observes Miss 
 Wynn, assentingly, and with an admirable 
 sang froidy which causes surprise to the 
 companion. 
 
 Then succeeds a short interval of silence, 
 broken by an exclamatory phrase of three 
 short words from the lips of Miss Wynn. 
 They are— 'a have it!" 
 
 " What have you?" joyfully asks Ellen. 
 
 ''The way to get back — without much 
 trouble ; and without disturbing the arrange- 
 ments we've made with old Joe — the least 
 bit." 
 
 "Explain yourself!" 
 
 " We'll keep on down the river to Kock 
 Weir. There we can leave the boat, and 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 walk across the neck to Llangorren. It 
 isn't over a mile, though it's five times that 
 by the course of the stream. At the Weir 
 we can engage some water fellow to take 
 back the Gwendoline to her moorings. 
 Meanwhile, we'll make all haste, slip into 
 the grounds unobserved, get to the boat- 
 dock in good time, and give Joseph the cue 
 to hold his tongue about what's happened. 
 Another half-crown will tie it firm and fast, 
 I know." 
 
 '' I suppose there's no help for it," sajs 
 the companion, assenting, " and we must do 
 as you say." 
 
 " Of course, we must. As you see, 
 without thinking of it, we've drifted into a 
 very cascade and are now a long way down 
 it. Only a regular waterman could pull up 
 again. Ah ! 'twould take the toughest 
 of them, I should say. So — nolens volens — 
 we'll have to go on to Eock Weir, which 
 can't be more than a mile now. You may 
 feather your oars, and float a bit. But, by 
 the way, I must look more carefully to the 
 steering. Now, that I remember, there
 
 DANGERS AHEAD. 67 
 
 are some awkward bars and eddies about 
 here, and we can't be far from them. I 
 think they're just below the next bend/' 
 
 So saying, she sets herself square in the 
 stern sheets, and closes her fingers firmly 
 upon the tiller cords. 
 
 They glide on, but now in silence ; the 
 little flurry, with the prospect of peril 
 ahead, making speech inopportune. 
 
 Soon they are round the bend spoken of, 
 discovering to their view a fresh reach of 
 the river ; when again the steerer becomes 
 neglectful of her duty, the expression upon 
 her features, late a little troubled, suddenly 
 changing to cheerfulness, almost joy. Nor 
 is it that the dangerous places have been 
 passed ; they are still ahead, and at some 
 distance below. But there is something 
 else ahead to account for the quick trans- 
 formation — a row-boat drawn up by the 
 river's edge, with men upon the bank 
 beside. 
 
 Over Grwen Wynn's countenance comes 
 another change, sudden as before, and as 
 before, its expression reversed. She has 
 
 P 2
 
 68 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 mistaken tlie boat; it is not that of the 
 handsome fisherman ! Instead, a four-oared 
 craft, manned by four men, for there is this 
 number on the bank. The angler's skiff 
 had in it only two — himself and his oars- 
 man. 
 
 But she has no need to count heads, nor 
 scrutinise faces. Those now before her 
 eyes are all strange, and far from well 
 favoured ; not any of them in the least like 
 the one which has so prepossessed her. And 
 while making this observation another is 
 forced upon her — that their natural plain- 
 ness is not improved by what they have 
 been doing, and are still — drinking. 
 
 Just as the young ladies make this 
 observation, the four men, hearing oars, 
 face towards them. For a moment there is 
 silence, while they in the Gwendoline are 
 being scanned by the quartette on the 
 shore. Through maudlin eyes, possibly, 
 the fellows mistake them for ordinary 
 country lasses, with whom they may 
 take liberties. Whether or not one cries 
 out —
 
 DANGERS AHEAD. 69 
 
 " Petticoats, by gee — ingo !" 
 
 " Ay ! " exclaims another, " a pair o' 
 them. An' sweet wenches they be, too. 
 Look at she wi' the gooldy hair — bright 
 as the sun itself. Lord, meeats ! if we had 
 she down in the pit, that head o' her nd 
 gi'e as much light as a dozen Davy's 
 lamps. An't she a bewty ? I'm boun' 
 to have a smack fra them red lips o' 
 hers." 
 
 " No," protests the first speaker, " she 
 be myen. First spoke soonest sarved. 
 That's Forest law." 
 
 "Never mind, Eob," rejoins the other, 
 surrendering his claim, " she may be the 
 grandest to look at, but not the goodiest 
 to go. I'll lay odds the black 'un beats 
 her at kissin'. Le's get grup o' 'em an' 
 see ! Coom on, meeats I " 
 
 Down go the drinking vessels, all four 
 making for their boat, into which they 
 scramble, each laying hold of an oar. 
 
 Up to this time the ladies have not felt 
 actual alarm. The strange men being 
 evidently intoxicated, they might expect —
 
 70 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 were, indeed, half-prepared for — coarse 
 speech; perhaps indelicate, but nothing 
 beyond. Within a mile of their own home, 
 and still within the boundary of the Llan- 
 gorren land, how could they think of danger 
 such as is threatening ? For that there is 
 danger they are now sensible — becoming 
 convinced of it, as they draw nearer to the 
 four fellows, and get a better view of them. 
 Impossible to mistake the men — roughs 
 from the Forest of Dean, or some other 
 mining district, their but half- washed faces 
 showing it; characters not very gentle at 
 any time, but very rude, even dangerous, 
 when drunk. This known, from many a 
 tale told, many a Petty and Quarter Ses- 
 sions report read in the county newspapers. 
 But it is visible in their countenances, too 
 intelligible in their speech — part of which 
 the ladies have overheard — as in the action 
 they are taking. 
 
 They in the pleasure-boat no longer fear, 
 or think of, bars and eddies below. No 
 whirlpool — not Maelstrom itself, could fright 
 them as those four men. For it is fear of
 
 DANGERS AHEAD. 71 
 
 n something more to be dreaded than 
 drowning. 
 
 Withal, Grwendoline Wynn is not so 
 much dismayed as to lose presence of mind. 
 Nor is she at all excited, but cool as when 
 caught in the rapid current. Her feats in 
 the hunting field, and dashing drives down 
 the steep " pitches " of the Herefordshire 
 roads, have given her strength of nerve to 
 face any danger; and, as her timid com- 
 panion trembles with affright, muttering 
 her fears, she but says — 
 
 " Keep quiet, Nell ! Don't let them see 
 you're scared. It's not the way to treat 
 such as they, and will only encourage them 
 to come at us." 
 
 This counsel, before the men have moved, 
 fails in effect ; for as they are seen rushing 
 down the bank and into their boat, Ellen 
 Lees utters a terrified shriek, scarcely 
 leaving her breath to add the words — 
 
 " Dear Grwen ! what shall we do ? " 
 
 " Change places," is the reply, calmly 
 but hurriedly made. " Grive me the oars ! 
 Quick!"
 
 72 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 While speaking she has started up from 
 the stern, and is making for 'midships. 
 The other, comprehending, has risen at the 
 same instant, leaving the oars to trail. 
 
 By this the roughs have shoved oflf from 
 the bank, and are making for mid- stream, 
 their purpose evident — to intercept the 
 Gwendoline. But the other Gwendoline 
 has now got settled to the oars ; and pull- 
 ing with all her might, has still a chance to 
 shoot past them. 
 
 In a few seconds the boats are but a 
 couple of lengths apart, the heavy craft 
 coming bow-on for the lighter ; while the 
 faces of those in her, slewed over their 
 shoulders, show terribly forbidding. A 
 glance tells Gwen Wynn 'twould be idle 
 making appeal to them; nor does she. 
 Still she is not silent. Unable to restrain 
 her indignation, she calls out — 
 
 " Keep back, fellows ! If you run against 
 us, 'twill go ill for you. Don't suppose 
 you'll escape punishment." 
 
 " Bah ! " responds one, " we an't a- 
 frightened at yer threats — not we. That
 
 DANGERS AHEAD. 73 
 
 an't the way wi' us Forest chaps. Besides, 
 we don't mean ye any much harm. Only 
 gi'e us a kiss all round, an' then — maybe, 
 we'll let ye go." 
 
 " Yes ; kisses all round ! " cries another. 
 "That's the toll ye're got to pay at our 
 pike ; an' a bit o' squeeze by way o' boot." 
 
 The coarse jest elicits a peal of laughter 
 from the other three. Fortunately for 
 those who are its butt, since it takes the 
 attention of the rowers from their oars, and 
 before they can recover a stroke or two 
 lost — the pleasure-boat glides past them, 
 and goes dancing on, as did the fishing 
 skiff. 
 
 With a yell of disappointment they 
 bring their boat's head round, and row 
 after ; now straining at their oars with all 
 strength. Luckily, they lack skill ; which, 
 fortunately for herself, the rower of the 
 pleasure-boat possesses. It stands her in 
 stead now, and, for a time, the Givendoline 
 leads without losing ground. But the 
 struggle is unequal — four to one — strong 
 men, against a weak woman ! Verily is
 
 74 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 she called on to make good her words, when 
 saying she could row almost as ably as a 
 man. 
 
 And so does she for a time. Withal it 
 may not avail her. The task is too much 
 for her woman's strength, fast becoming 
 exhausted. While her strokes grow feebler, 
 those of the pursuers seem to get stronger. 
 For they are in earnest now ; and, despite 
 the bad management of their boat, it is 
 rapidly gaining on the other. 
 
 " Pull, meeats ! " cries one, the roughest 
 of the gang, and apparently the ringleader, 
 " pull like — hie — hie ! " — his drunken tongue 
 refuses the blasphemous word. "If ye lay 
 me longside that girl wi' the gooc — goeeldy 
 hair, I'll stan' someat stiff at the ' Kite's 
 Nest ' whens we get hie — 'ome." 
 
 *' All right. Bob ! " is the rejoinder, 
 " we'll do that. Ne'er a fear." 
 
 The prospect of "someat stiff" at the 
 Forest hostelry inspires them to increase 
 their exertion, and their speed proportion- 
 ately augmented, no longer leaves a doubt 
 of their being able to come up with the
 
 DANGERS AHEAD. 75 
 
 pursued boat. Confident of it they com- 
 mence jeering the ladies — " wenches " they 
 call them — in speech profane, as repulsive. 
 
 For these, things look black. They are 
 but a couple of boats' length ahead, and 
 near below is a sharp turn in the river's 
 channel ; rounding which they will lose 
 ground, and can scarcely fail to be over- 
 taken. What then ? 
 
 As Gwen Wynn asks herself the ques- 
 tion, the anger late flashing in her eyes 
 gives place to a look of keen anxiety. Her 
 glances are sent to right, to left, and again 
 over her shoulder, as they have been all day 
 doing, but now with very different design. 
 Then she was searching for a man, with 
 no further thought than to feast her eyes 
 on him ; now she is looking for the same, 
 in hopes he may save her from insult — it 
 may be w^orse. 
 
 There is no man in sight — no human 
 being on either side of the river ! On the 
 right a grim cliff rising sheer, with some 
 goats clinging to its ledges. On the left 
 a grassy slope with browsing sheep, their
 
 76 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 lambs astretch at their feet; but no 
 shepherd, no one to whom she can call 
 " Help ! " 
 
 Distractedly she continues to tug at the 
 oars ; despairingly as the boats draw near 
 the bend. Before rounding^ it she will be 
 in the hands of those horrid men — em- 
 braced by their brawny, bear-like arms ! 
 
 The thought restrengthens her own, 
 giving them the energy of desperation. 
 So inspired, she makes a final effort to 
 elude the ruffian pursuers, and succeeds in 
 turning the point. 
 
 Soon as round it, her face brightens up, 
 joy dances in her eyes, as with panting 
 breath she exclaims : — 
 
 " We're saved, Nelly ! We're saved ! 
 Thank Heaven for it ! " 
 
 Nelly does thank Heaven, rejoiced to 
 hear they are saved — but without in the 
 least comprehending how !
 
 CHAPTEE YI. 
 
 A DUCKING DESERVED. 
 
 Captain Eyecroft has been but a few 
 minutes at his favourite fishing place — ^just 
 long enough to see his tackle in working 
 condition, and cast his line across the 
 water; as he does the last, saying — 
 
 "I shouldn't wonder, Wingate, if we 
 don't see a salmon to-day. I fear that 
 sky's too bright for his dainty kingship to 
 mistake feathers for flies." 
 
 " Ne'er a doubt the fish '11 be a bit shy," 
 returns the boatman ; " but," he adds, 
 assigning their shyness to a difierent cause, 
 "'taint so much the colour o' the sky; 
 more like it's that lot of Foresters has 
 frightened them, with their hulk o' a boat 
 makin* as much noise as a Bristol steamer. 
 Wonder what brings such rubbish on the 
 river anyhow. They han't no business on't ;
 
 78 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 an' in my opinion theer ought to be a 
 law 'gainst it — same's for trespassin after 
 game." 
 
 " That would be rather hard lines, Jack. 
 These mining gentry need out-door recrea- 
 tion as much as any other sort of people. 
 Eather more I should say, considering that 
 they're compelled to pass the greater part 
 of their time underground. When they 
 emerge from the bowels of the earth to dis- 
 port themselves on its surface, it's but 
 natural they should like a little aquatics ; 
 which you, by choice, an amphibious crea- 
 ture, cannot consistently blame them for. 
 Those we've just met are doubtless out for 
 a hohday, which accounts for their having 
 taken too much drink — in some sense an 
 excuse for their conduct. I don't think it 
 at all strange seeing them on the water." 
 
 " Their faces han't seed much o' it any- 
 how," observes the waterman, seeming little 
 satisfied with the Captain's reasoning. 
 "And as for their being out on holiday, 
 if I an't mistook, it be holiday as lasts 
 all the year round. Two o' 'em may be
 
 A DUCKINa DESERVED. 79 
 
 miners — them as got the grimiest faces. 
 As for t'other two, I don't think eyther 
 ever tonch't pick or shovel in their lives. 
 I've seed hoth hangin' ahout Lydbrook, 
 which be a queery place. Besides, one I've 
 seed 'long wi' a man whose company is 
 enough to gi'e a saint a bad character — 
 that's Coracle Dick. Take my word for 't, 
 Captain, there ain't a honest miner 'mong 
 that lot — eyther in the way of iron or coal. 
 If there wor I'd be the last man to go 
 again them havin' their holiday; 'cepting 
 I don't think they ought to take it on the 
 river. Ye see what comes o' sich as they 
 humbuggin' about in a boat ? " 
 
 At the last clause of this speech — its 
 Conservatism due to a certain professional 
 jealousy — ^the Hussar officer cannot resist 
 smiling. He had half forgiven the rude- 
 ness of the revellers — attributing it to in- 
 toxication — and more than half repented 
 of his threat to bring them to a reckoning, 
 which might not be called for, but might, 
 and in all likelihood would be inconvenient. 
 Now, reflecting on Wingate's words, the
 
 80 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 frown whicli had passed from off his face 
 again returns to it. He says nothing, 
 however, but sits rod in hand, less thinking 
 of the salmon than how he can chastise the 
 " d — d scoun rels," as his companion has 
 pronounced them, should he, as he antici- 
 pates, again come in collision with them. 
 
 ** Lissen ! " exclaims the waterman ; 
 *' that's them shoutin* ! Comin' this way, 
 I take it. What should we do to 'em, Cap- 
 tain ? " 
 
 The salmon-fisher is half determined to 
 reel in his line, lay aside the rod, and take 
 out a revolving pistol he chances to have 
 in his pocket — not with any intention to 
 fire it at the fellows, but only frighten 
 them. 
 
 " Yes," goes on Wingate, " they be drop- 
 pin' down again — sure ; I dar' say, they've 
 found the tide a bit too strong for 'em up 
 above. An' I don't wonder; sich louty 
 chaps as they thinkin' they cud guide a 
 boat 'bout the Wyel Jist like mount in' 
 hogs a-horseback ! " 
 
 At this fresh sally of professional spleen
 
 A DUCKING DESERVED. 81 
 
 the soldier again smiles, but saj's nothing, 
 uncertain what action he should take, or 
 hoAv soon he may be called on to commence 
 it. Almost instantly after he is called on 
 to take action, though not against the four 
 riotous Foresters, but a silly salmon, which 
 has conceived a fancy for his fly. A purl 
 on the water, with a pluck quick succeed- 
 ing, tells of one on the hook, while the 
 whizz of the wheel and rapid rolling out of 
 catgut proclaims it a fine one. 
 
 For some minutes neither he nor his 
 oarsman has eye or ear for aught save 
 securing the fish, and both bend all their 
 energies to " fighting " it. The line runs 
 out, to be spun up and run off again ; his 
 river majesty, maddened at feeling himself 
 so oddly and painfully restrained in his 
 desperal:e efibrts to escape, now rushing in 
 one direction, now another, all the while 
 the angler skilfully playing him, the equally 
 skilled oarsman keeping the boat in con- 
 certed accordance. 
 
 Absorbed by their distinct lines of endeav- 
 our they do not hear high words, mingled 
 
 VOL. I. a
 
 82 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 with exclamations, coming from above; or 
 hearing, do not heed, supposing them to 
 proceed from the four men they had met, 
 in all likelihood now more inebriated than 
 ever. Not till they have well-nigh finished 
 their " fight," and the salmon, all but sub- 
 dued, is beins: drawn towards the boat — 
 Wingate, gaff in hand, bending over ready 
 to strike it. Not till then do they note 
 other sounds, which even at that critical 
 moment make them careless about the fish, 
 in its last feeble throes, when its capture is 
 good as sure, causing Eyecroft to stop 
 winding his wheel, and stand listening. 
 
 Only for an instant. Again the voices 
 of men, but now also heard the cry of a 
 woman, as if she sending it forth were in 
 danger or distress ! 
 
 They have no need for conjecture, nor 
 are they long left to it. Almost simultane- 
 ously they see a boat sweeping round the 
 bend, with another close in its wake, evi- 
 dently in chase, as told by the attitudes and 
 gestures of those occupying both — in the one 
 pursued two young ladies, in that pursuing
 
 A DUCKING DESERVED. 83 
 
 four rough men readily recognizable. At a 
 glance the Hussar officer takes in the situa- 
 tion — the waterman as well. The sight 
 saves a salmon's life, and possibly two inno- 
 cent women from outrage. Down goes 
 Eyecroft's rod, the boatman simultaneously 
 dropping his gaff; as he does so hearing 
 thundered in his ears — 
 
 " To yours oars. Jack ! Make straight 
 for them ! Eow with all your might ! " 
 
 Jack Wingate needs neither command 
 to act nor word to stimulate him. As a 
 man he remembers the late indignity to 
 himself; as a gallant fellow he now sees 
 others submitted to the like. No matter 
 about their being ladies ; enough that they 
 are women suffering insult ; and more than 
 enough at seeing who are the insulters. 
 
 In ten seconds' time he is on his thwart, 
 oars in hand, the officer at the tiller ; and 
 in five more, the Mary, brought stem up 
 stream, is surging against the current, 
 going swiftly as if with it. She is set 
 for the big boat pursuing — not now to shun 
 a collision, but seek it. 
 
 G 2
 
 84 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 As yet some two hundred yards are 
 between tlie chased craft and that hasten- 
 ing to its rescue. Ryecroft, measuring the 
 distance with his eyes, is in thought tracing 
 out a course of action. His first instinct 
 was to draw a pistol, and stop the pursuit 
 with a shot. But no. It would not be 
 Ensrlish. Nor does he need resort to such 
 deadly weapon. True there will be four 
 against two ; but what of it ? 
 
 " I think we can manage them, Jack," he 
 mutters through his teeth, "I'm good for 
 two of them — the biggest and best." 
 
 " An' I t'other two — sich clumsy chaps 
 as them 1 Te can trust me takin' care o' 
 'em, Captin." 
 
 " I know it. Keep to your oars, till I 
 give the word to drop them." 
 
 " They don't 'pear to a sighted us yet. 
 Too drunk I take it. Like as not when 
 they see what's comin' they'll sheer oflf." 
 
 " They shan't have the chance. I intend 
 steering bow dead on to them. Don't fear 
 the result. If the Mary get damaged I'll 
 stand the expense of repairs."
 
 A DUCKING DESERVED. 85 
 
 " Xe'er a mind 'bout that. Captain. I'd 
 gi'e the price o' a new boat to see the lot 
 chestised — specially that big black fellow as 
 did most o' the talkin'." 
 
 "You shall see it, and soon !" 
 
 He lets go the ropes, to disembarrass him- 
 self of his angling accoutrements ; which he 
 hurriedly does, flinging them at his feet. 
 When he again takes hold of the steering 
 tackle the Mary is within six lengths of the 
 advancing boats, both now nearly together, 
 the bow of the pursuer overlapping the 
 stern of the pursued. Only two of the men 
 are at the oars ; two standing up, one amid- 
 ships, the other at the head. Both are 
 endeavouring to lay hold of the pleasure- 
 boat, and bring it alongside. So occupied 
 they see not the fishing skiff, while the two 
 rowing, witli backs turned, are equally un- 
 conscious of its approach. They only wonder 
 at the " wenches," as they continue to call 
 them, taking it so coolly, for these do not 
 seem so much frightened as before. 
 
 " Coom, sweet lass !" cries he in the bow 
 — the black fellow it is — addressing Miss
 
 86 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 Wynn. " Tain't no use you tryin' to get 
 away. I must ha' my kiss. So drop yer 
 oars, and ge*et to me !" 
 
 " Insolent fellow ! " she exclaims, her eyes 
 ablaze with anger. " Keep your hands off 
 my boat. I command you !" 
 
 "But I ain't to be c'mmanded, ye minx. 
 Not till I've had a smack o' them lips ; an' 
 by Gr — I s'll have it." 
 
 Sajing which he reaches out to the full 
 stretch of his long, ape-like arms, and with 
 one hand succeeds in grasping the boat's 
 gunwale, while with the other he gets hold 
 of the lady's dress, and commences dragging 
 her towards him. 
 
 Gwen Wynn neither screams, nor calls 
 **Help !" She knows it is near. 
 
 "Hands off!" cries a voice in a volume 
 of thunder, simultaneous with a dull thud 
 against the side of the larger boat, followed 
 by a continued crashing as her gunwale goes 
 in. The roughs, facing round, for the first 
 time see the fishing skiff, and know why it 
 is there. But thev are too far orone in drink 
 to heed or submit — at least their leader
 
 A DUCKING DESERVED, 87 
 
 seems determined to resist. Turning sav- 
 agely on Eyecroft, he stammers out — 
 
 "Hie — ic — who the blazes be you, Mr. 
 "White Cap ! An' what d'ye want wi' me ?" 
 
 "You 11 see." 
 
 At the words he bounds from his own 
 boat into the other ; and, before the fellow 
 can raise an arm, those of Eyecroft are 
 around him in tight hug. In another 
 minute the hulking scoundrel is hoisted 
 from his feet, as though but a feather's 
 weight, and flung overboard. 
 
 Wingate has meanwhile also boarded, 
 grappled on to the other on foot, and is 
 threatening to serve him the same. 
 
 A plunge, with a wild cry — the man 
 going down like a stone ; another, as he 
 comes up among his own bubbles ; and a 
 third, yet wilder, as he feels himself sinking 
 for the second time ! 
 
 The two at the oars, scared into a sort of 
 sobriety, one of them cries out — 
 
 " Lor' o' mercy 1 Eob'll be drownded ! 
 He can't sweem a stroke." 
 
 "He's a-Jrownin' now !" adds the other.
 
 88 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 It is true. For Bob lias again come to 
 the surface, and shouts with feebler voice, 
 while his arms tossed frantically about tell 
 of his being in the last throes of suffoca- 
 tion ! 
 
 Eyecroft looks regretful — rather alarmed 
 In chastising the fellow he had gone too 
 far. He must save him ! 
 
 Quick as the thought off goes his coat, 
 with his boots kicked into the bottom of the 
 boat ; then himself over its side ! 
 
 A splendid swimmer, with a few bold 
 sweeps he is by the side of the drowning 
 man. Not a moment too soon — just as the 
 latter is going down for the third — likely 
 the last time. With the hand of the officer 
 grasping his collar, he is kept above water. 
 But not yet saved. Both are now imperilled 
 — the rescuer and he he would rescue. For, 
 far from the boats, they have drifted into 
 a dangerous eddy, and are being whirled 
 rapidly round ! 
 
 A cry from Gwen Wynn — a cry of real 
 alarm, now — the first she has uttered ! But 
 before she can repeat it, her fears are allayed
 
 A DUCKING DESERVED. 89 
 
 — set to rest again — at sight of still another 
 rescuer. The young waterman has leaped 
 back to his own boat, and is pulling straight 
 for the strugglers. A few strokes, and he 
 is beside them ; then, dropping his oars, he 
 soon has both safe in the skiff. 
 
 The half-drowned, but wholly frightened. 
 Bob is carried back to his comrades' boat, 
 and dumped in among them ; Wingate 
 handling him as though he were but a wet 
 coal sack or piece of old tarpaulin. Then 
 giving the " Forest chaps " a bit of his 
 mind he bids them " be off 1 " 
 
 And off go they, without saying word ; as 
 they drop down stream their downcast looks 
 showing them subdued, if not quite sobered, 
 
 and rather feeling grateful than aggrieved. 
 
 ****** 
 
 The other two boats soon proceed up- 
 ward, the pleasure craft leading. But not 
 now rowed by its owner ; for Captain Rye- 
 croft has hold of the oars. In the haste, 
 or the pleasurable moments succeeding, he 
 has forgotten all about the salmon left 
 struggling on his line, or caring not to
 
 90 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 return for it, most likely will lose rod, line, 
 and all. What matter ? If he has lost a 
 fine fish, he may have won the finest woman 
 on the Wye ! 
 
 And she has lost nothing — risks nothing 
 now — not even the chiding of her aunt ! 
 For now the pleasure-boat will be back in 
 its dock in time to keep undisturbed the 
 understanding with eToseph.
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 AN INVETERATE NOVEL READER. 
 
 While these exciting incidents are passings 
 upon the river, Llangorren Court is wrapped 
 in that stately repose becoming an aristo- 
 cratic residence — especially where an elderly 
 spinster is head of the house, and there are 
 no noisy children to go romping about. It 
 is thus with Llangorren, whose ostensible 
 mistress is Miss Linton, the aunt and legal 
 guardian already alluded to. But, though 
 presiding over the establishment, it is rather 
 in the way of ornamental figure-head; 
 since she takes little to do with its domestic 
 affairs, leaving them to a skilled house- 
 keeper who carries the keys. 
 
 Kitchen matters are not much to Miss 
 Linton's taste, being a dame of the antique 
 brocaded type, with pleasant memories of 
 the past, that go back to Bath and Chelten-
 
 92 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 ham ; where, in their days of glory, as hers 
 of youth, she was a belle, and did her share 
 of dancing, with a due proportion of flirt- 
 ing, at the Eegency balls. No longer able 
 to indulge in such delightful recreations, 
 the memory of them has yet charms for her, 
 and she keeps it alive and warm by daily 
 perusal of the Morning Fost with a fuller 
 hebdomadal feast from the Court Journal^ 
 and other distributors of fashionable intel- 
 ligence. In addition she reads no end of 
 novels, her favourites being those which tell 
 of Cupid in his most romantic escapades 
 and experiences, fhough not always the 
 chastest. Of the prurient trasii there is a 
 plenteous supply, furnished by scribblers of 
 both sexes, who ought to know better, and 
 doubtless do ; but knowing also how diifi- 
 cult it is to make their lucubrations interest- 
 ing within the legitimate lines of literary 
 art, and how easy out of them, thus trans- 
 gress the moralities. 
 
 Miss Linton need have no fear that the 
 impure stream will cease to flow, any more 
 than the limpid waters of the Wye. Nor
 
 AN INVETERATE NOVEL READER. 93 
 
 has she ; but reads on, devouring volume 
 after volume, in triunes as they issue from 
 the press, and are sent her from the Circu- 
 lating Library. 
 
 At nearly all hours of the day, and some 
 of the night, does she so occupy herself. 
 Even on this same bright April morn, when 
 all nature rejoices, and every living thing 
 seems to delight in being out of doors — 
 when the flowers expand their petals to 
 catch the kisses of the warm Spring sun, 
 Dorothea Linton is seated in a shady corner 
 of the drawing-room, up to her ears in a 
 three-volume novel, still odorous of printer's 
 ink and binder's paste ; absorbed in a love 
 dialogue between a certain Lord Lutestring 
 and a rustic damsel — daughter of one of 
 his tenant farmers — whose life he is doing 
 his best to blight, and with much likelihood 
 of succeeding. If he fail, it will not be 
 for want of will on his part, nor desire of 
 the author to save the imperilled one. He 
 will make the tempted iniquitous as the 
 tempter, should this seem to add interest to 
 the tale, or promote the sale of the book.
 
 94 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 Just as his lordship has gained a point 
 and the girl is about to give way, Miss 
 Linton herself receives a shock, caused by a 
 rat-tat at the drawing-room door, light, such 
 as well-trained servants are accustomed to 
 give before entering a room occupied by 
 master or mistress. 
 
 To her command '* Qome in ! " a footman 
 presents himself, silver waiter in hand, on 
 which is a card. 
 
 She is more than annoyed, almost angry, 
 as taking the card, she reads — 
 
 "Eeverend William Musgrave," 
 
 Only to think of being thus interrupted 
 on the eve of such an interesting climax, 
 which seemed about to seal the fate of the 
 farmer's daughter. 
 
 It is fortunate for his Eeverence, that 
 before entering within the room another 
 visitor is announced, and ushered in along 
 with him. Indeed the second caller is 
 shown in first; for, although George Shen- 
 stone rung the front door bell after Mr. 
 Musgrave had stepped inside the hall.
 
 AN INVETERATE NOVEL READER. 95 
 
 there is no domestic of Llangorren but 
 knows the difference between a rich baronet's 
 son and a poor parish curate ; as which 
 should have precedence. To this nice, if 
 not very delicate appreciation, the Eeverend 
 William is now indebted more than he is 
 aware. It has saved him from an outburst 
 of Miss Linton's rather tart temper, which, 
 under the circumstances, otherwise he would 
 have caught. For it so chances that the 
 son of Sir George Shenstone is a great 
 favourite with the old lady of Llangorren ; 
 welcome at all times, even amid the 
 romantic gallantries of Lord Lutestring. 
 Not that the young country gentleman has 
 anything in common with the titled Lo- 
 thario, who is habitually a dweller in cities. 
 Instead, the former is a frank, manly 
 fellow, devoted to field sports and rural 
 pastimes, a little brusque in manner, but 
 for all well-bred, and, what is even better, 
 well behaved. There is nothing odd in his 
 calling at that early hour. Sir George is 
 an old friend of the Wynn family — was an 
 intimate associate of Gwen's deceased father
 
 96 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 — and both he and his son have been accus- 
 tomed to look in at Llangorren Court sans 
 ceremonie. 
 
 No more is Mr. Musgrave's matutinal 
 visit out of order. Though but the curate, 
 he is in full charge of parish duties, the 
 rector being not only aged but an absentee 
 — so long away from the neighbourhood as 
 to have become almost a myth to it. Yor 
 this reason his vicarial representative :5an 
 plead scores of excuses for presenting him- 
 self at " The Court." There is the school, 
 the church choir, and clothing club, to say 
 nought of neighbouring news, which on 
 most mornings make him a welcome visitor 
 to Miss Linton; and no doubt would on 
 this, but for the glamour thrown around 
 her by the fascinations of the dear delight- 
 ful Lutestring. It even takes all her par- 
 tiality for Mr. Shenstone to remove its spell, 
 and get him vouchsafed friendly reception. 
 
 " Miss Linton," he says, speaking first, 
 ** I've just dropped in to ask if the young 
 ladies would go for a ride. The day's so 
 fine, I thought they might like to."^
 
 AN INVETERATE NOVEL READER. 97 
 
 " Ah, indeed/' returns tlie spinster, hold- 
 out her fingers to be touched, but, under 
 the plea of being a little invalided, excusing 
 herself from rising. " Yes ; no doubt they 
 would like it very much.'' 
 
 Mr. Shenstone is satisfied with the reply ; 
 but less the curate, who neither rides nor 
 has a horse. And less Shenstone himself — 
 indeed both — as the lady proceeds. They 
 have been listening, with ears all alert, for 
 the sound of soft footsteps and rustling 
 dresses. Instead, they hear words, not only 
 disappointing, but perplexing. 
 
 " Kay, I am sure," continues Miss Lin- 
 ton, with provoking coolness, " they would 
 have been glad to go riding with you; 
 delighted — " 
 
 " But why can't they ? " asked Shenstone, 
 impatiently interrupting. 
 
 " Because the thing's impossible ; they've 
 already gone rowing." ^ 
 
 " Indeed ! " cry both gentlemen in a 
 breath, seeming alike vexed by the intelli- 
 gence, Shenstone mechanically interroga- 
 ting : 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 " On tlie river ? " 
 
 " Certainly ! " answers the lady, looking 
 surprised. " Why, George ; where else 
 could they go rowing ! You don't suppose 
 they've brought the boat up to the fish- 
 pond ! " 
 
 " Oh, no," he stammers out. " I beg 
 pardon. How very stupid of me to ask 
 such a question. I was only wondering 
 why Miss Grwen — that is, I am a little 
 astonished — but — perhaps you'll think it im- 
 pertinent of me to ask another question ? " 
 
 '' Why should I ? What is it ? " 
 
 " Only whether — vv^hether she — Miss 
 Grwen, I mean — said anything about riding 
 to-day?" 
 
 " Not a word — at least not to me." 
 
 " How long since they went off — may I 
 know, Miss Linton ? " 
 
 " Oh, hours ago ! . Very early, indeed — 
 just after taking breakfast. I wasn't down 
 myself — as I've told you, not feeling very 
 well this morning. But Gwen's maid 
 informs me they left the house then, and I 
 presume they went direct to the river."
 
 AN INVETERATE NOVEL READER. 99 
 
 " Do you tliink they'll be out long ? " 
 earnestly interrogates Shenstone. 
 
 " I should hope not," returns the ancient 
 toast of Cheltenham, with aggravating 
 indifference, for Lutestring is not quite out 
 of her thoughts. " There's no knowing, 
 however. Miss Wynn is accustomed to 
 come and go, without much consulting 
 me. 
 
 This with some acerbity — possibly from 
 the thought that the days of her legal 
 guardianship are drawing to a close, which 
 will make her a less important personage at 
 Llangorren. 
 
 " Surely, they won't be out all day," 
 timidly suggests the curate ; to which she 
 makes no rejoinder, till Mr. Shenstone puts 
 it in the shape of an inquiry." 
 
 " Is it likely they will. Miss Linton? " 
 
 " I should say not. More like they'll be 
 hungry, and that wdll bring them home. 
 Wliat's the hour now ? I've been reading 
 a very interesting book, and quite forgot 
 myself. Is it possible ? " she exclaims, 
 looking at the ormolu dial on the mantel- 
 
 H 2
 
 100 GWEN WYN'N. 
 
 shelf. "Ten minutes to one! How time 
 does fly, to be sure ! I couldn't have 
 beheved it near so late — almost luncheon 
 time ! Of course you'll stay, gentlemen? 
 As for the girls, if they're not back in time 
 they'll have to go without. Punctuality is 
 the rule of this house— always will be with 
 me. I shan't wait one minute for them." 
 
 " But, Miss Linton ; they may have re- 
 turned from the river, and are now some- 
 where about the grounds. Shall I run 
 down to the boat-dock and see ? " 
 
 It is Mr. Shenstone who thus interro- 
 gates. 
 
 " If you like — by all means. I shall be 
 too thankful. Shame of Gwen to give us 
 so much trouble ! She knows our luncheon 
 hour, and should have been back by this. 
 Thanks, much, Mr. Shenstone." 
 
 As he is bounding ofi", she calls after — 
 
 " Don't you be staying too, else you 
 shan't have a pick. Mr. Musgrave and I 
 won't wait for any of you. Shall we, Mr. 
 Musgrave ? " 
 
 Shenstone has not tarried to hear either
 
 AN INVETERATE NOVEL READER. 101 
 
 question or answer. A luncheon for Api- 
 cius were, at that moment, nothing to him; 
 and little more to the curate, who, thougli 
 staying, would gladly go along. Isot from 
 any rivalry with, or jealousy of, the baro- 
 net's son : they revolve in different orbits, 
 with no danger of collision. Simply that 
 he dislikes leaving Miss Linton alone — • 
 indeed, dare not. She may be expecting 
 the usual budget of neighbourhood intelli- 
 gence he daily brings her. 
 
 He is mistaken. On this particular day 
 it is not desired. Out of courtesy to Mr. 
 Shenstone, rather than herself, she had laid 
 aside the novel ; and it now requires all 
 she can command to keep her eyes off it. 
 She is burning to know what befel the 
 farmer's daughter !
 
 CHAPTEE YIII. 
 
 A SUSPICIOUS STRANGER, 
 
 While Mr. Musgrave is boring the elderly 
 spinster about new scarlet cloaks for the 
 girls of the church choir, and other parish 
 matters, Greorge Shenstone is standing on 
 the topmost step of the boat stair, in a 
 mood of mind even less enviable than hers. 
 For he has looked down into the dock, and 
 there sees no Grwendoline — neither boat nor 
 lady — nor is there sign of either upon the 
 water, far as he can command a view of it. 
 'No sounds, such as he would wish, and 
 might expect to hear — no dipping of oars, 
 nor, what would be still more asrreeable to 
 his ear, the soft voices of women. Instead 
 only the note of a cuckoo, in monotonous 
 repetition, the bird balancing itself on a 
 branch near by ; and, farther off, the /nccol, 
 laughing, as if in mockery — and at him !
 
 A SUSPICIOUS STRANGER. 103 
 
 Mocking Lis impatience ; ay, something 
 more, almost his misery ! That it is so his 
 soliloquy tells : 
 
 " Odd her being out on the river ! She 
 promised me to go riding to-day. Very 
 odd indeed ! Grwen isn't the same she was 
 — acting strange altogether for the last 
 three or four days. Wonder what it means! 
 13y Jove, I can't comprehend it ! " 
 
 His noncomprehension does not hinder a 
 dark shadow from stealing over his brow, 
 and there staying. 
 
 It is not unobserved. Through the 
 leaves of the evergreen Joseph notes the 
 pained expression, and interprets it in his 
 own shrewd way — not far from the right 
 one. 
 
 The old servant soliloquizing in less con- 
 jectural strain, says, or rather thinks — 
 
 " Master Greorge be mad sweet on Miss 
 Gwen. The country folk are all talkin' 
 o't ; thinkin' she's same on him, as if they 
 knew anything about it. I knows better. 
 An' he ain't no ways confident, else there 
 wouldn't be that queery look on's face.
 
 104 GWEN WYXN. 
 
 It's tlie token o' jealousy for sure. I don't 
 believe lie liave suspicion o' any y'iyslI par- 
 ticklar. All ! it don't need that wi' sicli 
 a grand beauty as she be. He as love 
 her might be jealous o' the sun kiss- 
 ing her cheeks, or the wind tossin' her 
 hair ! " 
 
 Joseph is a Welsliman of Bardic ancestry^ 
 and thinks poetry. He continues — 
 
 " I know what's took her on the river, if 
 he don't. Yes — yes, my young lady ! Ye 
 thought yerself wonderful clever leavin' old 
 Joe behind, tellin' him to hide hisself, and 
 bribin' liim to stay hid ! And d'y 'spose 
 I didn't obsarve them glances exchanged 
 twixt you and the salmon fisher — sly, but 
 for all that, hot as streaks o' fire ? And 
 d'ye think I didn't see Mr. Whitecap going 
 down, afore ye thought o' a row yerself. 
 Oh, no ; I noticed notliin' o' all that, not 
 I ? 'Twarn't meant for me — not for Joe — • 
 ha, ha ! " 
 
 With a suppressed giggle at the popular 
 catch coming in so aproj)os, he once more 
 fixes his eyes on the face of the impatient
 
 A SUSPICIOUS STRANGER. 105 
 
 watcher, proceeding with his soliloquy, 
 though in changed strain : 
 
 " Poor young gentleman ! I do pity he 
 to be sure. He are a good sort, an' eyevy- 
 body likes him. So do she, but not the 
 way he want her to. Well ; things o' that 
 kind allers do go contrary wise — never seem 
 to run smooth like. I'd help him myself 
 if 'twar in my power, but it ain't. In such 
 cases help can only come frae the place 
 where they say matches be made — that's 
 Heaven. Ha ! he's lookin' a bit brighter ! 
 What's cheerin' him ? The boat coming 
 back ? I can't see it from here, nor I don't 
 hear any rattle o' oars ! " 
 
 The change he notes in George Shen- 
 stone's manner is not caused by the return- 
 ing pleasure craft. Simply a reflection 
 which crossing his mind, for the moment 
 tranquillizes him. 
 
 " What a stupid I am ! " he mutters self- 
 accusingly. " Now I remember, there was 
 nothing said about the hour we were to go 
 riding, and I suppose she understood in the 
 afternoon. It was so the last time we went
 
 106 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 out together. By Jove ! yes. It's all 
 right, I take it ; she'll be back in good time 
 
 yet." 
 
 Thus reassured he remains listening. 
 Still more satisfied, when a dull thumping 
 sound, in regular repetition, tells him of 
 oars working in their rowlocks. Were he 
 learned in boating tactics he would know 
 there are two pairs of them, and think this 
 strange too ; since the Givendoline carries 
 only one. But he is not so skilled — 
 instead, rather averse to aquatics — his 
 chosen home the hunting field, his favourite 
 seat in a saddle, not on a boat's thwart. It 
 is only when the plashing of the oars in 
 the tranquil water of the byeway is borne 
 clear along the clifi*, that he perceives there 
 are two pairs at work, while at the same 
 time he observes two boats approaching the 
 little dock, where but one belongs I 
 
 Alone at that leading boat does he look ; 
 with eyes in which, as he continues to gaze, 
 surprise becomes wonderment, dashed with 
 something like displeasure. The boat he 
 has recognized at the first glance — the
 
 A SUSPICIOUS STRANGER. 107 
 
 Gicendoline — as also the two ladies in the 
 stern. But there is also a man on the mid 
 thwart plying the oars. 
 
 '' Who the deuce is he ? " 
 
 Thus to himself Gleorge Shensfcone puts 
 it. Not old Joe, not the least like him. 
 Nor is it the family Charon who sits 
 solitary on the thwarts of that following. 
 Instead, Joseph is now by Mr. Shenstone's 
 side, passing him in haste — making to go 
 down the boat stairs ! 
 
 " What's the meaning of all this, Joe ? " 
 asks the young man, in stark astonishment. 
 
 " Meanin' o' what, sir ? " returns the old 
 boatman, with an air of assumed innocence. 
 " Be there anythin' amiss ? " 
 
 "Oh, nothing," stammers Shenstone. 
 " Only I supposed you were out with the 
 young ladies. How is it you haven't 
 gone : 
 
 "Well, sir, Miss Gwen didn't wish it. 
 The day bein' fine, an' nothing o' flood in 
 the river, she sayed she'd do the rowin' 
 herself." 
 
 " She hasn't been doing it for all that,"
 
 108 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 mutters Slienstone to himself, as Joseph 
 glides past and on down the stair ; then 
 repeating, "Who the deuce is he?" the 
 interrogation as before, referring to him 
 who rows the pleasure boat. 
 
 By this it has been brought, bow in, to 
 the dock, its stern touching the bottom of 
 the stair ; and, as the ladies step out of it, 
 George Shenstone overhears a dialogue, 
 which, instead of quieting his perturbed 
 spirit, but excites him still more — almost to 
 madness. It is Miss Wynn who has com- 
 menced it, saying. 
 
 "You'll come up to the house, and let 
 me introduce you to my aunt ? " 
 
 This to the gentleman who has been 
 pulling her boat, and has just abandoned 
 the oars soon as seeing its painter in the 
 hands of the servant. 
 
 " Oh, thank you ! " he returns. " I 
 would, with pleasure ; but, as you see, I'm 
 not quite presentable just now — anything 
 but fit for a drawing-room. So I beg 
 you'll excuse me to-day." 
 
 His saturated shirt-front, with other gar-
 
 A SUSPICIOUS STRANGER. 109 
 
 ments dripping, tells wliy the apology ; but 
 does not explain eitlier that or aught else 
 to him on the top of the stair ; who, 
 hearkening further, hears other speeches 
 which, while perplexing him, do nought to 
 allay the wild tempest now surging through 
 his soul. Unseen himself — for he has 
 stepped behind the tree lately screening 
 Joseph — he sees Grwen Wynn hold out her 
 hand to be pressed in parting salute — hears 
 her address the stranger in words of grati- 
 tude, warm as though she were under some 
 great obligation to him ! 
 
 Then the latter leaps out of the pleasure 
 boat into the other brought alongside, and 
 is rowed away by his waterman ; while the 
 ladies ascend the stair — Grwen, lingeringly, 
 at almost every step, turning her face to- 
 wards the fishing skijff, till this, pulled 
 around the upper end of the eyot, can no 
 more be seen. 
 
 All this Greorge Shenstone observes, draw- 
 ing deductions which send the blood in chill 
 creep through his veins. Though still 
 puzzled by the wet garments, the presence
 
 110 GWEN AYYNN. 
 
 of the gentleman wearing them seems to 
 solve that other enigma, unexplained as 
 painful — the strangeness he has of late ob- 
 served in the ways of Miss Wynn. Nor is 
 he far out in his fancy, bitter though 
 it be. 
 
 Not until the two ladies have reached the 
 stair head do they become aware of his 
 being there; and not then, till Gwen has 
 made some observations to the companion, 
 which, as those addressed to the stranger, 
 unfortunately for himself, George Shenstone 
 overhears. 
 
 " We'll be in time for luncheon yet, and 
 aunt needn't know anything of what's 
 delayed us — at least, not just now. True, 
 if the like had happened to herself — say 
 some thirty or forty years ago — she'd want 
 all the world to hear of it, particularly that 
 portion of the world yclept Cheltenham. 
 The dear old lady ! Ha, ha ! " After a 
 laugh, continuing : " But, speaking seri- 
 ously, Nell, I don't wish any one to be the 
 wiser about our bit of an escapade — least 
 of all, a certain young gentleman, whose
 
 A SUSPICIOUS STRANGEE. Ill 
 
 Christian name begins with a G., and sur- 
 name with an S." 
 
 "Those initials answer for mine," says 
 George Shen stone, coming forward and con- 
 fronting her. "If your observation was 
 meant for me, Miss Wynn, I can only ex- 
 press regret for my bad luck in being within 
 ear-shot of it." 
 
 At his appearance, so unexpected and 
 abrupt, Gwen Wynn had given a start — 
 feeling guilty, and looking it. Soon, how- 
 ever, reflecting whence he has come, and 
 hearing what said, she feels less self-con- 
 demned than indignant, as evinced by her 
 rejoinder. 
 
 " Ah ! you've been overhearing us, Mr. 
 Shenstone ! Bad luck, you call it. Ead 
 or good, I don't think you are justified in 
 attributing it to chance. When a gentle- 
 man deliberately stations himself behind a 
 shady bush, like that laurustinus, for in- 
 stance, and there stands listening — inten- 
 tionally — '" 
 
 Suddenly she interrupts herself, and 
 stands silent too — this on observing the
 
 112 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 effect of lier words, and that they have 
 struck terribly home. With bowed head 
 tlie baronet's son is stooping towards her, 
 the cloud on his brow telling of sadness — 
 not anger. Seeing it, the old tenderness 
 returns to her, with its familiarity, and she 
 exclaims : — 
 
 " Come, Greorge ! there must be no 
 quarrel between you and me. What you've 
 just seen and heard, will be all explained 
 by something you have yet to hear. Miss 
 Lees and I have had a little bit of an ad- 
 venture ; and if you'll promise it shan't go 
 further, we'll make you acquainted with 
 it." 
 
 Addressed in this style, he readily gives 
 tbe promise — gladly, too. The confidence 
 go offered seems favourable to himself. 
 But, looking for explanation on the instant, 
 he is disappointed. Asking for it, it is 
 denied him, with reason assigned thus : 
 
 " You forget we've been full four hours 
 on the river, and are as hungry as a pair of 
 kingfishers — hawks, I suppose, you'd say, 
 being a game preserver. Never mind
 
 A SUSPICIOUS STRANGER. 113 
 
 about the simile. Let us in to luncheon, if 
 not too late/' 
 
 She steps hurriedly off towards the house, 
 the companion following, Shenstone behind 
 both. 
 
 However hungry they, never man went 
 to a meal with less appetite than he. All 
 Gwen's cajoling has not tranquillized his 
 spirit, nor driven out of his thoughts that 
 man with the bronzed complexion, dark 
 moustache, and white helmet hat. 
 
 TOL. I.
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 JEALOUS ALREADY. 
 
 Captain Eyecroet has lost more than rod 
 and line ; his heart is as good as gone too — 
 given to Gwendoline Wynn. He now knows 
 the name .of the yellow haired Naiad — fo.r 
 this, with other particulars, she imparted to 
 him on return up stream. 
 
 Neither has her confidence thus extended, 
 nor the conversation leading to it, belied 
 the favourable impression made upon him 
 by her appearance. Instead, so strength- 
 ened, it, that for the first time in his life he 
 contemplates becoming a benedict. He 
 feels that his fate is sealed— or no longer in 
 his hands, but hers. 
 
 As Wingate pulls him on homeward, he 
 draws out his cigar case, sets fire to a fresh 
 weed, and, while the blue smoke wreaths up 
 round the rim of his topee, reflects on the
 
 JEALOUS ALREADY. 115 
 
 incidents of the day, — reviewing them in 
 the order of their occurrence. 
 
 Circumstances apparently accidental have 
 been strangely in his favour. Helped as 
 by Heaven's own hand, working with the 
 rudest instruments. Through the veriest 
 scum of humanity he has made acquain- 
 tance with one of its fairest forms. More 
 than mere acquaintance, he hopes ; for 
 surely those warm words, and glances far 
 from cold, could not be the sole offspring 
 of gratitude ! If so, a little service on the 
 "Wye goes a long way. Thus reflects he, in 
 modest appreciation of himself, deeming that 
 he has done but little. How different: the 
 value put upon it by Grwen Wynn ! 
 
 Still he knows not this, or at least can- 
 not be sure of it. If he were, his thoughts 
 would be all rose-coloured, which they are 
 not. Some are dark as the shadows of the 
 April showers now and then drifting across 
 the sun's disc. 
 
 One that has just settled on his brow is 
 no reflection from the firmament above — no 
 vague imagining — but a thing of shape
 
 116 GWEN WYNX. 
 
 and form — the form of a man, seen at the 
 top of the boat stair, as the hidies wer e 
 ascending, and not so far off as to have 
 hindered him from observing the man's face, 
 and noting that he was young, and rather 
 handsome. Already the eyes of love have 
 caught the keenness of jealousy. A gen- 
 tleman evidently on terms of intimacy 
 with Miss Wynn. Strange, though, that 
 the look with which he regarded her on 
 saluting, seemed to speak of £omething 
 amiss ! What could it mean ! Captain 
 Eyecroft has asked this question as his 
 boat was rounding the end of the eyot, 
 with another in the selfsame formulary of 
 interrogation, of which but the moment 
 before he was himself the subject : — 
 
 " Who the deuce can he be ? " 
 
 Out upon the river, and drawing hard at 
 his Eegalia, he goes on : — 
 
 " Wonderfully familiar the fellow seemed 1 
 Can't be a brother ? I understood her to 
 say she had none. Does he live at Llan- 
 gorren ? No. She said there was no one 
 there in the shape of masculine relative
 
 JEALOUS ALREADY. 117 
 
 — only aD old aunt, and that little dark 
 damsel, who is cousin or something of the 
 kind. But who the deuce is the gentle- 
 man ? Might //^ be a cousin ? " 
 
 So propounding questions without being 
 able to answer them, he at length addresses 
 himself to the waterman, saying : 
 
 *' Jack, did you observe a gentleman at 
 the head of the stair ? " 
 
 " Only the head and shoulders o' one, 
 captain." 
 
 " Head and shoulders ; that's enough. 
 Do you chance to know him ? " 
 
 " I ain't thorough sure ; but I think he 
 be a Mr. Shenstone." 
 
 "Who is Mr. Shenstone?" 
 
 " The son o' Sir George.'' 
 
 " Sir George ! What do you know of him ? " 
 
 " Not much to speak of — only that he be 
 a big gentleman, whose land lies along the 
 river, two or three miles below." 
 
 The information is but slight, and slighter 
 the gratification it gives. Captain Eyecroft 
 has heard of the rich baronet whose estate 
 adjoins that of Llangorren, and whose title,
 
 118 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 with the property attached, will descend to 
 an only son. It is the torso of this son he 
 has seen above the red sandstone rock. In 
 truth, a formidable rival ! So he reflects, 
 smoking away like mad. 
 
 After a time, he again observes : — 
 " You've said you don't know the ladies 
 we've helped out of their little trouble ? " 
 
 '' Parsonally, I don't, captain. But, now 
 as I see where they live, I know who they 
 be. I've heerd talk 'bout the biggest o' 
 them — a good deal." 
 
 The biggest of them ! As if she were a 
 salmon ! In the boatman's eyes, bulk is 
 evidently her chief recommendation ! 
 
 Eyecroft smiles, further interrogating : — 
 " What have you heard of her .? " 
 " That she be a tidi/ young lady. Won- 
 derful fond o' field sport, such as hunting 
 and that like. Fr' all, I may say that up 
 to this day, I never set eyes on her afore." 
 
 The Hussar ofiicer has been long enough 
 in Herefordshire to have learnt the local 
 signification of " tidy " — synonymous with 
 " well-behaved." That Miss AVynn is fond
 
 JEALOUS ALREADY. 119 
 
 of field sports — flood pastimes included — lie 
 has ^gathered from herself while rowing her 
 up the river. 
 
 One thing strikes him as strange — that 
 the waterman should not be acquainted 
 with every one dwelling on the river's bank, 
 at least for a dozen miles up and down. 
 He seeks an explanation : — 
 
 " How is it. Jack, that you, living but a 
 short league above, don't know all about 
 these people ? '' 
 
 He is unaware that "Wingate, though 
 born on the Wye's banks, as he has told 
 him, is comparatively a stranger to its 
 middle waters — his birthplace being far up 
 in the shire of Brecon. Still, that is not 
 the solution of the enigma, which the young 
 waterman gives in his own way, — 
 
 " Lord love ye, sir ! That shows how 
 little you understand this river. Why, 
 captain ; it crooks an' crooks, and goes 
 wobblin' about in such a way, that folks as 
 lives less'n a mile apart knows no more o' 
 one the other than if they wor ten. It 
 comes o' the bridges bein' so few and far
 
 120 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 between. There's the ferry boats, true ; 
 but people don't take to 'em more'n they 
 can help ; 'specially women — seein' there be 
 some danger at all times, and a good deal 
 o't when the river's a-flood. That's fre- 
 quent, summer well as winter." 
 
 The explanation is reasonable ; and, satis- 
 fied with it, Eyecroffc remains for a time 
 wrapt in a dreamy reverie, from which he is 
 aroused as his eyes rest upon a house — a 
 quaint antiquated structure, half timber, 
 half stone, standing not on the river's edge, 
 but at some distance from it up a dingle. 
 The sight is not new to him ; he has 
 before noticed the house — struck with its 
 appearance, so different from the ordinary 
 •dwellings. 
 
 " Whose is it, Jack ? " he asks. 
 
 " B'longs to a man, name o' Murdock." 
 
 '' Odd looking domicile ! " 
 
 " 'Ta'nt a bit more that way than he be 
 — if half what they say 'bout him be true." 
 
 " Ah ! Mr. Murdock's a character, then ? " 
 
 " Ay ; an' a queery one." 
 
 '' In what respect ? what way ? "
 
 JEALOUS ALREADY. 
 
 121 p' 
 
 " More'n one — a goodish many." 
 
 "Specify, Jack?" 
 
 " Well ; for one thing, lie a'nt sober to 
 say half o' his time." 
 
 *' Addicted to dipsomania ? " 
 
 " 'Dieted to getting dead drunk. I've 
 seen him so, scores o' 'casions." 
 
 '' That's not wise of Mr. Murdock." 
 
 " No, captain ; 'ta'nt neyther wise nor 
 well. All the worse, considerin' the place 
 where mostly he go to do his drinkin ." 
 
 " Where may that be ?" 
 
 " The AVelsh Harp — up at Eogue's 
 Ferry." 
 
 " Rogue's Ferry ? Strange appellation ! 
 What sort of place is it? Not very nice, I 
 should say — if the name be at all appro- 
 priate." 
 
 " It's parfitly 'propriate, though I b'lieve 
 it want that way bestowed. It got so 
 called after a man the name o' Eugg, who 
 once keeped the Welsh Harp and the ferry 
 too. It's about two mile above, a little 
 ways back. Besides the tavern, there be a 
 cluster o' houses, a bit scattered about, wi'
 
 122 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 a cliapel an' a grocery shop — one as deals 
 truckways, an' a'nt partickler as to what 
 they take in change — stolen goods welcome 
 as any — ay, welcomer, if they be o' worth. 
 They got plenty o' them, too. The place 
 be a regular nest o' poachers, an' worse 
 than that — a good many as have sarved 
 their spell in the Penitentiary." 
 
 " Why, Wingate, you astonish me ! I 
 was under the impression your Wyeside 
 was a sort of Arcadia, where one only met 
 with innocence and primitive simplicity." 
 
 " You won't meet much o' either at 
 Eogue's Ferry. If there be an uninnocent 
 set on earth it's they as live there. Them 
 Forest chaps we came 'cross a'nt no ways 
 their match in wickedness. Just possible 
 drink made them behave as they did — some 
 o' 'em. But drink or no drink it be all the 
 same wi' the Ferry people — maybe worse 
 when they're sober. Any ways they're 
 a rough lot." 
 
 " With a place of worship in their midst ! 
 That ought to do something towards refin- 
 ing them."
 
 JEALOUS ALREADY. 133 
 
 " Ought ; and would, I dare say, if 'twar 
 the right sort — which it a'nt. Instead, o' 
 a kind as only the more corrupts 'em — 
 being Eoman." 
 
 " Oh ! A Eoman Catholic chapel. But 
 how does it corrupt them ? " 
 
 " By makin' 'em believe they can get 
 cleared of their sins, hows'ever black they 
 be. Men as think that way a'nt like to 
 stick at any sort of crime — 'specially if it 
 brings 'em the money to buy what they 
 calls absolution." 
 
 " Well, Jack ; it's very evident you're no 
 friend, or follower, of the Pope." 
 
 " Neyther o' Pope nor priest. Ah ! cap- 
 tain ; if you seed him o' the Eogue's Ferry 
 Chapel, you wouldn't wonder at my havin' 
 a dislike for the whole kit o' them." 
 
 " AVhat is there specially repulsive about 
 him ?" 
 
 " Don't know as there be any thin' very 
 special, in partickler. Them priests all look 
 bout the same — such o' 'em as I've ever set 
 eyes on. And that's like stoats and weasels, 
 shootin' out o' one hole into another. As
 
 124 
 
 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 for him we're speakin' about, he's here, 
 there, an' everywhere ; sneakin' along the 
 roads an' paths, hidin' behind bushes like a 
 cat after birds, an' poppin' out where no- 
 body expects him. If ever there war a spy 
 meaner than another it's the priest of 
 Eogue's Ferry." 
 
 " JSTo ? " he adds, correcting himself. 
 ''There be one other in these parts worse 
 than he — if that's possible. A different 
 sort o' man, true ; and yet they be a good 
 deal thegither." 
 
 " Who is this other ? " 
 
 " Dick Dempsey — better known by the 
 name of Coracle Dick." 
 
 " Ah, Coracle Dick ! He appears to 
 occupy a conspicuous place in your 
 thoughts. Jack ; and rather a low one in 
 your estimation. Why, may I ask ? What 
 sort of fellow is he ? " 
 
 " The biggest blaggard as lives on the 
 Wye, from where it springs out o' Plin- 
 limmon to its emptying into the Bristol 
 Channel. Talk o' poachers an' night netters. 
 He goes out by night to catch somethin'
 
 JEALOUS ALREADY. 125 
 
 beside salmon. 'Taint all fish as comes 
 into his net, I know." 
 
 The young waterman speaks in such 
 hostile tone both about priest and poacher, 
 that Eyecroft suspects a motive beyond the 
 ordinary prejudice against men who wear 
 the sacerdotal garb, or go trespassing after 
 game. Not caring to inquire into it now, 
 he returns to the original topic, saying :— 
 
 " We've strayed from our subject, Jack — 
 which was tlie hard drinking owner of 
 yonder house." 
 
 " Not so far, captain ; seein' as he be the 
 most intimate friend the priest have in 
 these parts ; though if what's said be true, 
 not nigh so much as his Missus." 
 
 " Murdock is married, then ?" 
 
 *' I won't say that — leastwise I shouldn't 
 like to swear it. All I know is, a woman 
 lives wi' him, s'posed to be his wife. Odd 
 thing she." 
 
 " Why odd ? " 
 
 " 'Cause she beant like any other o' 
 womankind 'bout here." 
 
 " Explain yourself, Jack. In what does
 
 126 GWEN -WYNX. 
 
 Mrs. Murdock differ from the rest of your 
 Herefordshire fair ? " 
 
 " One way, captain, in her not bein' fair 
 at all. 'Stead, she be dark complected ; 
 most as much as one o' them women I've 
 seed 'bout Cheltenham, nursin' the children 
 o' old officers as brought 'em from India — 
 ayers they call 'em. She a'nt one o' 'em, 
 but French, I've heerd say ; which in part, 
 I suppose explains the thickness 'tween her 
 an' the priest — he bein' the same." 
 
 " Oh ! His reverence is a Frenchman, is 
 he?" 
 
 " All o' that, captain. If he wor English, 
 he woudn't — coudn't — be the contemptible 
 sneakin' hound he is. As for Mrs. Murdock, 
 I can't say I've seed her more'n twice in my 
 life. She keeps close to the house ; goes 
 nowhere ; an' it's said nobody visits her nor 
 him — leastwise none o' the old gentry. For 
 all Mr. Murdock belongs to the best of 
 them." 
 
 " He's a gentleman, is he ? " 
 
 "Ought to be— if he took after his 
 father."
 
 JEALOUS ALREADY. 127 
 
 "Why SO?" 
 
 " Because he wor a squire — regular of 
 the old sort. He's not been so long dead. 
 I can remember him myself, though I hadn't 
 been here such a many years — the old lady 
 too — this Murdock's mother. Ah ! now I 
 think on't, she wor t'other squire's sister — 
 father to the tallest o' them two young 
 ladies — the one with the reddish hair." 
 
 "What! Miss Wynn?" 
 
 " Yes, captain ; her they calls Gwen." 
 
 Eyecroft questions no farther. He has 
 learnt enough to give him food for reflec- 
 tion — not only during the rest of that day, 
 but for a week, a month — it may be through- 
 out the remainder of his life.
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 THE cuckoo's glen. 
 
 About a mile above Llangorren Court, but 
 on tlie opposite side of tlie Wye, stands the 
 bouse wbicb had attracted the attention of 
 Captain Ejecroft ; known to the neighbour- 
 hood as " Grlyngog " — Cymric synonym for 
 ''Cuckoo's Glen." Npt immediately on the 
 water's edge, but several hundred yards 
 back, near the head of a lateral ravine which 
 debouches on the valley of the river, to the 
 latter contributing a rivulet. 
 
 Glyngog House is one of those habita- 
 tions, common in the county of Hereford 
 as other western shires — puzzling the stran- 
 ger to tell whether they be gentleman's 
 residence, or but the dwelling of a farmer. 
 This from an array of walls, enclosing yard, 
 garden, even the orchard — a plenitude due 
 to the red sandstone being near, and easily 
 shaped for building purposes.
 
 THE cuckoo's glen. 129 
 
 About Glyngog House, however, there is 
 something besides the circumvallation to 
 give it an air of grandeur beyond that 
 of the ordinary farm homestead; certain 
 touches of architectural style which speak 
 of the Elizabethan period — ^in short that 
 termed Tudor. For its own walls are not 
 altogether stone ; instead a framework of 
 oaken uprights, struts, and braces, black 
 with age, the panelled masonry between 
 plastered and white-washed, giving to the 
 structure a quaint, almost fantastic, appear- 
 ance, heightened by an irregular roof of 
 steep pitch, with projecting dormers, gables 
 acute angled, overhanging windows, and 
 carving at the coigns. Of such ancient 
 domiciles there are yet many to be met 
 with on the Wye — their antiquity vouched 
 for by the materials used in their construc- 
 tion, when bricks were a costly commodity, 
 and wood to be had almost for the asking. 
 
 About this one, the enclosing stone walls 
 have been a later erection, as also the pil- 
 lared gate entrance to its ornamental 
 grounds, through which runs a carriage 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 drive to the sweep in front. Many a glit- 
 tering equipage may have gone round on 
 that sweep ; for Glyngog was once a Manor 
 house. Now it is but the remains of one, 
 so much out of repair as to show smashed 
 panes in several of its windows, while the 
 enceinte walls are only upright where sus- 
 tained by the upholding ivy ; the shrub- 
 bery run wild ; the walks and carriage drive 
 weed-covered ; on the latter neither recent 
 track of wheel, nor hoof-mark of horse. 
 
 For all, the house is not uninhabited. 
 Three or four of the windows appear sound, 
 with blinds inside them ; while at most 
 hours smoke may be seen ascending from at 
 least two of the chimneys. 
 
 Few approach near enough the place to 
 note its peculiarities. The traveller gets 
 but a distant glimpse of its chimney-pots ; 
 for the country road, avoiding the dip of 
 the ravine, is carried round its head, and far 
 from the house. It can only be approached 
 by a long, narrow lane, leading nowhere 
 else, so steep as to deter any explorer save 
 a pedestrian ; while he, too, would have to
 
 THE cuckoo's glen. 131 
 
 contend with an obstruction of overgrowing 
 thorns and trailing brambles. 
 
 Notwithstanding these disadvantages, 
 Glyngog has something to recommend it — 
 a prospect not surpassed in the western 
 shires of England. He who selected its 
 site must have been a man of tastes rather 
 aesthetic, than utilitarian. For the land 
 attached and belonging — some fifty or sixty 
 acres — is barely arable ; lying against the 
 abruptly sloping sides of the ravine. But 
 the view is superb. Below, the Wye, wind- 
 ing through a partially wood-covered plain, 
 like some grand constrictor snake ; its sin- 
 uosities only here and there visible through 
 the trees, resembling a chain of detached 
 lakes — till sweeping past the Cuckoo's Grien, 
 it runs on in straight reach towards Llan- 
 gorren. 
 
 Eye of man never looked upon lovelier 
 landscape ; mind of man could not contem- 
 plate one more suggestive of all that is, or 
 ought to be, interesting in life. Peaceful 
 smokes ascending out of far-off chimneys ; 
 farm-houses, with their surrounding walls, 
 
 K 2
 
 132 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 standing amid the greenery of old home- 
 stead trees — now in full leaf, for it is the 
 month of June — here and there the sharp 
 spire of a church, or the showy fagade of a 
 gentleman's mansion — in the distant back- 
 ground, the dark blue mountains of Mon- 
 mouthshire; among them conspicuous the 
 Blorenge, Skerrid, and Sugar Loaf. The 
 man who could look on such a picture, 
 without drawing from it inspirations of 
 pleasure, must be out of sorts with the 
 world, if not weary of it. 
 
 And yet just such a man is now viewing 
 it from Glyngog House, or rather the bit of 
 shrubbery ground in front. He is seated 
 on a rustic bench partly shattered, barely 
 enough of it whole to give room beside him 
 for a small japanned tray, on which are 
 tumbler, bottle and jug — the two last re- 
 spectively containing brandy and water; 
 while in the first is an admixture of both. 
 He is smoking a meerschaum pipe, which 
 at short intervals he removes from his mouth 
 to give place to the drinking glass. 
 
 The personal appearance of this man is
 
 THE cuckoo's glen. 133 
 
 in curious correspondence with the bench on 
 which he sits, the walls around, and the 
 house behind. Like all these, he looks 
 dilapidated. 'Not on\j is his apparel out of 
 repair, but his constitution too, as shown by 
 hollow cheeks and sunken eyes, with crows 
 feet ramifying around them. This due not, 
 as with the surrounding objects, to age; for 
 he is still under forty. Nor yet any of the 
 natural infirmities to which flesh is heir ; 
 but evidently to drink. Some reddish spots 
 upon his nose and flecks on the forehead, 
 with the glass held in shaking hand, pro- 
 claims this the cause. And it is. 
 
 Lewin Murdock — such is the man's name 
 — ^has led a dissipated life. Not much of it 
 in England ; still less in Herefordshire ; and 
 only its earlier years in the house he now 
 inhabits — his paternal home. Since boy- 
 hood he has been abroad, staying none can 
 say where, and straying no one knows 
 whither — often seen, however, at Baden, 
 Homburg, and other " hells," punting high 
 or low, as the luck has gone for or against 
 him. At a later period in Paris, during the
 
 134 GWEN WTNN. 
 
 Imperial regime — worst hell of all. It has 
 stripped him of everything ; dri\Tn him out 
 and home, to seek asylum at Grlyngog, once 
 a handsome property, now hut npiecl a terre, 
 on which he may only set his foot, with a 
 mortgage around his neck. For even the 
 little land left to it is let out to a farmer, 
 and the rent goes not to him. He is, in 
 fact, only a tenant on his patrimonial estate ; 
 holding hut the house at that, with the 
 ornamental grounds and an acre or two of 
 orchard, of which he takes no care. The 
 farmer's sheep may scale the crumhling 
 walls, and hrowse the weedy enclosure at 
 will ; give Lewin Murdock his meerschaum 
 pipe, with enough brandy and water, and 
 he but laughs. Not that he is of a jovial 
 disposition, not at all given to mirth ; only 
 that it takes sometliing more than the pastu- 
 rage of an old orchard to excite his thoughts, 
 or turn them to cupidity. 
 
 For all, land does this — the very thing. 
 No limited tract ; but one of many acres in 
 extent — even miles — the land of Llangorren. 
 
 It is now before his face, and under his
 
 THE cuckoo's glen. 185 
 
 eyes, as a map unfolded. On tlie opposite 
 side of the river it forms the foreground of 
 the landscape ; in its midst the many- 
 windowed mansion, backed by stately trees, 
 with well-kept grounds, and green pastures ; 
 at a little distance the " Grrange," or home- 
 farm, and farther off others that look of the 
 same belonging — as they are. A smiling 
 picture it is ; spread before the eyes of 
 Lewin Murdock, whenever he sits in his 
 front window, or steps outside the door. 
 And the brighter the sun shines on it, the 
 darker the shadow on his brow ! 
 
 Not much of an enigma either. That 
 land of Llangorren belonged to his grand- 
 father, but now is, or soon will be, the pro- 
 perty of his cousin — Grwendoline Wynn. 
 Were she not, it would be his. Between 
 liim and it runs the Wye, a broad deep 
 river. But what its width or depth, com- 
 pared with that other something betiveen? 
 A barrier stronger and more impassable than 
 the stream, yet seeming slight as a thread. 
 Por it is but the thread of a life. Should it 
 snap, or get accidentally severed, Lewin
 
 136 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 Murdock would only have to cross the river, 
 proclaim himself master of Llarigorren, and 
 take possession. 
 
 He would scarce be human not to think 
 of all this. And being human he does — 
 has thought of it oft, and many a time. 
 With feelings too, beyond the mere prompt- 
 ing of cupidity. These due to a legend 
 handed down to him, telling of an unfair 
 disposal of the LI an gorren property ;"b\ltv a 
 pittance given to his mother who married 
 Murdock of Glyngog ; while the bulk went 
 to her brother, the father of Gwen Wynn. 
 All matters of testament, since the estate is 
 unentailed; the only grace of the grand- 
 father towards the Murdock branch being a 
 clause entitling them to possession, in the 
 event of the collateral heirs dying out. 
 And of these but one is living — the heroine 
 'of our tale. 
 
 " Only she — but she ! " mutters Lewin 
 Murdock, in a tone of such bitterness, that, 
 as if to drown it, he plucks the pipe out of 
 his mouth, and gulps down the last drop in 
 the glass.
 
 CHAPTEE XL 
 
 A WEED BY THE WYESIDE. 
 
 " Only she— but she ! " he repeats, grasping 
 the bottle by the neck, and pouring more 
 brandy into the tumbler. 
 
 Though speaking sotio voce, and not sup- 
 posing himself overheard, he is, nevertheless 
 — by a woman, who, coming forth from the 
 house, has stepped silently behind him, 
 there pausing. 
 
 Odd-looking apparition she, seen upon the 
 Wyeside ; altogether unlike a native of it, 
 but altogether like one born upon the banks 
 of the Seine, and brought up to tread the 
 Boulevards of Paris— like the latter from 
 the crown of her head to the soles of her 
 high-heeled boots, on whose toes she stands 
 poised and balancing. In front of that 
 ancient English manor-house, she seems 
 grotesquely out of place— as much as a
 
 138 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 costermonger driving his moke-drawn cart 
 among the Pyramids, or smoking a '' Pick- 
 wick " by the side of the Sphinx. 
 
 For all there is nothing mysterious, or 
 even strange in her presence there. She is 
 Lewin Murdock's wife. If he has left his 
 fortune in foreign lands, with the better 
 part of his life and health, he has thence 
 brought her, his better-half. 
 
 Physically a fine-looking woman, despite 
 some ravages due to time, and possibly more 
 to crime. Tall and dark as the daughters 
 of the Latinic race, with features beautiful 
 in the past — even still attractive to those 
 not repelled by the beguiling glances of sin. 
 
 Such were hers, first given to him in a 
 cafi chantant of the Tuileries — oft after- 
 wards repeated in jardin, hois, and hols of 
 the demi-monde, till at length she gave him 
 her hand in the Eglise La Madeleine. 
 
 Busied with his brandy, and again gazing 
 at Llangorren, he has not yet seen her ; nor 
 is he aware of her proximity till hearing an 
 exclamation : — 
 
 *•' Eh, bien ? "
 
 A WEED BY THE WYESIDE. 139 
 
 He starts at tlie interrogatory, turning 
 round. 
 
 " You think too loud, Monsieur — that is 
 if you wish to keep your thoughts to your- 
 self. And you might — seeing that it's a 
 love secret ! May I ask who is this she 
 you're soliloquizing about ? Some of your 
 old English bonnes amies, I suppose?" 
 
 This, with an air of affected jealousy, she 
 is far from feeling. In the heart of the 
 ex-cocotte there is no place for such a senti- 
 ment. 
 
 " Got nothing to do with bonnes amies, 
 young or old," he gruffly replies. "Just 
 now I've got something else to think of 
 than sweethearts. Enough occupation for 
 my thoughts in the how I'm to support a 
 wife — yourself, madame." 
 
 "It wasn't me you meant. No, indeed. 
 Some other, in whom you appear to feel a 
 very profound interest." 
 
 *' There, you're right, it was one other, 
 in whom I feel all that." 
 
 ^^ Merely Monsieur! Ma foil your can- 
 dour deserves all thanks. Perhaps you'll
 
 140 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 extend it, and favour me with the lady's 
 name? A lady, I presume. The grand 
 Seigneur Lewin Murdock would not be 
 giving his thoughts to less." 
 
 Ignorance pretended. She knows, or 
 surmises, to whom he has been giving 
 them. For she has been watching him 
 from a wiodow, and observed the direction 
 of his glances. And she has more than a 
 suspicion as to the nature of his reflections ; 
 since she is well aware as he of that some- 
 thing besides a river separating them from 
 Llangorren. 
 
 " Her name ? " she again asks, in tone of 
 more demand, her eyes bent searchingly on 
 his. 
 
 Avoiding her glance, he still pulls away 
 at his pipe, without making answer. 
 
 " It is a love secret, then ? I thought 
 so. It's cruel of you, Lewin ! This is the 
 return for giving you — all I had to give ! " 
 
 She may well speak hesitatingly, and 
 hint at a Hmited sacrifice. Only her band ; 
 and it more than tenderly pressed by scores 
 — ay liundreds — of others, before being
 
 A WEED BY THE WYESIDE. 141 
 
 bestowed upon him. No false pretence, 
 however, on her part. He knew all that, 
 or should have known it. How could he 
 help? Olympe, the belle of the Jardin 
 Mabille, was no obscurity in the demi-monde 
 of Paris — even in its days of glory under 
 Napoleon le Petite. 
 
 Her reproach is also a pretence, though 
 possibly with some sting felt. She is draw- 
 ing on to that term of life termed passe, 
 and begins to feel conscious of it. He may 
 be the same. Not that for his opinion she 
 cares a straw — save in a certain sense, and 
 for reasons altogether independent of 
 slighted affection — the very purpose she is 
 now working upon, and for which she 
 needs to hold over him the power she has 
 hitherto had. And well knows she how to 
 retain it, rekindling love's fire when it 
 seems in danger of dying out, either 
 through appeal to his pity, or exciting his 
 jealousy, which she can adroitly do, by her 
 artful French ways and dark flashing 
 eyes. 
 
 As he looks in them now, the old flame
 
 142 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 flickers up, and he feels almost as much her 
 slave as when he first became her husband. 
 
 For all he does not show it. This day 
 he is out of sorts with himself, and her and 
 all the world besides ; so instead of recipro- 
 cating her sham tenderness — as if knowing 
 it such — he takes another swallow of 
 brandy, and smokes on in silence. 
 
 Now really incensed, or seeming so, she 
 exclaims : — 
 
 '' Perjide! " adding with a disdainful toss 
 of the head, such as only the dames of the 
 demi'monde know how to give, " Keep your 
 secret! What care I?'' Then changing 
 tone, " Mon Dieu I France — dear France ! 
 Why did I ever leave you ? '' 
 
 " Because your dear France became too 
 dear to live in." 
 
 " Clever double entendre ! No doubt you 
 think it witty ! Dear, or not, better a 
 garret there — a room in its humblest en- 
 tresol than this. I'd rather serve in a cigar 
 shop — keep a gargot in the Faubourg Mont- 
 martre — than lead such a triste life as we're 
 now doing. Living in this wretched kennel
 
 A WEED BY THE WYE SIDE. 143 
 
 of a house, that threatens to tumble on our 
 heads ! " 
 
 " How would you like to live in that over 
 yonder ? '' 
 
 He nods towards Llangorren Court. 
 
 " You are merry, Monsieur. But your 
 jests are out of place — in presence of the 
 misery around us." 
 
 " You may some day," he goes on, with- 
 out heeding her observation. 
 
 " Yes ; when the sky falls we may catch 
 larks. You seem to forget that Mademoi- 
 selle Wynn is younger than either of us, 
 and by the natural laws of life will outlive 
 both. Must, unless she break her neck in 
 the hunting field, get drowned out of a 
 boat, or meet so7ne other mischance^ 
 
 She pronounces the last three w^ords 
 slowly and with marked emphasis, pausing 
 after she has spoken them, and looking 
 fixedly in his face, as if to note their effect. 
 
 Taking the meerschaum from his mouth, 
 he returns her look — almost shuddering as 
 his eyes meet hers, and he reads in them a 
 glance such as might have been given by
 
 144 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 Messalina, or the murderess of Duncan. 
 Hardened as his conscience has become 
 tlirough a long career of sin, it is yet 
 tender in comparison with hers. And he 
 knows it, knowing her history, or enough 
 of it — her nature as well — to make him 
 think her capable of anything, even the 
 crime her speech seems to point to — ^neither 
 more nor less than — 
 
 He dares not think, let alone pronounce, 
 the word. He is not yet up to that ; 
 though day by day, as his desperate for- 
 tunes press upon him, his thoughts are 
 being familiarized with something akin to 
 it — a dread, dark design, still vague, but 
 needing not much to assume shape, and 
 tempt to execution. And that the tempter 
 is by his side he is more than half con- 
 scious. It is not the first time for him to 
 listen to fell speech from those fair lips. 
 
 To-day he would rather shun allusion to 
 a subject so grave, yet so delicate. He has 
 spent part of the preceding night at the 
 Welsh Harp — the tavern spoken of by 
 Wingate — and his nerves are unstrung, yet
 
 A WEED BY THE WYE SIDE. 145 
 
 not recovered from the revelry. Instead of 
 asking her what she means by " some other 
 mischance," he but remarks, with an air of 
 careless indifference, 
 
 " True, Olympe ; unless something of 
 that sort were to happen, there seems no 
 help for us but to resign ourselves to pati- 
 ence, and live on expectations/' 
 
 " Starve on them, you mean ? " 
 
 This in a tone, and with a shrug, which 
 seem to convey reproach for its weakness. 
 
 " Well, c/ierie ; " he rejoins, " we can at 
 least feast our eyes on the source whence 
 our fine fortunes are to come. And a pretty 
 sight it is, isn't it ? U/i coi/j) d'oeil 
 charmant!" 
 
 He again turns his eyes upon Llangorren, 
 as also she, and for some time both are 
 silent. 
 
 Attractiv^e at any time, the Court is un- 
 usaally so on this same summer's day. For 
 the sun, lighting up the verdant lawn, also 
 shines upon a large white tent there erected 
 — a marquee — from whose ribbed roof pro- 
 jects a signal staff, with flag floating at its 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 peak. They have had no direct informa- 
 tion of what all this is for — since to Lewin 
 Murdock and his wife the society of Here- 
 fordshire is tabooed. But they can guess 
 from the symbols that it is to be a garden 
 party, or something of the sort, there often 
 given. While they are still gazing its 
 special kind is declared, by figures appear- 
 ing upon the lawn and taking stand in 
 groups before the tent. There are ladies 
 gaily attired — in the distance looking like 
 bright butterflies — some dressed a la Diaries 
 with bows in hand, and quivers slung by 
 their sides, the feathered shafts showing 
 over their shoulders ; a proportionate num- 
 ber of gentlemen attendant ; while liveried 
 servants stride to and fro erecting the 
 ringed targets. 
 
 Murdock himself cares little for such 
 things. He has had his surfeit of fashion- 
 able life; not only sipped its sweets, but 
 drank its dregs of bitterness. He regards 
 Llangorren with something in his mind 
 more substantial than its sports and pas- 
 times.
 
 A WEED BY THE WYE SIDE. 147 
 
 "Witli different thoughts looks the Parisian 
 upon them — in her heart a chagrin onl 
 known to those whose zest for the world's 
 pleasure is of keenest edge, yet checked and 
 baffled from indulgence — ambitions uncon- 
 trollable, but never to be attained. As 
 Satan gazed back when hurled out of the 
 Garden of Eden, so she at that scene upon 
 the lawn of Llangorren. Ko jar din of 
 Paris — not the Bois itself — ever seemed to 
 her so attractive as those grounds, with 
 that aristocratic gathering — a heaven none 
 of her kind can enter, and but few of her 
 country. • 
 
 After long regarding it with envy in her 
 eyes, and spleen in her soul — tantalized, 
 almost to torture — she faces towards her 
 husband, saying — 
 
 " And you've told me, between all that 
 and us, there's but one life " 
 
 " Two ! " interrupts a voice — not his. 
 
 Both turning, startled, behold — Father 
 Bonier ! 
 
 L 2
 
 *• I 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A WOLF IN sheep's CLOTHING. 
 
 Father Rogier is a French priest of a type 
 too well known over all the world — the 
 Jesuitical. Spare of form, thin-lipped, 
 nose with the cuticle drawn across it tight 
 as drum parchment, skin dark and cadaver- 
 ous, he looks Loyola from head to heel. 
 
 * He him'^elf looks no one straight in the 
 face. Confronted, his eyes fall to his feet, 
 oir turn to either side, not in timid abash- 
 ment, hut as those of one who feels himself 
 a felon. And but for his liabiHments he 
 might well pass for such ; though even the 
 sacerdotal garb, and assumed air of sanctity, 
 do not hinder the suspicion of a wolf in 
 sheep's clothing — ratlier suggesting it. 
 And in truth is he one ; a very Pharisee 
 — Inquisitor to boot, cruel and keen as
 
 A WOLF IN sheep's CLOTHING. 149 
 
 ever sate in secret Council over an Aiifo 
 da F^. 
 
 AVhat is sacli a maa doing in Hereford- 
 shire ? What, in Protestant En^and? 
 
 '^ 
 
 o 
 
 Time was, and not so long ago, wh^n th'e^e 
 questions would have been asked ^yith 
 curiosity, and some degree of indignation. 
 As for instance, when our popular Queen 
 added to her popularity, by somewhat 
 ostentatiously declaring, that " no foreign 
 priest should take tithe or toll in her 
 dominions," even forbidding them their dis- 
 tinctive dress. Then they stole timidly, 
 and sneakingly, through the streets, usually 
 seen hunting in couples, and looking as if 
 conscious their pursuit was criminal, or, at 
 the least, illegal. 
 
 All that is over now ; the ban removed, 
 the boast unkept — to all appearance for- 
 gotten ! Now they stalk boldly abroad, or 
 saunter in squads, exhibiting their shorn 
 -crowns and pallid faces, without fear or 
 shame ; instead, triumphantly flouting their 
 vestments in public walks or parks, or 
 loitering in the vestibules of convents and
 
 150 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 monasteries, which begin to show thick 
 over the land — threatening us with a curse 
 as that anterior to the time of bluff King 
 Hal. No one now thinks it strange to see 
 shovel-hatted priest, or sandalled monk — 
 no matter in what part of England, nor 
 would wonder at one of either being resi- 
 dent upon Wyeside. Father Eogier, one 
 of the former, is there with similar motive, 
 and for the same purpose, his sort are sent 
 everywhere — to enslave the souls of men 
 and get money out of their purses, in order 
 that other men, princes, and priests like 
 himself, may lead luxurious lives, without 
 toil and by trickery. The same old story, 
 since the beginning of the world, or man's 
 presence upon it. The same craft as the 
 rain maker of South Africa, or the medi- 
 cine man of the North American Indian; 
 differing only in some points of practice ; 
 the religious juggler of a higher civiliza- 
 tion, finding his readiest tools not in roots, 
 snake-skins, and rattles, but the weakness of 
 woman. Through this, as by sap and 
 mine, many a strong citadel has been car-
 
 A WOLF IN sheep's CLOTHING. 151 
 
 ried, after bidding defiance to the boldest 
 and most determined assault. 
 
 Pere Eogier well knows all this ; and by 
 experience, having played the propagandist 
 game with some success since his settling 
 in Herefordshire. He has not been quite 
 three years resident on Wyeside, and yet 
 has contrived to draw around him a con- 
 siderable coterie of weak-minded Marthas 
 and Marys, built him a little chapel, with 
 a snug dwelling house, and is in a fair way 
 of further feathering his nest. True, his 
 neophytes are nearly all of the humbler 
 class, and poor. But the Peter's pence 
 count up in a remarkable manner, and are 
 paid with a regularity which only blind 
 devotion, or the zeal of religious partizan- 
 ship, can exact. Fear of the Devil, and 
 love of him, are like effective in drawing 
 contributions to the box of the Rugg's 
 Ferry chapel, and filling the pockets of its 
 priest. 
 
 And if he have no grand people among 
 his fiock, and few disciples of the class 
 called middle, he can boast of at least two
 
 152 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 claiming to be genteel — the Murdocks. 
 With the man no false assumption either ; 
 neither does he assume, or value it. Dif- 
 ferent the woman. Born in the Faubourg 
 Montmartre, her father a common ouvrier, 
 her mother a hlanchisseuse — herself a beau- 
 tiful girl — Olympe Eenault soon found her 
 way into a more fashionable quarter. The 
 same ambition made her Lewin Murdock's 
 wife, and has brought her on to England. 
 For she did not marry him without some 
 knowledge of his reversionary interest in 
 the land of which they have just been 
 speaking, and at which they are still look- 
 ing. That was part of the inducement 
 held out for obtaining her hand ; her heart 
 he never had. 
 
 That the priest knows something of the 
 same, indeed all, is evident from the word 
 he has respondingly pronounced. With 
 step, silent and cat-like — his usual mode of 
 progression — he has come upon them 
 unawares, neither having note of his 
 approach till startled by his voice. On 
 hearing it, and seeing who, Murdock rises
 
 A WOLF IN sheep's CLOTHING. 153 
 
 to his feet, as he does so saluting. Not- 
 withstaiiding loug years of a depraved life, 
 his early training has been that of a 
 gentleman, and its instincts at times return 
 to him. Besides, born and brought np 
 Eonian Catholic, he has that respect for his 
 priest, habitual to a proverb — would have, 
 even if knowing the latter to be the veriest 
 Pharisee that ever wore single-breasted 
 black - coat. 
 
 Salutations exchanged, and a chair 
 brought out for the new comer to sit 
 upon, Murdock demands explanation of 
 the interrupting monosyllable, asking : 
 
 " What do you mean, Fatlier Eogier, by 
 ' two' ? " 
 
 " What I've said, M'sieu ; that there are 
 two between you and that over yonder, or 
 soon will be — in time perhaps ten. A fair 
 paysage it is !" he continues, looking across 
 the river ; "a very vale of Tempe, or 
 Garden of the Hesperides. Parbleic I I 
 never believed your England so beautiful. 
 Ah ! what's going on at Llangorren ? " 
 This as his eyes rest upon the tent, the
 
 154 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 flags, and gaily-dressed figures. " A f^te 
 cliamjoetre : Mademoiselle making, merry ! 
 In honour of the anticipated change, no 
 doubt." 
 
 "Still I don't comprehend," says Murdock, 
 looking puzzled. " You speak in riddles. 
 Father Eogier/'' 
 
 " Eiddles easily read, M'sieu. Of this 
 particular one you'll find the interpretation 
 there." 
 
 This, pointing to a plain gold ring on the 
 fourth finger of Mrs. Murdock's left hand, 
 put upon it by Murdock himself on the day 
 he became her husband. 
 
 He now comprehends — his quick-witted 
 wife sooner. 
 
 '' Ha ! " she exclaims, as if pricked by a 
 pin, " Mademoiselle to be married ? " 
 
 The priest gives an assenting nod. 
 
 '' That's news to me," mutters Murdock, 
 in a tone more like he was listening to the 
 announcement of a death. 
 
 " Moi aussi ! "Who, Fere ? Not Monsieur 
 Shenstone, after all?" 
 
 The question shows how well she is ac-
 
 A WOLF IN sheep's CLOTHING. 155 
 
 quainted with Miss Wynn — if not per- 
 sonally, with her surroundings and predi- 
 lections ! 
 
 " No/' answers the priest. " Not he." 
 
 " Who then ? " asked the two simultane- 
 ously. 
 
 " A man likely to make many heirs to 
 Llangorren — widen the breach between you 
 and it — ah ! to the impossibility of that 
 ever being bridged." 
 
 " Fere Bogier ! " appeals Murdock, " I 
 pray you speak out ! Who is to do this ? 
 His name ? " 
 
 * ' Le Cap itain e Myecroft,' ' 
 
 " Captain Eyecroft ! Who — what is he ? " 
 
 " An officer of Hussars — a fine-looking 
 fellow — sort of combination of Mars and 
 Apollo ; strong as Hercules ! As IVe said, 
 likely to be father to no end of sons and 
 daughters, with Gwen Wynn for their 
 mother. Hclas! I can fancy seeing them 
 now — at play over yonder, on the lawn ! " 
 
 " Captain Eyecroft ! " repeats Murdock, 
 musingly ; ''I never saw — never heard of 
 the man ! "
 
 150 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 "You bear of him now, and possibly see 
 bim too. No doult be's among tbose gay 
 toxopbiUtes — Ha ! no, be's nearer 1 Wbat 
 a strange coincidence ! Tbe old saw, ' speak 
 of tbe fiend/ Tbere's your fiend, Monsieur 
 Murdock 1 " 
 
 He points to a boat on tbe river with 
 two men in it ; one of tbem wearing a wbite 
 cap. It is dropping down in tbe direction 
 of Llangorren Court. 
 
 " Wbicb ? " asks Murdock, mecbani- 
 cally. 
 
 " He witb tbe chapeau ulanc, Tliat's 
 wbora you bave to fear. Tbe otber's but 
 tbe waterman Wingate — bonest fellow 
 enougb, wbom no one need fear — unless in- 
 deed our wortby friend Coracle Dick, bis 
 competitor for tbe smiles of tbe pretty Mary 
 Morgan. Yes, mes amis ! Under tbat con- 
 spicuous kepi you heboid the future lord of 
 Llangorren." 
 
 " Never ! " exclaims Murdock. angrily 
 gritting his teeth. " Never ! " 
 
 The French priest and ci-devant French 
 courtezan exchange secret, but significant.
 
 A WOLF IN sheep's CLOTHING. 157 
 
 glances ; a pleased expression showing on 
 the faces of both. 
 
 " You speak excitedly, M'sieu," says the 
 priest, *' emphatically, too. But how is it 
 to be hindered ? " 
 
 " I don't know," sourly rejoins Murdock ; 
 " I suppose it can't be," he adds, drawing 
 back, as if conscious of having committed 
 himself. " Never mind, now ; let's drop the 
 disagreeable subject. You'll stay to dinner 
 with us. Father Eogier ? " 
 
 " If not putting you to inconvenience." 
 
 " Nay ; it's you who'll be inconvenienced 
 — starved, I should rather say. The butchers 
 about here are not of the most amiable type ; 
 and, if I mistake not, our menu for to-day is 
 a very primitive one — bacon and potatoes, 
 with some greens from the old garden." 
 
 " Monsieur Murdock ! It's not the fare, 
 but the fashion, which makes a meal enjoy 
 able. A crust and welcome is to me better 
 cheer than a banquet with a grudging host 
 at the head of the table. Besides, your 
 English bacon is a most estimable dish, and 
 with your succulent cabbages delectable.
 
 158 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 With a bit of Wye salmon to precede, and 
 a pheasant to follow, it were food to satisfy 
 Lucullus himself." 
 
 " Ah ! true," assents the broken-down 
 gentleman, '' with the salmon and pheasant. 
 But where are they ? My fishmonger, who 
 is, conjointly also a game-dealer, is at pre- 
 sent as much out with me as is the butcher ; 
 I suppose, from my being too much in with 
 them — in their books. Still, they have not 
 ceased acquaintance, so far as calling is con- 
 cerned. That they do with provoking fre- 
 quency. Even this morning, before I was 
 out of bed, I had the honour of a visit from 
 both the gentlemen. Unfortunately, they 
 brought neither fish nor meat ; instead, two 
 sheets of that detestable blue paper, with 
 red lines and rows of figures — an arithmetic 
 not nice to be bothered with at one's break- 
 fast. So, Fere ; I am sorry I can't offer 
 you any salmon ; and as for pheasant — 
 you may not be aware, that it is out of 
 season." 
 
 " It's never out of season, any more than 
 barn-door fowl ; especially if a young last
 
 A WOLF IN sheep's CLOTHING. 159 
 
 year's coq^, that hasn't been successful in 
 finding a mate." 
 
 " But it's close time now," urges the 
 Englishman, stirred by liis old instincts of 
 gentleman sportsman. 
 
 " Not to those who know how to open 
 it," returns the Frenchman, with a signifi- 
 cant shrug. " And suppose we do that to- 
 day ? " 
 
 " I don't understand. Will your Eeve- 
 rence enlighten me? " 
 
 " Well, M'sieu ; being Whit-Monday, and 
 coming to pay you a visit, I thought you 
 mightn't be offended by my bringing along 
 with me a little present — for Madame here 
 — that we're talking of— salmon and phea- 
 sant." 
 
 The husband, more than the wife, looks 
 incredulous. Is the priest jesting? Beneath 
 the /roc, fitting tight his thin spare form, 
 there is nothing to indicate the presence of 
 either fish or bird. 
 
 "Where are they?" asks Murdock me- 
 chanically. " You say you've brought them 
 along ? "
 
 160 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 "Ah! that was metaphorical. I meant 
 to say I had sent them. And if I mistake 
 not, they are near now. Yes ; there's my 
 messenger! " 
 
 He points to a man making np the glen, 
 threading his way through the tangle of 
 wild bushes that grow along the banks of 
 the rivulet. 
 
 '* Coracle Dick ! " exclaims Murdock, re- 
 cognizing the poacher. 
 
 " The identical individual," answers the 
 priest, adding, " who, though a poacher, and 
 possibly has been something worse, is not 
 such a bad fellow in his way — for certain 
 purposes. True, he's neither the most devout 
 nor best behaved of my flock; still a useful 
 individual, especially on Fridays, when one 
 has to confine himself to a fish diet. I fin J 
 him convenient in other ways as well ; as 
 so might you, Monsieur Murdock — some 
 day. Should you ever have need of a strong 
 hard hand, with a heart in correspondence, 
 Eichard Dempsey possesses both, and would 
 no doubt place them at yoar service — for a 
 consideration."
 
 A WOLF IN sheep's CLOTHING. 161 
 
 While Murdock is cogitating on what the 
 last words are meant to convey, the individ- 
 ual so recommended steps upon the ground. 
 A stout, thick- set fellow, with a shock of 
 black curly hair coming low down, almost 
 to his eyes, thus adding to their sinister 
 and lowering look. For all a face not 
 naturally uncomely, but one on which 
 crime has set its stamp, deep and in- 
 delible. 
 
 His garb is such as gamekeepers usually 
 wear, and poachers almost universally affect, 
 a shooting coat of velveteen, corduroy 
 smalls, and sheepskin gaiters buttoned over 
 thick-soled shoes iron-tipped at the toes. 
 In the ample skirt pockets of the coat — 
 each big as a game-bag — appear two protu- 
 berances, that about balance one another — 
 the present of which the priest has already 
 delivered the invoice — in the one being a 
 salmon " blotcher " weighing some three or 
 four pounds, in the other a young cock 
 pheasant. 
 
 Having made obeisance to the trio in the 
 grounds of Glyngog, he is about drawing 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 them forth when the priest prevents him, 
 exclaiming : — 
 
 " Arretez! They're not commodities that 
 keep well in the sun. Should a water-bailiff, 
 or one of the Llangorren gamekeepers 
 chance to set eyes on them, they'd spoil at 
 once. Those lynx-eyed fellows can see a 
 long way, especially on a day bright as this. 
 So, worthy Coracle, before uncarting, you'd 
 better take them back to the kitchen." 
 
 Thus instructed, the poacher strides off 
 round to the rear of the house ; Mrs. Mur- 
 dock entering by the front door to give 
 directions about dressing the dinner. Not 
 that she intends to take any hand in cooking 
 it — not she. That would be infra dig, for 
 the ancien belle of Mabille. Poor as is the 
 establishment of Glyngog, it can boast of a 
 plain cook, with a slavey to assist. 
 
 The other two remain outside, the guest 
 joining his host in a glass of brandy and 
 water. More than one ; for Father Eogier, 
 though French, can drink like a born Hiber- 
 nian. Nothing of the Good Templar in 
 him.
 
 A WOLF IN sheep's CLOTHING. 1G3 
 
 After they have heen for nigh an hour 
 hobnobbing, conversing, Murdock still fight- 
 ing shy of the subject, which is neverthe- 
 less uppermost in the minds of both, the 
 priest once more approaches it, saying : — 
 
 " Farbleu! They appear to be enjoying 
 themselves over yonder!" He is looking 
 at the lawn where the bright forms are flit- 
 ting to and fro. " And most of all, I should 
 say, Monsieur White Cap — foretasting the 
 sweets of which he'll ere long enter into 
 full enjoyment ; when he becomes master of 
 Llangorren." 
 
 " That — never ! " exclaims Murdock, this 
 time adding an oath. " Never while I live. 
 When Tm dead " 
 
 " Diner ! " interrupts a female voice from 
 the house, that of its mistress seen standing 
 on the doorstep. 
 
 " Madame summons us," says the priest, 
 '' we must in, M'ssieu. While picking the 
 bones of the pheasant, you can complete 
 your unfinished speech. AUonsf' 
 
 M 2.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 AMONG THE ARROWS. 
 
 The invited to the archer}^ meeting have 
 nearly all arrived, and the shooting has 
 commeaced; half a dozen arrows in the air 
 at a time, making for as many targets. 
 
 Only a limited number of ladies compete 
 for the first score, each having a little coterie 
 of acquaintances at her back. 
 
 Gwen Wynn herself is in this opening 
 contest. Good with the bow, as at the oar 
 — indeed with county celebrity as an archer 
 — carrying the champion badge of her club 
 — it is almost a foregone conclusion she will 
 come off victorious. 
 
 Soon, however, those who are backing 
 her begin to anticipate disappointment. 
 She is not shooting with her usual skill, 
 nor yet earnestness. Instead, negligently, 
 and to all appearance, with thoughts ab-
 
 AMONG THE AKEOWS. 165 
 
 stracted ; her eyes every now and then 
 straying over the ground, scanning the 
 various groups, as if in search of a par- 
 ticular individual. The gathering is large 
 — nearly a hundred people present — and 
 one might come or go without attracting 
 ohservation. She evidently expects one to 
 come who is not yet there ; and oftener than 
 elsewhere her glances go towards the boat- 
 dock, as if the personage expected should 
 appear in that direction. There is a nervous 
 restlessness in her manner, and after each 
 reconnaissance of this kind, an expression 
 of disappointment on her countenance. 
 
 It is not unobserved. A gentleman by 
 her side notes it, and with some suspicion of 
 its cause — a suspicion that pains him. It 
 is George Shenstone ; who is attending on 
 her, handing the arrows — in short, acting 
 as her aide-de-camp. Neither is he adroit 
 in the exercise of his duty ; instead per- 
 forms it bunglingly ; his thoughts pre- 
 occupied, and eyes wandering about. His 
 glances, however, are sent in the opposite 
 direction — to the gate entrance of the park.
 
 166 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 visible from the place where the targets are 
 set Tip. 
 
 They are both " prospecting " for the self- 
 same individual, but with very different 
 ideas — one eagerly anticipating his arrival, 
 the other as earnestly hoping he may not 
 come. Tor the expected one is a gentleman 
 — no other than Vivian Eyecroft. 
 
 Shenstone knows the Hussar officer has 
 been invited ; and, however hoping or wish- 
 ing it, has but little faith he will fail. Were 
 it himself no ordinary'- obstacle could prevent 
 his being present at that archery meeting, 
 any more than would five-barred gate, or 
 bullfinch, hinder him from keeping up with 
 hounds. 
 
 As time passes without any further arri- 
 vals, and the tardy guest has not yet put in 
 appearance, Shenstone begins to think he 
 will this day have Miss Wynn to himself, 
 or at least without any very formidable com- 
 petitor. There are others present who seek 
 her smiles — some aspiring to her hand — 
 but none he fears so much as the one still 
 absent.
 
 AMONG THE ARROWS. 167 
 
 Just as he is becoming calm, and con- 
 fident, lie is saluted by a gentleman of the 
 genus " swell," who, approaching, drawls 
 out the interrogatory : — 
 
 " Who is that feUa, Shenstone ?^ 
 
 "What fellow?" 
 
 " He with the vewy peculya head gear ? 
 Indian affair — tojjee, I bewieve they call it." 
 
 " Where ? " asks Shenstone, starting and 
 staring to all sides. 
 
 " Yondaw ! Appwoaching from the 
 diwection of the rivaw. Looks a fwesh 
 awival. I take it, he must have come by 
 bawt ! Knaw him ? " 
 
 Greorge Shenstone, strong man though he 
 be, visibly trembles. Were Grwen Wynn at 
 that moment to face about, and aim one of 
 her arrows at his breast, it would not bring 
 more pallor upon his cheeks, nor pain to his 
 heart. For he wearing the '* peculya head 
 gear " is the man he most fears, and whom 
 he had hoped not to see this day. 
 
 So much is he affected, he does not 
 answer the question put to him ; nor indeed 
 has he opportunity, as just then Miss Wynn,
 
 168 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 sighting the topee too, suddenly turning, 
 says to him : — 
 
 *' Greorge ! be good enough to take charge 
 of these things." She holds her bow with, 
 an arrow she had been affixing to the string. 
 " Yonder's a gentleman just arrived; who 
 you know is a stranger. Aunt will expect 
 me to receive him. Til be back soon as 
 I've discharged my duty." 
 
 Delivering the bow and unspent shaft, 
 she glides off without further speech or 
 ceremony. 
 
 He stands looking after ; in his eyes any- 
 thing but a pleased expression. Indeed, 
 sullen, almost angry, as watching her every 
 movement, he notes the manner of her 
 reception — greeting the new comer with a 
 warmth and cordiality he, Shenstone, thinks 
 uncalled for, however much stranger the 
 man may be. Little irksome to her seems 
 the discharge of that so-called duty ; but 
 so exasperating to the baronet's son, he feels 
 like crushing the bow stick between his 
 fingers, or snapping it in twain across his 
 knee !
 
 AMONG THE ARROWS. 169 
 
 As he stands with eyes glaring upon 
 them, he is again accosted by his inquisi- 
 tive acquaintance, who asks : 
 
 "What's the matter, Jawge? Yaw 
 haven't answered my intewogatowy ! " 
 
 " What was it ? I forget." 
 
 " Aw, indeed ! That's stwange. I 
 merely wished to knaw who Mr. White 
 Cap is?" 
 
 *' Just what I'd like to know myself. All 
 I can tell you is, that he's an army feUow 
 — in the Cavalry I believe — by name Eye- 
 croft." 
 
 " Aw yas ; Cavalwy. That's evident by 
 the bend of his legs. Wyquoft — Wyquoft, 
 you say ? " 
 
 *' So he calls himself — a captain of Hus- 
 sars — his own stoiy." 
 
 This in a tone and with a shrug of 
 insinuation. 
 
 " But yaw don't think he's an adven- 
 tuwer ? " 
 
 " Can't say whether he is, or not." 
 
 " Who's his endawser ? How came he 
 intwoduced at Llangowen ? " .
 
 170 GWEN WYNN, 
 
 " That I can't teU you." 
 
 He could tbough ; for Miss Wynn, true 
 to her promise, has made him acquainted 
 with the circumstances of the river adven- 
 ture, though not those leading to it ; and 
 he, true to his, has kept them a secret. In 
 a sense therefore, he could not tell, and the 
 subterfuge is excusable. 
 
 " By Jawve ! The Light Bob appears to 
 have made good use of his time — however 
 intwoduced. Miss Gwen seems quite 
 familiaw with him ; and yondaw the little 
 Lees shaking hands, as though the two 
 had been acquainted evaw since coming out 
 of their cwadles ! See ! They're dwagging 
 him up to the ancient spinster, who sits 
 enthawned in her chair like a queen of the 
 Tawnament times. Yewy mediaeval the 
 whole affair — vewy 1 " 
 
 " Instead, very modern ; in my opinion, 
 disgustingly so ! '' 
 
 " Why d'yaw say that, Jawge ? " 
 
 " Why ! Because in either olden or 
 mediaeval times such a thing couldn't have 
 occurred — here in Herefordshire."
 
 AMONG THE ARROWS. 171 
 
 " What thing, pway ? " 
 
 " A man admitted into good society 
 without endorsement or introduction. 
 Now-a-days, any one may be so ; claim 
 acquaintance with a lady, and force his com- 
 pany upon her, simply from having had 
 the chance to pick up a dropped pocket- 
 handkerchief, or offer his umbrella in a skiff 
 of a shower ! " 
 
 '' But, shawly, that isn't how the gentle- 
 man yondaw made acquaintance with the 
 fair Grwendoline ? " 
 
 " Oh ! I don't say that," rejoins Shen- 
 stone with forced attempt at a smile — more 
 natural, as he sees Miss Wynn separate from 
 the group they are gazing at, and come 
 back to reclaim her bow. Better satisfied, 
 now, he is rather worried by his impor- 
 tunate friend, and to get rid of him 
 adds : 
 
 " If you are really desirous to know how 
 Miss Wynn became acquainted with him, 
 you can ask the lady herself." 
 
 Not for all the world would the swell put 
 that question to Gwen Wynn. It would
 
 172 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 not be safe ; and thus snubbed he saunters 
 away, before she is up to the spot. 
 
 Rj^ecroffc, left with Miss Linton, remains 
 in conversation with her. It is not his 
 first interview ; for several times already 
 has he been a visitor at Llangorren — intro- 
 duced by the young ladies as the gentle- 
 man who, when the pleasure-boat was 
 caught in a dangerous whirl, out of which 
 old Joseph was unable to extricate it, came 
 to their rescue — possibly to the saving of 
 their lives ! Thus, the version of the adven- 
 ture, vouchsafed to the aunt — sufficient to 
 sanction his being received at the Court. 
 
 And the ancient toast of Cheltenham has 
 been charmed with him. In the handsome 
 Hussar officer she beholds the typical hero 
 of her romance reading; so much like it, 
 that Lord Lutestring has long ago gone 
 out of her thoughts — passed from her 
 memory as though he had been but a 
 musical sound. Of all who bend before 
 her this day, the worship of none is so 
 welcome as that of the martial stranger.
 
 AMONG THE ARROWS. 173 
 
 Resuming her bow, Gwen shoots no 
 better than before. Her thoughts, instead 
 of being concentrated on the painted 
 circles, as her eyes, are half the time stray- 
 ing over her shoulders to him behind, still 
 in a lete-a-tete with the aunt. Her arrows 
 fly wild and wide, scarce one sticking in 
 the straw. In fine, among all the competi- 
 tors, she counts lowest score — the poorest 
 she has herself ever made. But what 
 matters it ? She is only too pleased when 
 her quiver is empty, and she can have 
 excuse to return to Miss Linton, on some 
 question connected with the hospitalities 
 of the house. 
 
 Observing all this, and much more 
 besides, George Shenstone feels aggrieved 
 — indeed exasperated — so terribly, it takes 
 all his best breeding to withhold him from 
 an exhibition of bad behaviour. He might 
 not succeed were he to remain much 
 longer on the ground — which he does not. 
 As if misdoubting his power of restraint, 
 and fearing to make a fool of himself, he 
 too frames excuse, and leaves Llangorren
 
 174 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 long before the sports come to a close. 
 Not rudely, or with any show of spleen. 
 He is a gentleman, even in his anger ; and 
 bidding a polite, and formal, adieu to Miss 
 Linton, with one equally ceremonious, but 
 more distant, to Miss Wynn, he slips round 
 to the stables, orders his horse, leaps into 
 the saddle, and rides off. 
 
 Many the day he has entered the gates 
 of Llangorren with a light and happy 
 heart — this day he goes out of them with 
 one heavy and sad. 
 
 If missed from the archery meeting, it is 
 not by Miss Wynn. Instead, she is glad 
 of his being gone. Notwithstanding the 
 love passion for another now occupying 
 her heart — almost filling it — there is still 
 room there for the gentler sentiment of pity. 
 She knows how Shenstone sufiers — how 
 could she help knowing ? and pities him. 
 
 Never more than at this same moment, 
 despite that distant, half disdainful adieu, 
 vouchsafed to her at parting; by him 
 intended to conceal his thoughts, as his 
 sufferings, while but the better revealing
 
 AMONG THE ARROWS. 175 
 
 them. How men underrate the perception 
 of women ! In matters of this kind a very 
 intuition. 
 
 None keener than that of Gwen Wynn. 
 She knows why he has gone so short away 
 , — well as if he had told her. And with 
 the compassionate thought still lingering, 
 she heaves a sigh ; sad as she sees him 
 ride out through the gate — going in reck- 
 less gallop — but succeeded by one of relief, 
 soon as he is out of sight ! 
 
 In an instant after, she is gay and glad- 
 some as ever ; once more bending the bow, 
 and making the catgut twang. But now 
 shooting straight — hitting the target every 
 time, and not unfrequently lodging a shaft 
 in the " gold." For he who now attends 
 on her, not only inspires confidence, but 
 excites her to the display of skill. Captain 
 Eyecroft has taken Greorge Shenstone's 
 place, as her aide-de-camp ; and while he 
 hands the arrows, she spending them, 
 others of a diiferent kind pass between — 
 the shafts of ^Cupid — of which there is a 
 full quiver in the eyes of both.
 
 CHAPTEE XIY. 
 
 BEATING ABOUT THE BUSH. 
 
 Naturally, Captain Eyecroft is tlie subject 
 of speculation among the arcliers at Llan- 
 gorren. A man of his mien would be so 
 anywhere — if stranger. The old story of 
 the unknown knight suddenly appearing on 
 the tourney's field with closed visor, only 
 recognizable by a love-lock or other favour 
 of the lady whose cause he comes to 
 champion. 
 
 He, too, wears a distinctive badge — in 
 the white cap. For though our tale is of 
 modern time, it antedates that when Brown 
 began to affect the pugaree — sham of Man- 
 chester Mills — as an appendage to his cheap 
 straw hat. That on the head of Captain 
 Eyecroft is the regular forage cap with 
 quilted cover. Accustomed to it in India 
 — whence he has but lately returned — he
 
 BEATING ABOUT THE BUSH. 177 
 
 adheres to it in England without thought 
 of its attracting attention and as little 
 caring whether it do or not. 
 
 It does, however. Insular, we are 
 supremely conservative — some might call 
 it " caddish " — and view innovations with 
 a jealous eye ; as witness the so-called 
 "moustache movement" not many years 
 ago, and the fierce controversy it called 
 forth. 
 
 For other reasons the officer of Hussars 
 is at this same archery gathering a cynosure 
 of eyes. There is a perfume of romance 
 ahout him ; in the way he has been intro- 
 duced to the ladies of Llangorren ; a ques- 
 tion asked by others besides the importunate 
 friend of Greorge Shenstone. The true 
 account of the affair with the drunken 
 foresters has not got abroad — these keeping 
 dumb about their own discomfiture ; while 
 Jack "Wingate, a man of few words, and on 
 this special matter admonished to silence, 
 has been equally close-mouthed ; Joseph 
 also mute for reasons already mentioned. 
 
 Withal, a vague story has currency in the 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 neighbourhood, of a boat, with two young 
 ladies, in danger of being capsized — by 
 some versions actually upset — and the 
 ladies rescued from drowning by a stranger 
 who chanced to be salmon fishing near by 
 — his name, Eyecroft. And as this tale 
 also circulates among the archers at Llan- 
 gorren, it is not strange tbat some interest 
 should attach to the supposed hero of it, 
 now present. 
 
 Still, in an assemblage so large, and com- 
 posed of such distinguished people — many 
 of whom are strangers to one another — no 
 particular personage can be for long an 
 object of special concern; and if Captain 
 Eyecroft continue to attract observation, it 
 is neither from curiosity as to how he came 
 there, nor the peculiarity of his head-dress, 
 but the dark handsome features beneath it. 
 On these more than one pair of bright eyes 
 occasionally become fixed, regarding them 
 with admiration. 
 
 None so warmly as those of Gwen Wynn ; 
 though hers neither openly nor in a marked 
 manner. For she is conscious of being
 
 , BEATING ABOUT THE BUSH. 179 
 
 under the surveillance of other eyes, and 
 needs to observe the proprieties. 
 
 In which she succeeds ; so well, that no 
 one watching her could tell, much less say, 
 there is aught in her behaviour to Captain 
 Eyecroft beyond the hospitality of host — 
 which in a sense she is — to guest claiming 
 the privileges of a stranger. Even when 
 during an interregnum of the sports the two 
 go off together, and, after strolling for a 
 time through the grounds, are at length 
 seen to step inside the summer-house, it 
 may cause, but does not merit, remark. 
 Others are acting similarl}^, sauntering in 
 pairs, loitering in shady places, or sitting 
 on rustic benches. Good- society allows the 
 freedom, and to its credit. That which is 
 corrupt alone may cavil at it, and shame 
 the day when such confidence be abused and 
 abrogated ! 
 
 Side by side they take stand in the little 
 pavilion, under the shadow of its painted 
 zinc roof. It may not have been all chance 
 their coming thither — no more the archery 
 party itself. That Gwendoline Wynn, who 
 
 N 2
 
 ISO GWEN WYNN. 
 
 suggested giving it, can alone tell. But 
 standing there with their eyes bent on the 
 river, they are for a time silent — so much, 
 that each can hear the beating of the other's 
 heart — both brimful of love. 
 
 At such moment one might suppose there 
 could be no reserve or reticence, but con- 
 fession full, candid, and mutual. Instead, 
 at no time is this farther off. If lejoiefait 
 jpeiir, far more V amour. 
 
 And with all that has passed is there fear 
 between them. ' On her part springing from 
 a fancy she has been over forward — in her 
 gushing gratitude for that service done, 
 given too free expression to it, and needs 
 being more reserved now. On his side 
 speech is stayed by a reflection somewhat 
 akin, with others besides. In his several 
 calls at the Court his reception has been 
 both welcome and warm. Still, not beyond 
 the bounds of well-bred hospitality. But 
 why on each and every occasion has he 
 found a gentleman there — the same every 
 time — G-eorge Shenstone by name ? There 
 before him, and staying after! And this
 
 BEATING ABOUT THE BUSH. 181 
 
 very day, what meant Mr. Slienstone by 
 that sudden and abrupt departure ? Above 
 all, why her distraught look, with the sigh 
 accompanying it, as the baronet's son went 
 galloping out of the gate ? Having seen 
 the one, and heard the other. Captain 
 Byecroft has misinterpreted both. No 
 wonder his reluctance to speak words of 
 love. 
 
 And so for a time they are silent, the 
 dread of misconception, with consequent 
 fear of committal, holding their lips sealed. 
 On a simple utterance now may hinge their 
 life's happiness, or it^ misery. 
 
 Nor is it so strange, that in a moment 
 fraught with such mighty consequence, con- 
 versation should be not only timid, but 
 commonplace. They who talk of love's 
 eloquence, but think of it in its lighter 
 phases — perhaps its lying. When truly, 
 deeply, felt it is dumb, as devout worshipper 
 in the presence of the divinity worshipped. 
 Here, side by side, are two highly organized 
 beings — a man handsome and courageous, 
 a woman beautiful and aught but timid —
 
 182 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 both well up in tlie accomplishments, and 
 gifted with the graces of life — loving each 
 other to their souls' innermost depths, yet 
 embarrassed in manner, and constrained in 
 speech, as though they were a couple of 
 rustics ! More ; for Corydon would fling 
 his arms around his Phyllis, and give her 
 an eloquent smack, which she with like 
 readiness would return. 
 
 Very difierent the behaviour of these in 
 the pavilion. They stand for a time silent 
 as statues — though not without a tremulous 
 motion, scarce perceptible — as if the amor- 
 ous electricity around stifled their breathing, 
 for the time hindering speech. And when 
 at length this comes, it is of no more sig- 
 nificance than what might be expected 
 between two persons lately introduced, and 
 feeling but the ordinary interest in one 
 another ! 
 
 It is the lady who speaks first : — 
 
 " I understand you've been but a short 
 while resident in our neighbourhood. Captain 
 Eyecroft ? " 
 
 "Not quite three months. Miss Wynn.
 
 BEATING ABOUT THE BUSH. 183 
 
 Only a week or two before I had the pleasure 
 of making your acquaintance." 
 
 " Thank you for calling it a pleasure. 
 Not much in the manner, I should say ; 
 but altogether the contrary," she laughs, 
 adding — 
 
 " And how do you like our Wye ? " 
 
 "Who could help liking it?" 
 
 "There's been much said of its scenery 
 — in books and newspapers. You really 
 admire it ?" 
 
 " I do, indeed." His preference is par- 
 donable under the circumstances. " I think 
 it the finest in the world." 
 
 " What ! you such a great traveller ! In 
 the tropics too ; upon rivers that run between 
 groves of evergreen trees, and over sands of 
 gold ! Do you really mean that, Captain 
 Ryecroft?" 
 
 " Really— truthfully. Why not. Miss 
 Wynn?" 
 
 "Because I supposed those grand rivers 
 we read of were all so much superior to our 
 little Herefordshire stream ; in flow of 
 water, scenery, everything "
 
 184 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 " Nay, not everything ! " he says, inter- 
 ruptingly. " In volume of water they may 
 be ; but far from it in other respects. In 
 some it is superior to them all — Rhine, 
 Rhone, ah ! Hippocrene itself 1 " 
 
 His tongue is at length getting loosed. 
 
 " What other respects ?" she asks. 
 
 " The forms reflected in it," he answers 
 hesitatingly. 
 
 " Not those of vegetation ! Surely our 
 oaks, elms, and poplars cannot be compared 
 with the tall palms and graceful tree ferns 
 of the tropics?" 
 
 " No ; not those." 
 
 " Our buildings neither, if photograj^hy 
 tells truth, which it should. Those won- 
 derful structures — towers, temples, pagodas 
 — of which it has given us the /ac similes — 
 far excel anything we have on the Wye — or 
 anything in England. Even our Tintern, 
 which we think so very grand, were but as 
 nothing to them. Isn't that so ?" 
 
 " True," he says, assentingly. " One 
 must admit the superiority of Oriental 
 architecture."
 
 BEATING ABOUT THE BUSH. 185 
 
 " But you've not told me what form our 
 English river reflects, so much to your 
 admiration !" 
 
 He has a fine opportunity for poetical re- 
 ply. The image is in his mind — her own — 
 with the word upon his tongue, " woman's." 
 But he shrinks from giving it utterance. 
 Instead, retreating from the position he had 
 assumed, he rejoins evasively : — 
 
 " The truth is, Miss Wynn, I've had a 
 surfeit of tropical scenery, and was only too 
 glad once more to feast my eyes on the hill 
 and dale landscapes of dear old England. 
 I know none to compare with these of the 
 Wyeside." 
 
 " It's very pleasing to hear you say that — 
 to me especially. It's but natural I should 
 love our beautiful Wye — I, born on its 
 banks, brought up on them, and, I suppose, 
 likely to " 
 
 " What?" he asks, observing that she has 
 paused in her speech. 
 
 " Be buried on them ! " she answers, 
 laughingly. She intended to have said 
 " Stay on them for the rest of my life."
 
 186 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 " You'll think that a very grave conclusion/' 
 she adds, keeping up the laugh. 
 
 " One at all events very far off — it is to 
 be hoped. An eventuality not to arise, till 
 after you've passed many long and happy 
 days — whether on the Wye, or else- 
 where." 
 
 " Ah ! who can tell ? The future is a 
 sealed book to all of us." 
 
 '' Yours need not be — at least as regards 
 its happiness. I think that is assured." 
 
 " Why do you say so, Captain Eyecroft ?" 
 
 " Because it seems to me, as though you 
 had yourself the making of it." 
 
 He is saying no more than he thinks ; 
 far less. For he believes she could make 
 fate itself — control it, as she can his. And 
 as he would now confess to her — is almost 
 on the eve of it — but hindered by recalling 
 that strange look and sis^h sent after Shen- 
 stone. His fond fancies, the sweet dreams 
 he has been indulging in ever since making 
 her acquaintance, may have been but illu- 
 sions. She maybe playing with him, as he 
 would with a fish on his hook. As yet, no
 
 BEATING ABOUT THE BUSH. 187 
 
 word of love has passed lier lips. Is there 
 thousrht of it in her heart — for him? 
 
 " In what way ? What mean you ? " she 
 asks, her liquid eyes turned upon him with 
 a look of searching interrogation. 
 
 The question staggers him. He does not 
 answer it as he would, and again replies 
 evasively — somewhat confusedly. 
 
 " Oh ! I only meant, Miss Wynn — that 
 you so young — so — well, with all the world 
 before you — surely have your happiness in 
 your own hands." 
 
 If he knew how much it is in his he 
 would speak more courageously, and possibly 
 with greater plainness. But he knows not, 
 nor does she tell him. She, too, is cautiously 
 retentive, and refrains taking advantage of 
 his words, full of suggestion. 
 
 It will need another seance — possibly more 
 than one — before the real confidence can be 
 exchanged between them. Natures like 
 theirs do not rush into confession as the 
 common kind. With them it is as with 
 the wooing of eagles. 
 
 She simply rejoins :
 
 188 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 " I wish it were," adding with a sigh, 
 " Far from it, I fear." 
 
 He feels as if he had drifted into a di- 
 lemma — hrought about by his o\i\s. gaudier ie 
 — from which something seen up the river, 
 on the opposite side, offers an opportunity 
 to escape — a house. It is the quaint old 
 habitation of Tudor times. Pointing to 
 it, he says: 
 
 " A very odd building, that ! If IVe 
 been rightly informed. Miss Wynn, it 
 belongs to a relative of yours ? " 
 
 " I have a cousin who lives there." 
 
 The shadow suddenly darkening her 
 brow, with the slightly explicit rejoinder, 
 tells him he is again on dangerous ground. 
 He attributes it to the character he has 
 heard of Mr. Murdock. His cousin is 
 evidently disinclined to converse about 
 him. 
 
 And she is ; the shadow still staying. 
 If she knew what is at that moment pass- 
 ing within Glyngog — could but hear the 
 conversation carried on at its dining table 
 — it might be darker. It is dark enough
 
 BEATING ABOUT THE BUSH. 189 
 
 in lier heart, as on her face — possibly from 
 a presentiment. 
 
 Eyecroft more than ever embarrassed, feels 
 it a relief when Ellen Lees, with the Eev. 
 Mr. Musgrave as her cavalier attendant — 
 they, too, straying solitarily — approach 
 near enough to be hailed, and invited into 
 the pavilion. 
 
 So the dialogue between the cautious 
 lovers comes to an end — to both of them 
 unsatisfactory enough. For this day their 
 love must remain unrevealed ; though never 
 man and woman more longed to learn the 
 sweet secret of each other's heart.
 
 CHAPTEE XV. 
 
 A SPIRITUAL ADVISER. 
 
 While the sports are in progress outside 
 Llangorren Court, inside Glyngog House 
 is being eaten that dinner to commence 
 with salmon in season and end with phea- 
 sant out. 
 
 It is early ; but the Murdocks, often glad 
 to eat what Americans call a " square meal," 
 have no set hours for eating, while the priest 
 is not particular. 
 
 In the faces of the trio seated at the 
 table, a physiognomist might find inter- 
 esting study, and note expressions that 
 would puzzle Lavater himself. Nor could 
 they be interpreted by the conversation 
 which, at first, only refers to topics of a 
 trivial nature. But now and then, a mot of 
 double meaning let down by Eogier, and a 
 glance surreptitiously exchanged between
 
 A SPIRITUAL ADVISER. 191 
 
 him and his countryman, tell that the 
 thoughts of these two are running upon 
 themes different from those about which 
 are their words. 
 
 Murdock, by no means of a trusting dis- 
 position, but ofttimes furiously jealous — has 
 nevertheless, in this res]3ect, no suspicion of 
 the priest, less from confidence than a sort 
 of contempt for the pallid puny creature, 
 whom he feels he could crush in a moment 
 of mad anger. And broken though he be, 
 the stalwart, and once strong. Englishman 
 could still do that. To imagine such a 
 man as Eogier a rival in the affections of 
 his own wife, w^ould be to be little himself. 
 Besides, he holds fast to that proverbial 
 faith in the spiritual adviser, not always 
 well founded — in his case certainly mis- 
 placed. Knowing nought of this, however, 
 their exchanged looks, however markedly 
 significant, escape his observation. Even if 
 he did observe, he could not read in them 
 aught relating to love. For, this day there 
 is not ; the thoughts of both are absorbed 
 by a different passion — cupidity. They are
 
 192 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 bent upon a scheme of no common magni- 
 tude, but grand and comprehensive — nei- 
 ther more nor less than to get possession of 
 an estate worth £10,000 a year — that Llan- 
 gorren. They know its value as well as the 
 steward who gives receipts for its rents. 
 
 It is no new notion with them ; but one 
 for some time entertained, and steps consi- 
 dered. Still nothing definite either conceived, 
 or determined on. A task, so herculean, as 
 dangerous and difficult, will need care in its 
 conception, and time for its execution. 
 True, it might be accomplished, almost 
 instantaneously with six inches of steel, or 
 as many drops of belladonna. [N^or would 
 two of the three seated at the table stick at 
 employing such means. Olympe Renault, 
 and Gregoire Eogier have entertained 
 thoughts of them — if not more. In the 
 third is the obstructor. Lewin Murdock 
 would cheat at dice and cards, do money- 
 lenders w^ithout remorse, and tradesmen 
 without mercy, ay, steal, if occasion 
 offered; but murder — that is different — 
 being a crime not only unpleasant to con-
 
 A SPIRITUAL ADVISER. 193 
 
 template, but perilous to commit. He 
 would be willing to rob Gwendoline Wynn 
 of her property — glad to do it — if lie only 
 knew bow — but to take away her life, he is 
 not yet up to that. 
 
 But he is drawing up to it, urged by des- 
 perate circumstances, and spurred on by his 
 wife, who loses no opportunity of bewailing 
 their broken fortunes, and reproaching him 
 for them ; at her back the Jesuit secretly 
 instructing, and dictating. 
 
 Not till this day have they found him 
 in the mood for being made more familiar 
 with their design. Whatever his own dis- 
 position, his ear has been hitherto deaf to 
 their hints, timidly, and ambiguously given. 
 But to-day things appear more promis- 
 ing, as evinced by his angry exclamation 
 "Never!'' Hence their delight at hear- 
 ing it. 
 
 During the earlier stages of the dinner, 
 as already said, they converse about ordi- 
 nary subjects, like the lovers in the pavilion, 
 silent upon that paramount in their minds. 
 How different the themes — as love itself 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 194 GWEN TVYNN. 
 
 from murder ! And just as tlie first word 
 was unspoken in tlie summer-house at 
 Llano-orren, so is the last unheard in the 
 dining-room of Glyngog. 
 
 While the blotcher is being carved with 
 a spoon — there is no fish shoe among the 
 chattels of Mr. Murdock — the priest in 
 good appetite, and high glee, pronounces it 
 " crimp.'' He speaks English like a native, 
 and is even up in its provincialisms ; few 
 in Herefordshire whose dialect is of the 
 purest. 
 
 The phrase of the fishmonger received 
 smilingly, the salmon is distributed and 
 handed across the table ; the attendance of 
 the slavey, with claws not over clean, and 
 ears that might be unpleasantly sharp, hav- 
 ing been dispensed with. 
 
 There is wine without stint; for although 
 Murdock's town tradesmen may be hard of 
 heart, in the Welsh Harp there is a tender 
 string he can still play upon ; the Boniface 
 of the Eugg's Ferry hostelry having a belief 
 in his jpost obit expectations. Not such an 
 indifierent wine either, but some of the
 
 A SPIRITUAL ADVISEE. 195 
 
 choicest vintage. The guests of the Harp, 
 however rough in external appearance and 
 rude in behaviour — have wonderfully refined 
 ideas about drink, and may be often heard 
 calling for " fizz " — some of them as well 
 acquainted with the qualities of Moet and 
 Cliquot, as a connoisseur of the most fash- 
 ionable club. 
 
 Profiting by their aesthetic tastes, Lewin 
 Murdock is enabled to set wines upon his 
 table of the choicest brands. Light Bor- 
 deaux first with the fish, then sherry with 
 the heavier greens and bacon, followed by 
 champagne as they get engaged upon the 
 pheasant. 
 
 At this point the conversation approaches 
 a topic, hitherto held in reserve, Murdock 
 himself starting it : — 
 
 " So, my cousin Gwen's going to get 
 married, eh ! are you sure of that, Father 
 Eogier ? " 
 
 " I wish I were as sure of going to 
 heaven." 
 
 " But what sort of man is he ? you 
 haven't told us." 
 
 o 2
 
 196 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 " Yes, I have. You forget my descrip- 
 tion, Monsieur — cross between Mars and 
 Phoebus — strength herculean ; sure to be 
 father to a progeny numerous as that which 
 spring from the head of Medusa — enough 
 of them to make heirs for Llangorren to the 
 end of time — keep you out of the property 
 if you lived to be the age of Methuselah. 
 Ah ! a fine-looking fellow, I can assure you ; 
 against whom the baronet's son, with his 
 rubicund cheeks and hay-coloured hair, 
 wouldn't stand the sliglitest chance — even 
 were there nothing more to recommend the 
 martial stranger. But there is." 
 
 '^ What more?" 
 
 '' The mode of his introduction to the 
 lady — that quite romantic." 
 
 " How was he introduced?" 
 
 " Well, he made her acquaintance on the 
 water. It appears Mademoiselle Wynn and 
 her companion Lees, were out on the river 
 for a row alone. Unusual that ! Thus out, 
 some fellows — Forest of Dean dwellers — 
 offered them insult ; from which a gentleman 
 angler, who chanced to be whipping the
 
 A SPIRITUAL ADVISER. 197 
 
 stream close by, saved them — he no other 
 than le Capitaine Hyecroft. With such com- 
 mencement of acquaintance, a man couldn't 
 be much worth, who didn't know how to 
 improve it — even to terminating in marriage 
 if he wished. And with such a rich heiress 
 as Mademoiselle Grwendoline Wynn — to say 
 nought of hor personal charms — there are 
 few men who wouldn't wish it so to end. 
 That he, the Hussar officer, captain, colonel, 
 or whatever his rank, does, I've good reason 
 to believe, as also that he will succeed in 
 accomplishing his desires ; no more doubt 
 of it than of my being seated at this table. 
 Yes ; sure as I sit here that man will be the 
 master of Llangorren." 
 
 " I suppose he wiil ; " " must," rejoins 
 Murdock, drawing out the words as though 
 not greatly concerned, one wa}^ or the 
 other. 
 
 Olympe looks dissatisfied, but not Kogier 
 nor she, after a glance from the priest, which 
 seems to say " Wait." He himself intends 
 waiting till the drink has done its work. 
 
 Taking the hint she remains silent, her
 
 198 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 countenance showing calm, as with the con- 
 tent of innocence, while in her heart is the 
 Sfuilt of hell, and the deceit of the devil. 
 
 She preserves her composure all through, 
 and soon as the last course is ended, with a 
 show of dessert placed upon the table — poor 
 and jyro forma — obedient to a look from 
 Eogier, with a slight nod in the direction 
 of the door, she makes her co'iige^ and retires. 
 
 Murdock lights his meerschaum, the priest 
 one of his paper cigarettes — of which he 
 carries a case — and for some time they sit 
 smoking and drinking; talking, too, but 
 upon matters with no relation to that upper- 
 most in their minds. They seem to fear 
 touching it, as though it were a thing to 
 contaminate. It is only after repeatedly 
 emptying their glasses, their courage comes 
 up to the standard required ; that of the 
 Frenchman first ; who, nevertheless, ap- 
 proaches the delicate subject with cautious 
 circumlocution. 
 
 " By the way, M'sieu," he says, *' we've 
 forgotten what we were conversing about, 
 when summoned to dinner — a meal I've
 
 A SPIRITUAL AD^^SER. . 199 
 
 greatly enjoyed — not withstanding your de- 
 preciation of the menu. Indeed, a very 
 bonne bouclie your English bacon, and the 
 greens excellent, as also the jwmmes de 
 terre. You were speaking of some event, 
 or circumstance, to be conditional on 
 your death. What is it ? Not the deluge, 
 I hope ! True, your Wye is subject to 
 sudden floods ; might it have ought to do 
 with them?" 
 
 "Why should it?" asks Murdock, not 
 comprehending the drift. 
 
 " Because people sometimes get drowned 
 in these inundations ; indeed, often. Scarce 
 a week passes without some one falling into 
 the river, and there remaining, at least till 
 life is extinct. What with its whirls and 
 rapids, it's a very dangerous stream. I 
 w^onder at Mademoiselle Wynne venturing 
 so courageously — so carelessly upon it." 
 
 The peculiar intonation of the last speech, 
 with emphasis on the word carelessly, gives 
 Murdock a glimpse of what it is intended 
 to point to. 
 
 " She's got courage enough," he rejoins,
 
 200 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 without appearing to comprehend. " About 
 her carelessness, I don't know." 
 
 " But the young lady certainly is care- 
 less — recklessly so. That affair of her 
 going out alone is proof of it. What fol- 
 lowed may make her more cautious; still, 
 boating is a perilous occupation, and boats, 
 whether for pleasure or otherwise, are awk- 
 ward things to manage — fickle and capri- 
 cious as women themselves. Suppose hers 
 should some day go to the bottom she being 
 in it?" 
 
 " That would be bad." 
 
 " Of course it would. Though, Monsieur 
 Murdock, many men situated as you, instead 
 of grieving over such an accident, would 
 but rejoice at it." 
 
 " Ko doubt they would. But what's the 
 use of talking of a thing not likely to 
 happen ? " 
 
 *' Oh, true ! Still, boat accidents being 
 of such common occurrence, one is as likely 
 to befall Mademoiselle Wynn as anybody 
 else. A pity if it should — a misfortune ! 
 But so is the other thing."
 
 A SPIRITUAL ADVISER, 201 
 
 "What other thing?" 
 
 " That such a property as Llangorren 
 should be in the hands of heretics, having 
 but a lame title too. If what I've heard be 
 true, you yourself have as much right to it 
 as your cousin. It were better it belonged 
 to a true son of the Church, as I know you 
 to be, M'sieu." 
 
 Murdock receives the compliment with a 
 grimace. He is no hypocrite ; still with all 
 his depravity he has a sort of respect for 
 religion, or rather its outward forms — regu- 
 larly attends Eogier's chapel, and goes 
 through all the ceremonies and genuflexions, 
 just as the Itahan bandit after cutting a 
 throat will drop on his knees and repeat a 
 paternoster at hearing the distant bell of the 
 Angelus. 
 
 " A very poor one," he replies, with a 
 half smile, half grin. 
 
 "In a worldly sense, you mean? I'm 
 aware, you're not very rich." 
 
 " In more senses than that. Your Eev- 
 erence, I've been a great sinner, I admit." 
 
 " Admission is a good sign — giving pro-
 
 202 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 iTiise of repentance, which need never come 
 too late if a man be disposed to it. It is a 
 deep sin the Church cannot condone — a 
 dark crime indeed." 
 
 " Oh, I haven't done anything deserving 
 the name. Only such as a great many 
 others." 
 
 " But you might be tempted some day. 
 Whether or not it's my duty, as your 
 spiritual adviser, to point out the true doc- 
 trine — how the Vatican views such things. 
 It's after all only a question of balance 
 between good and evil ; that is, how much 
 evil a man may have done, and the amount 
 of good he may do. This world is a cease- 
 less war between God and the devil ; and 
 those who wage it in the cause of the 
 former have often to employ the weapons 
 of the latter. In our service the end justi- 
 fies the means, even though these be what 
 the world calls criminal — ay, even to the 
 TAKING OF LIFE, clsc why should the great 
 and good Loyola have counselled drawing 
 the sword, himself using it ? " 
 
 " True," grunts Murdock, smoking hard,
 
 A SPIRITUAL ADVISER. 203 
 
 " you're a great theologian, Father Rogier. 
 I confess ignorance in such matters ; still, 
 I see reason in what you say." 
 
 "You may see it clearer if I set the 
 ap23lication before you. As for instance, if 
 a man have the right to a certain property, 
 or estate, and is kept out of it by a quibble, 
 any steps he might take to possess himself 
 would be justifiable providing he devote a 
 portion of his gains to the good cause — 
 that is, upholding the true faith, and so 
 benefiting humanity at large. Such an 
 act is held by the best of our Church 
 authorities to compensate for any sin com- 
 mitted — supposing the money donation 
 sufficient to make the amount of good it 
 may do preponderate over the evil. And 
 such a man would not only merit absolu- 
 tion, but freely receive it. Now, Monsieur, 
 do you comprehend me ? " 
 
 " Quite," pays Murdock, taking the pipe 
 from his mouth and gulping down a half 
 tumbler of brandy — for he has dropped the 
 wine. Withal, he trembles at the pro- 
 gramme thus metaphorically put before
 
 20 t GWEN WYNN. 
 
 him, and fears admitting the application to 
 himself. 
 
 Soon the more potent spirit takes away 
 his last remnant of timidity, which the 
 tempter perceiving, sa3's : — 
 
 " You say 3^ou have sinned, Monsieur. 
 And if it were only for that you ought to 
 make amends." 
 
 "In what way could I?" 
 
 " The way I've been speaking of. Bestow 
 upon the Church the means of doing good, 
 and so deserve indulgence." 
 
 " Ah ! where am I to find this means ? " 
 
 " On the other side of the river." 
 
 " You forget that there's more than the 
 stream between." 
 
 " Xot much to a man who would be true 
 to himself." 
 
 " I'm that man all over." The brandy 
 has made him bold, at length untying his 
 tongue, while unsteadying it. " Yes, Pere 
 Eogier; I'm ready for an3'thing that mil 
 release me from this damnable fix — debt 
 over the ears — duns every day. Ha ! I'd 
 be true to myself, never fear ! "
 
 A SPIRITUAL ADVISER. 205 
 
 " It needs being true to the Cliurch as 
 weU." 
 
 " Tm willing to be that when I have the 
 chance, if ever I have it. And to get it 
 I'd risk life. Not much if I lose it. 
 It's become a burden to me, heavier than I 
 can bear." 
 
 " You may make it as light as a feather, 
 M'sieu; cheerful as that of any of those 
 gay gentry you saw disporting themselves 
 on the lawn at Llangorren — even that of 
 its young mistress." 
 
 "How, Vere?'' 
 
 '' By yourself becoming its master " 
 
 " Ah ! if I could." 
 
 "You can!" 
 
 "With safety?" 
 
 " Perfect safety." 
 
 " And without committing " — he fears 
 to speak the ugly English word, but ex- 
 presses the idea in French — " cette dernier 
 coup ? 
 
 " Certainly 1 Who dreams of that ? Not 
 I, M'sieu." 
 
 " But how is it to be avoided ? "
 
 206 GWEN ^VYNN. 
 
 " Easily." 
 
 " Tell me, Father Eogier ! " 
 
 " Not to-night, Murdock ! " — he has 
 dropped the distant M'sieu — " Xot to- 
 night. It's a matter that calls for reflec- 
 tion — consideration, calm and careful. 
 Time, too. Ten thousand livres esterUes 
 per annum ! We must both ponder upon 
 it — sleep nights, and think days, over it — 
 possibly have to draw Coracle Dick into 
 our deliberations. But not to-night — 
 Pardieu ! it's ten o'clock ! And I have 
 business to do before going to bed. I 
 must be off." 
 
 " No, your Eeverence ; not till you've had 
 another glass of wine." 
 
 "One more then. But let me take it 
 standing — the tasse d'estrope^ as you call 
 
 it. 
 
 Murdoch assents ; and the two rise up 
 to drink the stirrup cup. But only the 
 Frenchman keeps his feet till the glasses 
 are emptied; the other, now dead drunk, 
 dropping back into his chair. 
 
 ''Bon soir, Monsieur!" says the priest.
 
 A SPIEITUAL ADVISER. 207 
 
 slipping out of the room, his host answer- 
 ing only by a snore. 
 
 For all, Father Eogier does not 
 leave the house so unceremoniously. In 
 the porch outside he takes more formal 
 leave of a woman he there finds waiting 
 for him. As he joins her going out, she 
 asks, sotto voce : — 
 
 " C'est arrange ? " 
 
 ''IP as encore serait tout suited 
 
 This the sole speech that passes between 
 them; but something besides, which, if 
 seen by her husband, would cause him to 
 start from his chair — perhaps some little 
 sober him.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 CORACLE DICK. 
 
 A TRAVELLER making the tour of tlie Wye 
 will now and then see moving along its 
 banks, or across the contiguous meadows, 
 what he might take for a gigantic tortoise 
 walking upon its tail ! Mystified by a sight 
 so abnormal, and drawing nigh to get an 
 explanation of it, he will discover that the 
 moving object is after all but a man, carry- 
 ing a boat upon his back ! Still the tourist 
 will be astonished at a feat so herculean — 
 rival to that of Atlas — and will only be 
 altogether enlightened when the boat-bearer 
 lays down his burden — which, if asked, he 
 will obligingly do — and permits him, the 
 stranger, to satisfy his curiosity by an in- 
 spection of it. Set square on the sward at 
 his feet, he will look upon a craft quaint as 
 was ever launched on lake, stream, or tidal
 
 CORACLE DICK. 209 
 
 wave. For lie will be looking at a 
 "coracle." 
 
 Not only quaint in construction, but 
 singularly ingenious in design, considering 
 the ends to be accomplished. In addition, 
 historically interesting ; so much as to 
 deserve more than passing notice, even in 
 the pages of a novel. Nor will I dismiss 
 it without a word, however it may seem 
 out of place. 
 
 In shape the coracle bears resemblance to 
 the half of a humming-top, or Swedish 
 turnip cloven longitudinally, the cleft face 
 scooped out leaving but the rind. The 
 timbers consist of slender saplings — peeled 
 and split to obtain lightness — disposed, 
 some fore and aft, others athwart-ships, still 
 others diagonally, as struts and ties, all 
 having their ends in a band of wickerwork, 
 which runs round the gunwale, holding 
 them firmly in place, itself forming the rail. 
 Over this framework is stretched a covering 
 of tarred, and, of course, waterproof canvas, 
 tight as a drum. In olden times it was the 
 skin of ox or horse, but the modern material 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 is better, because lighter, and less liable to 
 deca}^ besides being cheaper. There is but 
 one seat, or thwart, as the coracle is de- 
 signed for only a single occupant, though 
 in a pinch it can accommodate two. 
 This is a thin board, placed nearly amid- 
 ships, partly supported by the wicker rail, 
 and in part by another piece of light scant- 
 ling, set edgeways underneath. 
 
 In all things ponderosity is as much as 
 possible avoided, since one of the essential 
 purposes of the coracle is " portage ;" and to 
 facilitate this it is furnished with a leathern 
 strap, the ends attached near each extremity 
 of the thwart, to be passed across the breast 
 when the boat is borne overland. The 
 bearer then uses his oar — there is but one, 
 a broad-bladed paddle — by way of walking- 
 stick ; and so proceeds, as alread}'- said, like 
 a tortoise travelling on its tail ! 
 
 In this convenience of carriage lies the 
 ingenuity of the structure — unique and 
 clever beyond anything in the way of water- 
 craft I have observed elsewhere, either 
 among savage or civilized nations. The
 
 CORACLE DIOK. 211 
 
 only thing approaching it in this respect is 
 the birch bark canoe of the Esquimaux and 
 the Chippeway Indians. But though more 
 beautiful this, it is far behind our native 
 craft in an economic sense — in cheapness 
 and readiness. For while the Chippewayan 
 would be stripping his bark from the tree, 
 and re-arming it — to say nought of fitting 
 to the frame timbers, stitching, and paying 
 it — a subject of King Caradoc would have 
 launched his coracle upon the Wye, and 
 paddled it from Plinlimmon to Chepstow ; 
 as many a modern Welshman would the 
 same. 
 
 Above all, is the coracle of rare historic 
 interest — as the first venture upon water of 
 a people — the ancestors of a nation that now 
 rules the sea — their descendants proudly 
 styling themselves its "Lords" — not with- 
 out right and reason. 
 
 Why called " coracle " is a matter of 
 doubt and dispute ; by most admitted as a 
 derivative from the Latin coriwi — a skin; 
 this being its original covering. But cer- 
 tainly a misconception; since we have 
 
 p 2
 
 212 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 historic evidence of the basket and hide boat 
 being in use around the shores of Albion 
 hundreds of years before these ever saw 
 Eoman ship or standard. Besides, at the 
 same early period, under the almost 
 homonym of *'corragh,'* it floated — still 
 floats — on the waters of the Lerne, far 
 west of anywhere the Eomans ever went. 
 Among the common people on the Wye 
 it bears a less ancient appellation — that of 
 " truckle." 
 
 From whatever source the craft derives 
 its name, it has itself given a sobriquet to 
 one of the characters of our tale — Eichard 
 Dempsey. Why the poacher is thus dis- 
 tinguished it is not easy to tell ; possibly 
 because he, more than any other in his 
 neighbourhood, makes use of it, and is often 
 seen trudging about the river bottoms with 
 the huge carapace on his shoulders. It serves 
 his purpose better than any other kind of 
 boat, for Dick, though a snarer of hares and 
 pheasants, is more of a salmon poacher, and 
 for this — the water branch of his amphi- 
 bious calling — the coracle has a special
 
 CORACLE DICK. 213 
 
 adaptation. It can be lifted out of the 
 river, or launched upon it anywhere, with- 
 out leaving trace ; whereas with an ordinary 
 skiff the moorings might be marked, the 
 embarkation observed, and the night netter 
 followed to his netting-place by the watch- 
 ful water bailiff. 
 
 Despite his cunning and the handiness 
 of his craft, Dick has not always come off 
 scot-free. His name has several times figured 
 in the reports of Quarter Sessions, and him- 
 self in the cells of the county gaol. This 
 only for poaching ; but he has also served 
 a spell in prison for crime of a less venal 
 kind — burglary. As the "job '' was done 
 in a distant shire, there has been nothing 
 heard of it in that where he now resides. 
 The worst known of him in the neighbour- 
 hood is his game and fish trespassing, 
 though there is worse suspected. He whose 
 suspicions are strongest being the waterman, 
 Wingate. 
 
 But Jack may be wronging him, for a 
 certain reason — the most powerful that ever 
 swayed the passion or warped the judgment
 
 214 GWBN WYNN. 
 
 of man — rivalry for the affections of a 
 woman. 
 
 No heart, however hardened, is proof 
 against the shafts of Cupid ; and one has 
 penetrated the heart of Coracle Dick, as 
 deeply as has another that of Jack Wingate. 
 And both from the same bow and quiver — 
 the eyes of Mary Morgan. 
 
 She is the daughter of a small farmer 
 who lives by the Wyeside ; and being a 
 farmer's daughter, above both in social rank, 
 still not so high but that Love's ladder may 
 reach her, and each lives in hope he may 
 some day scale it. For Evan Morgan holds 
 as a tenant, and his land is of limited 
 acreage. Dick Dempsey and Jack Wingate 
 are not the only ones who wish, to have 
 him for a father-in-law, but the two most 
 earnest, and whose chances seem best. 
 Not that these are at all equal; on 
 the contrary, greatly disproportionate, Dick 
 having the advantage. In his favour 
 is the fact that Farmer Morgan is a 
 Boman Catholic — his wife fanatically so 
 — he, Dempsey, professing the same faith;
 
 CORACLE DICK. 215 
 
 while ^Yingate is a Protestant of pro- 
 nounced type. 
 
 Under these circumstances Coracle has a 
 friend at head-quarters, in Mrs. Morgan, 
 and an advocate who visits there, in the 
 person of Father Eogier. 
 
 With this united influence in his favour, 
 the odds against the young waterman are 
 great, and his chances might appear slight 
 — indeed would be, were it not for an influ- 
 ence to counteract. He, too, has a partisan 
 inside the citadel, and a powerful one ; since 
 it is the girl herself. He knovv's — is sure 
 of it, as man may he of any truth, com- 
 municated to him by loving hps amidst 
 showers of kisses. For all this has passed 
 between Mary Morgan and himself. 
 
 And nothing of it between her and 
 Eichard Dempsey. Instead, on her part, 
 coldness and distant reserve. It would be 
 disdain — ay, scorn — if she dare show^ it ; 
 for she hates the very sight of the man. 
 But, controlled and close watched, she has 
 learnt to smile when she would frown. 
 
 The vrorld — or that narrow circle of it
 
 216 GWEN TVYNN. 
 
 immediately surrounding and acquainted 
 with the Morgan family — wonders at the 
 favourable reception it vouchsafes to Eichard 
 Dempsey — a known and noted poacher. 
 
 But in justice to Mrs. Morgan it should 
 be said, she has but slight acquaintance 
 with the character of the man — only knows 
 it as represented by Eogier. Absorbed in 
 her paternosters, she gives little heed to 
 ought else ; her thoughts, as her actions, 
 being all of the dictation, and under the 
 direction, of the priest. In her eyes Coracle 
 Dick is as the latter has painted him, 
 thus — 
 
 " A worthy fellow — poor it is true, but 
 honest withal ; a little addicted to fish and 
 game taking, as many another good man. 
 AVho wouldn't with such laws — unriorhteous 
 — oppressive to the poor ? Were they 
 otherwise, the poacher would be a patriot. 
 As for Dempsey, they who speak ill of him 
 are only the envious — envying his good 
 looks, and fine mental qualities. For he's 
 clever, and they can't say nay — energetic, 
 and likelv to make his wav in the world.
 
 CORACLE DICK. 217 
 
 Yet, one thing he would make — that's a 
 good husband to your daughter Mary — one 
 who has the strength and courage to take 
 care of her." 
 
 So counsels the priest ; and as he can 
 make Mrs. Morgan believe black white, she 
 is ready to comply with liis counsel. If 
 the result rested on her. Coracle Dick would 
 have nothing to fear. 
 
 But it does not — he knows it does not — 
 and is troubled. With all the influence in 
 his favour, he fears that other influence 
 against him — if against him, far more than, 
 a counterpoise to Mrs. Morgan's religious 
 predilections, or the partisanship of his 
 priest. Still he is not sure ; one day the 
 slave of sweet confidence, the next a prey 
 to black bitter jealousy. And thus he goes 
 on doting and doubting, as if he were never 
 to know the truth. 
 
 A day comes when he is made acquainted 
 with it, or, rather, a night ; for it is after 
 sundown the revelation reaches him — 
 indeed, nigh on to midnight. His favoured, 
 yet defeated, aspirations, are more than
 
 218 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 twelve montlis old. They have been active 
 all through the preceding winter, spring, 
 and summer. It is now autumn ; the leaves 
 are beginning to tarn sere, and the last 
 sheaves have been gathered to the stack. 
 
 No shire than that of Hereford more ad- 
 dicted to the joys of the Harvest Home ; 
 this often celebrated in a public and general 
 way, instead of at the private and particular 
 farm-house. One such is given upon the 
 summit of Grarran Hill — a grand gathering, 
 to which all go of the class who attend 
 such assemblaores — small farmers with their 
 famihes, their servants too, male and female. 
 There is a cromlech on the hill's top, around 
 which they annually congregate, and beside 
 this ancient relic are set up the symbols 
 of a more modern time — the Maypole — 
 thoucrh it is Autumn — vfith its strinc^s and 
 garlands ; the show booths and the refresh- 
 ment tents, with their display of cakes, 
 fruits, perry, and cider. xA.nd there are 
 sports of various lands, pitching the stone, 
 climbing the greased pole — that of May 
 nov/ so slippery— jumpiug, racing in sacks.
 
 CORACLE DICK. 219 
 
 dancing — among other dances the Morris — 
 with a grand ^nale of fireworks. 
 
 At this year's fete Farmer Morgan is pre- 
 sent, accompanied by his wife and daughter. 
 It need not be said that Dick Dempsey and 
 Jack Wingate are there too. They are, and 
 have been all the afternoon — ever since the 
 gathering began. But during the hours of 
 daylight neither approaches the fair creature 
 to which his thoughts tend, and on which 
 his eyes are almost constantly turning. 
 The poacher is restrained by a sense of his 
 own unworthiness — a knowledge that there 
 is not the place to make show of his aspi- 
 rations to one all believe so much above 
 him ; while the waterman is kept back and 
 aloof by the presence of the watchful 
 mother. 
 
 With all her watchfulness he finds oppor- 
 tunity to exchange speech with the daugh- 
 ter — only a few words, but enough to make 
 hell in the heart of Dick Dempsey, who 
 overhears them. 
 
 It is at the closing scene of the spectacle, 
 when the pyrotechnists are about to send
 
 220 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 up their final feu de joie, Mrs. Morgan, 
 treated by numerous acquaintances to ani- 
 seed and other toothsome drinks, has grown 
 less thoughtful of her charge, which gives 
 Jack Wingate the opportunity he has all 
 along been looking for. Sidling up to the 
 girl, he asks in a tone which tells of lovers 
 en rapport, mutually, unmistakably — 
 "When, Mary?" 
 
 "Saturday night next. The priest's 
 coming to supper. I'll make an errand to 
 the shop, soon as it gets dark." 
 " Where ? " 
 
 " The old place under the big elm." 
 " You're sure you'll be able ? " 
 " Sure, never fear, I'll find a way." 
 " God bless you, dear girl. I'll be there, 
 if anywhere on earth." 
 
 This is all that passes between them. 
 But enough — more than enough — for Eich- 
 ard Dempsey. As a rocket, just then going 
 up, throws its glare over his face, as also 
 the others, no greater contrast could be seen 
 or imagined. On the countenances of the 
 lovers an expression of contentment, sweet
 
 CORACLE DICK. 221 
 
 and serene ; on his a look such as Mephis- 
 topheles gave to Gretchen escaping from 
 his toils. 
 
 The curse in Coracle's heart is but hin- 
 dered from rising to his lips by a fear of its 
 foiling the vcDgeance he there and then 
 determines on.
 
 CHAPTEE XVII. 
 
 THE "CORPSE CANDLE." 
 
 Jack Win gate lives in a little cottage whose 
 bit of garden ground " brinks " the country 
 road where the latter trends close to the 
 Wye at one of its sharpest sinuosities. 
 The cottage is on the convex side of the 
 bend, having the river at back, with a deep 
 drain, or wash, running up almost to its 
 walls, and forming a fence to one side of 
 the garden. This gives the waterman an- 
 other and more needed advantage — a con- 
 venient docking place for his boat. There 
 the Mary, moored, swings to her painter in 
 safety ; and when a rise in the river threat- 
 ens he is at hand to see she be not swept 
 off. To guard against such catastrophe he 
 will start up from his bed at any hour of 
 the night, having more than one reason to 
 be careful of the boat; for, besides being
 
 THE "CORPSE CANDLE." 223 
 
 his gagne-pain, it bears the name, by himself 
 given, of her the thought of whom sweetens 
 his toil and makes his labour light. For 
 her he bends industriously to his oar, as 
 though he believed every stroke made and 
 every boat's length gained was bringing 
 him nearer to Mary Morgan. And in a 
 sense so is it, whichever way the boat's 
 head may be turned ; the farther he rows 
 her the grander grows that heap of gold he 
 is hoarding up against the day when he 
 hopes to become a Benedict. He has a be- 
 lief that if he could but display before the 
 eyes of Farmer Morgan sufficient money to 
 take a little farm for himself and stock it, 
 he might then remove all obstacles between 
 him and Mary — mother's objections and 
 sinister and sacerdotal influence included. 
 
 He is aware of the difierence of rank — 
 that social chasm between — being oft bit- 
 terly reminded of it ; but, emboldened by 
 Mary's smiles, he has little fear but that he 
 will yet be able to bridge it. 
 
 Favouring the programme thus traced 
 out, there is, fortunately, no great strain on
 
 224 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 his resources by way of drawback ; only 
 the maintaining of his own mother, a fru- 
 gal dame — thrifty besides — who, instead of 
 adding to the current expenses, rather cur- 
 tails them by the adroit handling of her 
 needle. It would have been a distaff in 
 the olden days. 
 
 Thus helped in his housekeeping, the 
 young waterman is enabled to put away 
 almost every shilling he earns by his oar, 
 and this same summer all through till 
 autumn, which it now is, has been more 
 than usually profitable to him, by reason of 
 his so often having Captain Eyecroft as his 
 fare ; for although the Hussar officer no 
 longer goes salmon fishing — he has some- 
 how been spoilt for that — there are other 
 excursions upon which he requires the boat, 
 and as ever generously, even lavishly, pays 
 for it. 
 
 From one of these the young waterman 
 has but returned; and, after carefully 
 bestowing the Mary at her moorings, 
 stepped inside the cottage. It is Saturday 
 — within one hour of sundown — that same
 
 THE *' CORPSE CANDLE." 225 
 
 Saturday spoken of "at the Harvest 
 Home." But though Jack is just home, 
 he shows no sign of an intention to stay 
 there ; instead, behaves as if he intended 
 going out again, though not in his boat. 
 
 And he does so intend, for a purpose 
 unsuspected by his mother, to keep that 
 appointment, made hurriedly, and in a half 
 whisper, amid the fracas of the iSreworks. 
 
 The good dame had already set the table 
 for tea, ready against his arrival, covered it 
 with a cloth, snow white of course. The 
 tea-things superimposed, in addition a 
 dining plate, knife and fork, these for a 
 succulent beefsteak heard hissing on the 
 gridiron almost as soon as the Mary made 
 appearance at the mouth of the wash, and, 
 soon as the boat was docked, done. It is 
 now on the table, alongside the teapot ; its 
 savoury odour mingling with the fragrance 
 of the freshly " drawn '' tea, fills the 
 cottage kitchen with a perfume to delight 
 the gods. 
 
 Tor all, it gives no gratification to Jack 
 Wingate the waterman. The appetizing 
 
 VOL. I. * Q
 
 226 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 smell of the meat, and the more ethereal 
 aroma of the Chinese shrub, are alike lost 
 upon him. Appetite he has none, and his 
 thoughts are elsewhere. 
 
 Less from observing his abstraction, than 
 the slow, negligent movements of his knife 
 and fork, the mother asks — 
 
 " What's the matter with ye. Jack ? Ye 
 don't eat ! " 
 
 '* I ain't hungry, mother." 
 
 "But ye been out since mornin', and 
 tooked nothing wi' you ! " 
 
 " True ; but you forget who I ha' been 
 out with. The captain ain't the man to let 
 his boatman be a hungered. We war down 
 the day far as Symond's yat, where he 
 treated me to dinner at the hotel. The 
 daintiest kind o' dinner, too. No wonder 
 at my not havin' much care for eatin' now 
 — nice as you've made things, mother." 
 
 Notwithstanding the compliment, the 
 old lady is little satisfied — less as she 
 observes the continued abstraction of his 
 manner. He fidgets uneasily in his chair, 
 every now and then giving a glance at the
 
 THE " CORPSE CANDLE.** 227 
 
 little Dntcli clock suspended against the 
 wall, whicli in loud ticking seems to say, 
 "You'll be late— you'll be late." She 
 suspects something of the cause, but 
 inquires nothing of it. Instead, she but 
 observes, speaking of the patron : — 
 
 " He be very good to ye, Jack." 
 
 '* Ah ! that he be ; good to every one 
 as comes nigh o' him — and 's desarvin' 
 it. 
 
 *' But ain't he stay in' in the neighbour- 
 hood longer than he firsi: spoke of doin' ? " 
 
 " Maybe he is. Grand gentry such as 
 he ain't like us poor folk. They can go 
 and come whens'ever it please 'em. I 
 suppose he have his reasons for remaining." 
 
 " Now, Jack, yoii know he have, an' I've 
 heerd something about 'em myself." 
 
 " What have you heard, mother ? " 
 
 " Oh, what ! Ye han't been a rowin' 
 him up and down the river now nigh on 
 five months without findin' out. An' if 
 you haven't, others have. It's goin' all 
 about that he's after a young lady as lives 
 somewhere below. Tidy girl, they say.
 
 228 GWEN TVTNN. 
 
 tho' I never seed her myself. Is it so, my 
 son ? Say ! " 
 
 "Well, mother, since you've put it 
 straight at me in that way, I won't deny it 
 to you, tho' I'm in a manner bound to 
 saycrecy wi' others. It be true that 
 the Captain have some notion o' such a 
 lady." 
 
 '' There be a story, too, o' her bein' nigh 
 drownded an' his saving her out o' a boat. 
 Now, Jack, whose boat could that be if it 
 wa'nt your'n ? " 
 
 " 'Twor mine, mother ; that's true enough- 
 I would a told you long ago, but he asked 
 me not to talk o' the thiDg. Besides, I 
 didn't suppose you'd care to hear about it." 
 
 *' Well," she says, satisfied, " tan't much 
 to me, nor you neyther. Jack ; only as the 
 Captain being so kind, we'd both like to 
 know the best about him. If he have took 
 a fancy for the young lady, I hope she 
 return it. She ought after his doin' what 
 he did for her. I han't heerd her name ; 
 what be it ? " 
 
 ** She's a Miss Wynn, mother. A very
 
 TEE " CORPSE CANDLE." 229 
 
 ricli heiress. 'Deed I b'lieve she ain't a 
 heiress any longer, or won't be, after next 
 Thursday, sin' that day she comes o' age. An' 
 that night there's to be a big party at her 
 place, dancin' an' all sorts o' festivities. I 
 know it because the Captain's goin' there, 
 an' has bespoke the boat to take him." 
 
 "Wynn, eh? That be a Welsh name. 
 Wonder if she's any kin o' the great Sir 
 Watkin." 
 
 " Can't say, mother. I believe there be 
 several branches o' the Wynn family." 
 
 " Yes, and all o' the good sort. If she 
 be one o' the Welsh Wynns, the Captain 
 can't go far astray in having her for 'his 
 wife." 
 
 Mrs. Wingate is herself of Cymric ances- 
 try, originally from the shire of Pembroke, 
 but married to a man of Montgomery, 
 where Jack was born. It is only of late, 
 in her widowhood, she has become a resi- 
 dent of Herefordshire. 
 
 " So you think he have a notion o' her. 
 Jack?" 
 
 " More'n that, mother. I may as well
 
 230 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 tell ye ; lie be dead in love wi' her. An*^ 
 if you seed the young lady herself, ye 
 wouldn't wonder at it. She be most as 
 good-looking as " 
 
 Jack suddenly interrupted himself on 
 the edge of a revelation he would rather 
 not make, to his mother nor any one else. 
 For he has hitherto been as careful in. keep- 
 ing his own secret as that of his patron. 
 
 *' As who?" she asks, looking him 
 straight in the face, and with an expression 
 in her eyes of no common interest — that of 
 maternal solicitude. 
 
 " Who ? — well — " he answers confusedly ; 
 '* I wor goin' to mention the name o' a girl 
 who the people 'bout here think the best- 
 lookin' o' any in the neighbourhood " 
 
 " An' nobody more'n yourself, my son. 
 You needn't gi'e her name. I know it." 
 
 "Oh, mother! what d'ye mean?" he 
 stammers out, with eyes on the but half- 
 eaten beefsteak. " I take it they've 
 been tellin' ye some stories 'bout me." 
 
 "No, they han't. Nobody's sayed a 
 word about ye relatin' to that. I've seed
 
 THE "CORPSE CANDLE." 231 
 
 it for myself, long since, though youVe tried 
 hide it. I'm not goin' to blame ye eyther, 
 for I believe she be a tidy proper girl. Bat 
 she's far aboon you, my son ; and ye maun 
 mind how you behave yourself. If the 
 young lady be anythin' like's good-lookin' 
 as Mary Morgan 
 
 " Yes, mother ! that's the strangest 
 thing o' all " 
 
 He interrupts her, speaking excitedly; 
 again interrupting himself 
 
 " What's strangest ? " she inquires with 
 a look of wonderment. 
 
 " Never mind, mother ! I'll tell you all 
 about it some other time. I can't now; 
 you see it's nigh nine o' the clock." 
 
 "Well; an whatif'tbe?" 
 
 " Because I may be too late." 
 
 " Too late for what ? Surely you arn't 
 goin' out again the night ? " She asks this, 
 seeing him rise up from his chair. 
 
 *' I must, mother." 
 
 "But why?" 
 
 "Well, the boat's painter's got frailed, 
 and I want a bit o' whipcord to lap it with.
 
 232 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 They have the thing at the Ferry shop, and 
 I must get there afores they shut up." 
 
 A fib, perhaps pardonable, as the thing 
 he designs lapping is not his boat's painter, 
 but the waist of Mary Morgan, and not 
 with slender whipcord, but his own stout 
 arms. 
 
 "Why wont it do in the mornin ?" asks 
 the ill-satisfied mother. 
 
 "Well, ye see, there's no knowin' but 
 that somebody may come after the boat. 
 The Captain mayent, but he may, changin 
 his mind. Anyhow, he'll want her to go 
 down to them grand doin's at Llangowen 
 Court?" 
 
 *' Llangowen Court ?" 
 
 " Yes ; that's where the young lady lives." 
 
 "That's to be on Thursday, ye sayed?" 
 
 " True ; but, then, there may come a 
 fare the morrow, an' what if there do ? 
 'Tain't the painter only as wants splicin', 
 there's a bit o' a leak sprung close to the 
 cutwater, an' I must hae some pitch to 
 pay it." 
 
 If Jack's mother would only step out,
 
 THE " CORPSE CANDLE." 233 
 
 and down to the ditch where the Mary is 
 iTiOored, with a look at the boat, she would 
 make him out a liar. Its painter is smooth 
 and clean as a piece of gimp, not a strand 
 unravelled — while but two or three gallons 
 of bilge water at the boat's bottom attest 
 to there being little or no leakage. 
 
 But she, good dame, is not thus suspicious, 
 instead so reliant on her son's truthfulness, 
 that, without questioning further, she con- 
 sents to] his going,^ only with a proviso 
 against his staying, thus appealingly put — 
 
 " Ye won't be gone long, my son ! I 
 know ye won't ! " 
 
 " Indeed I shan't, mother. But why be 
 you so partic'lar about my goin' out — this 
 night more'n any other?" 
 
 *' Because, Jack, this day, more'n most 
 others, I've been feelin' bothered like, and 
 a bit frightened." 
 
 " Frightened o' what ? There han't 
 been nobody to the house — has there ? " 
 
 *•' No ; ne'er a rover since you left me in 
 the mornin'." 
 
 " Then what's been a scarin' ye, mother ? "
 
 234 
 
 GWEN Y>-YNN. 
 
 " 'Deed, I don't know, unless it ha' been 
 brouglit on by the dream I had last night. 
 'Twer' a dreadful unpleasant one. I didn't 
 tell you o' it 'fore ye went out, thinkin' it 
 might worry ye." 
 
 " Tell me now, mother." 
 
 " It hadn't nought to do wi' us ourselves, 
 after all. Only concernin' them as live 
 nearest us." 
 
 " Ha ! the Morgans ? " 
 
 *' Yes ; the Morgans." 
 
 ' ' Oh, mother, what did you dream about 
 them?" 
 
 "That I wor standin' on the big hill 
 above their house, in the middle o' the 
 night, wi' black darkness all round me ; 
 and there lookin' down what should I see 
 comin' out o' their door ?" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " The canwyll corph ! " 
 
 "Thecanwyllcorph?" 
 
 "Yes, my son; I seed it — that is I 
 dreamed I seed it — coming just out o' the 
 farm-house door, then through the yard, 
 and over the foot-plank at the bottom o'
 
 THE *' CORPSE CANDLE." 235 
 
 the orchard, when it Vent flarin' up the 
 meadows straight towards the ferry. 
 Though ye can't see that from the hill, I 
 dreamed I did ; an' seed the candle go on 
 to the chapel an' into the buryin' ground. 
 That woked me." 
 
 " What nonsense, mother ! A ridiklous 
 superstition ! I thought you'd left all that 
 sort o' stuff behind, in the mountains o^ 
 Montgomery, or Pembrokeshire, where the 
 thing comes from, as I've heerd you say." 
 
 " No, my son ; it's not stuff, nor super- 
 stition neyther ; though English people say 
 that to put slur upon us Welsh. Your 
 father before ye believed in the Canwyll 
 Corphy and wi' more reason ought I, your 
 mother. I never told you, Jack, but the 
 night before your father died I seed it go 
 past our own door, and on to the graveyard 
 o' the church where he now lies. Sure as 
 we stand here there be some one doomed in 
 the house o' Evan Morgan. There be only 
 three in the family. I do hope it an't her 
 as ye might some day be wantin' me to 
 call daughter."
 
 236 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 '* Mother ! You'll drive me mad ! I 
 tell ye it's all nonsense. Mary Morgan be 
 at this moment healthy and strong — most 
 as much as myself. If the dead ''candle 
 ye've been dreamin' about we're all o' it 
 true, it couldn't be a burnin' for her. More 
 like for Mrs. Morgan, who's half daft by 
 believing in church candles and such things 
 — enough to turn her crazy, if it doesn't 
 kill her outright. As for you, my dear 
 mother, don't let the dream bother you the 
 least bit. An' ye mustn't be feeling lonely, 
 as I shan't be long gone. I'll be back by 
 ten sure." 
 
 Saying which, he sets his straw hat jaun- 
 tily on his thick curly hair, gives his 
 guernsey a straightening twitch, and, with 
 a last cheering look and encouraging word 
 to his mother, steps out into the night. 
 
 Left alone, she feels lonely withal, and 
 more than ever afraid. Instead of sitting 
 down to her needle, or making to remove 
 the tea-things, she goes to the door, and 
 there stays, standing on its threshold and 
 peering into the darkness — for it is a pitch
 
 THE " CORPSE CANDLE." 237 
 
 dark night — she sees, or fancies, a light 
 moving across the meadows, as if it came 
 from Farmer Morgan's house, and going in 
 the direction of Eugg's Ferry. While she 
 continues gazing, it twice crosses the 
 Wye, by reason of the river's bend. 
 
 As no mortal hand could thus carry it, 
 surely it is the canwyll corph I
 
 CHAPTEE XYIII. 
 
 A CAT IN THE CUPBOARD. 
 
 Evan Morgan is a tenant-farmer, holding 
 Abergann. By Herefordshire custom, every 
 farm or its stead, has a distinctive appella- 
 tion. Like the land belonging to Grlyngog, 
 that of Abergann lies against the sides of 
 a sloping glen — one of the hundreds or 
 thousands of lateral ravines that run into 
 the valley of the Wye. But, unlike the 
 old manor-house, the domicile of the farmer 
 is at the glen's bottom and near the river's 
 bank; nearer yet to a small influent stream, 
 rapid and brawling, which sweeps past the 
 lower end of the orchard in a channel worn 
 deep into the soft sandstone. 
 
 Though with the usual imposing array of 
 enclosure walls, the dwelling itself is not 
 large nor the outbuildings extensive; for 
 the arable acreage is limited. This because
 
 A CAT IN THE CUPBOARD. 239 
 
 the ridges around are too high pitched for 
 ploughing, and if ploughed would be unpro- 
 ductive. They are not even in pasture, but 
 overgrown with woods ; less for the sake of 
 the timber, which is only scrub, than as a 
 covert for foxes. They are held in hand by 
 Evan Morgan's landlord — a noted Nimrod. 
 For the same reason the farm-house 
 stands in a solitary spot, remote from any 
 other dwelling. The nearest is the cottage 
 of the Wingates — distant about half a mile, 
 but neither visible from the other. Nor is 
 there any direct road between, only a foot- 
 path, which crosses the brook at the bottom 
 of the orchard, thence running over a wooded 
 ridge to the main highway. The last, after 
 passing close to the cottage, as already said, 
 is deflected away from the river by this 
 same ridge, so that when Evan Morgan 
 would drive anywhere beyond the boun- 
 daries of his farm, he must pass out through 
 a long lane, so narrow that were he to meet 
 any one driving in, there would be a dead- 
 lock. However, there is no danger ; as the 
 only vehicles having occasion to use this
 
 240 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 thorouglifare are his own farm waggon and 
 a lighter ' trap ' in which he goes to market, 
 and occasionally with his wife and daughter 
 to merry-makings. 
 
 When the three are in it there is none of 
 his family at home. For he has but one 
 child — a daughter. Nor would he long 
 have her were a half-score of young fellows 
 allowed their way. At least this number 
 would be willing to take her off his hands 
 and give her a home elsewhere. Eemote as 
 is the farm-house of Abergann, and narrow 
 the lane leading to it, there are many who 
 would be glad to visit there, if invited. 
 
 In truth a fine girl is Mary Morgan, tall, 
 bright haired, and with blooming cheeks, 
 beside which red rose leaves would seem 
 fade. Living in a town she would be its 
 talk ; in a village its belle. Even from that 
 secluded glen has the fame of her beauty 
 gone forth and afar. Of husbands she 
 could have her choice, and among men 
 much richer than her father. 
 
 In her heart she has chosen one, not only 
 much poorer, but lower in social rank —
 
 A CAT IN THE CUPBOARD. 241 
 
 Jack Wingate. She loves the young water- 
 man, and wants to be his wife ; but knows 
 she cannot without the consent of her 
 parents. Not that either has signified 
 opposition, since they have never been 
 asked. Her longings in that direction she 
 has kept secret from them. Nor does she 
 so much dread refusal by the father. Evan 
 Morgan had been himself poor — began life 
 as a farm labourer — and, though now an 
 employer of such, his pride had not kept 
 pace with his prosperity. Instead, he is, 
 as ever, the same modest, unpresuming 
 man, of which the lower middle classes of 
 the English people ^ present many noble 
 examples. Erom him Jack Wingate would 
 have little to fear on the score of poverty. 
 He is well acquainted with the young 
 waterman's character, knows it to be good, 
 and has observed the efforts he is making to 
 better his condition in life ; it may be with 
 suspicion of the motive, at all events, 
 admiringly — remembering his own. And 
 although a Eoman Catholic, he is anything 
 but bigoted. Were he the only one to be 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 242 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 consulted his daughter might wed with the 
 ■man upon whom she has fixed her affec- 
 tions, at any time it pleases them — ay, at 
 an;' V lice, too, even within the walls of a 
 Protestant Church ! By him neither would 
 Jack Wingate he rejected on the score of 
 religion. 
 
 Yery different with his wife. Of all the 
 worshippers who compose the congregation 
 at the Eugg's Ferry Chapel none hend the 
 knee to Baal as low as she ; and over no 
 one does Father Eogier exercise such in- 
 fluence. Baneful it is like to be ; since not 
 only has he control of the mother's con- 
 duct, but through that may also blight the 
 happiness of the daughter. 
 
 Apart from religious fanaticism, Mrs. 
 Morgan is not a bad woman — only a weak 
 one. As her husband, she is of humble 
 birth, and small beginnings ; like him, too, 
 neither has prosperity affected her in 
 the sense of worldly ambition. Perhaps 
 better if it had. Instead of spoiling, a 
 little social pride might have been a bar to 
 the dangerous aspirations of Eichard
 
 A CAT IN THE CUPBOARD. 243 
 
 Dempsey — even with the priest standing 
 sponsor for him. But she has none, her 
 whole soul being absorbed by blind devo- 
 tion to a faith which scruples not at any- 
 thing that may assist in its propagandism. 
 « * * * ^ * 
 
 It is the Saturday succeeding the festival 
 of the Harvest Home, a little after sunset, 
 and the priest is expected at Abergann. 
 He is a frequent visitor there ; by Mrs. 
 Morgan ever made welcome, and treated to 
 the best cheer the farm-house can afford; 
 plate, knife, and fork always placed for him. 
 And, to do him justice, he may be deemed 
 in a way worthy of such hospitality; for 
 he is, in truth, a most entertaining person- 
 age ; can converse on any subject, and suit 
 his conversation to the company, whether 
 high or low. As much at home with the 
 wife of the Welsh farmer as with the French 
 eX'COcotte^ and equally so in the companion- 
 ship of Dick Dempsey, the poacher. In his 
 hours o^ far niente all are alike to him. 
 
 This night he is to take supper at Aber- 
 gann, and Mrs. Morgan, seated in the farm- 
 
 K 2
 
 244 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 house parlour, awaits his arrival. A snug 
 little apartment, tastefully furnished, but 
 with a certain air of austerity, observable 
 in Eoman Catholic houses ; this bv reason 
 of some pictures of saints hanging against 
 the walls, an image of the Virgin and, 
 standing niche-like in a corner, one of the 
 Crucifixion over the mantel-shelf, with 
 crosses upon books, and other like symbols. 
 It is near nine o'clock, and the table is 
 already set out. On grand occasions, as 
 this, the farm-house parlour is transformed 
 into dining or supper room, indifferently. 
 The meal intended to be eaten now is more 
 of the former, dififering in there being a tea- 
 tray upon the table, with a full service of 
 cups and saucers, as also in the lateness of 
 the hour. But the odoriferous steam escap- 
 ing from the kitchen, drifted into the par- 
 lour when its door is opened, tells of some- 
 thing in preparation more substantial than 
 a cup of tea, with its usual accompaniment 
 of bread and butter. And there is a fat 
 capon roasting upon the spit, with a frying- 
 pan full of sausages on the dresser, ready
 
 A CAT IN THE CUPBOARD. 245 
 
 to be clapped upon the fire at the proper 
 moment — as soon as the expected guest 
 makes his appearance. 
 
 And in addition to the tea-things, there 
 is a decanter of sherry on the table, and 
 will be another of brandy when brought on 
 — Father Eogier's favourite tipple, as Mrs* 
 Morgan has reason to know. There is a 
 full bottle of this — Cognac of best brand 
 — in the larder cupboard, still corked as it 
 came from the " Welsh Harp," where it 
 cost six shillings — The Eugg's Ferry hos- 
 telry, as already intimated, dealing in drinks 
 of a rather costly kind. Mary has been 
 directed to draw the cork, decant, and bring 
 the brandy in, and for this purpose has 
 just gone off to the larder. Thence in- 
 stantly returning, but without either decan- 
 ter or Cognac ! Instead with a tale which 
 sends a thrill of consternation through her 
 mother's heart. The cat has been in the 
 cupboard, and there made havoc — upset the 
 brandy bottle, and sent it rolling off the 
 shelf on the stone flags of the floor I 
 Broken, of course, and the contents —
 
 246 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 No need for farther explanation, Mrs. 
 Morgan does not seek it. Nor does she 
 stay to reflect on the disaster, but how it 
 may be remedied. It will not mend mat- 
 ters to chastise the cat, nor cry over the 
 «pilt brandy, any more than if it were 
 milk. 
 
 On short reflection she sees but one way 
 to restore the broken bottle — by sending to 
 the '' Welsh Harp " for a whole one. 
 
 True, it will cost another six shillings, 
 but she recks not of the expense. She is 
 more troubled about a messenger. Where, 
 and how, is one to be had? The farm 
 labourers have long since left. They are 
 all Benedicts, on board wages, and have 
 departed for their respective wives and 
 homes. There is a cow-boy, yet he is also 
 absent ; gone to fetch the kine from a far- 
 off pasturing place, and not be back in 
 time ; while the one female domestic maid- 
 of-all-work is busy in the kitchen, up to 
 her ears among pots and pans, her face at 
 a red heat over the range. She could not 
 possibly be spared. " It's very vexatious ! "
 
 A CAT IN THE CUPBOARD. 247 
 
 •exclaims Mrs. Morgan, in a state of lively 
 perplexity. 
 
 " It is, indeed ! " assents her daughter. 
 
 A truthful girl, Mary, in the main ; but 
 just now the opposite. Tor she is not 
 vexed by the occurrence, nor does she deem 
 it a disaster, quite the contrary. And she 
 knows it was no accident, having herself 
 brought it about. It was her own soft 
 fingers, not the cat's claws, that swept that 
 bottle from the shelf, sending it smash upon 
 the stones ! Tipped over by no maladroit 
 handling of corkscrew, but downright deli- 
 berate intention ! A stratagem that may 
 enable her to keep the appointment made 
 ^mong the fireworks — that threat when she 
 told Jack Wingate she would "find away." 
 
 Thus is she finding it ; and in furtherance 
 -she leaves her mother no time to consider 
 longer about a messenger. 
 
 " I'll go 1" she says, ofiering herself as 
 one. 
 
 The deceit unsuspected, and only the 
 willingness appreciated, Mrs. Morgan re- 
 joins :
 
 248 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 " Do ! that's a dear girl ! It's very good 
 of you, Mary. Here's the moDey." 
 
 While the delighted mother is counting 
 out the shillings, the dutiful daughter whips 
 on her cloak — the night is chilly — and 
 adjusts her hat, the best holiday one, on her 
 head ; all the time thinking to herself how 
 cleverly she has done the trick. And with 
 a smile of pardonable deception upon her 
 face, she trips lightly across the threshold,^ 
 and on through the little flower garden in 
 front. 
 
 Outside the gate, at an angle of the- 
 enclosure wall, she stops, and stands con- 
 sidering. There are two ways to the Ferr}^, 
 here forking — the long lane and the shorter 
 footpath. Which is she to take? The 
 path leads down along the side of the 
 orchard ; and across the brook by the bridge 
 — only a single plank. This spanning the 
 stream, and originally fixed to the rock at 
 both ends, has of late come loose, and is 
 not safe to be traversed, even by day. At 
 night it is dangerous — still more on one 
 dark as this. And danger of no common'
 
 A CAT IN THE CUPBOARD. 249* 
 
 kind at any time. The channel through 
 which the streams runs is twenty feet deep, 
 with rough boulders in its bed. One fall- 
 ing from above would at least get broken 
 bones. No fear of that to-night, but some- 
 thing as bad, if not worse. For it has been 
 raining throughout the earlier hours of the 
 day, and there in the brook, now a raging 
 torrent. One dropping into it would be 
 swept on to the river, and there surely 
 drowned, if not before. 
 
 It is no dread of any of these dangers 
 which causes Mary Morgan to stand con- 
 sidering which route she will take. She 
 has stepped that plank on nights dark as 
 this, even since it became detached from the 
 fastenings, and is well acquainted with its. 
 ways. Were there nought else, she would 
 go straight over it, and along the footpath^ 
 which passes the 'big elm.' But it is just 
 because it passes the elm she has now paused 
 and is pondering. Her errand calls for 
 haste, and there she would meet a man sure 
 to delay her. She intends meeting him for 
 all that, and being delayed ; but not till on
 
 250 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 her way back. Considering the darkness 
 and obstructions on the footwalk she may 
 go quicker by the road though roundabout. 
 Returning she can take the path. 
 
 This thought in her mind, with, perhaps, 
 remembrance of the adage, * business be- 
 fore pleasure,* decides her; and drawing 
 closer her cloak, she sets off along the lane.
 
 CHAPTEE XIX. 
 
 A BLACK SHADOW BEHIND. 
 
 In the shire of Hereford there is no such 
 thing as a village — properly so called. The 
 tourist expecting to come upon one, by the 
 black dot on his guide-book map, will fail 
 to find it. Indeed, he will see only a church 
 with a congregation, not the typical cluster 
 of houses around. But no street, nor rows 
 of cottages, in their midst — the orthodox 
 patch of trodden turf — the " green." Noth- 
 ing of all that. 
 
 Unsatisfied, and inquiring the where- 
 abouts of the village itself, he will get 
 answers, only farther confusing him. One 
 ■will say " here be it," pointing to no place in 
 particular ; a second, " thear," with his eye 
 upon the church ; a third, " over yonner," 
 nodding to a shop of miscellaneous wares, 
 also intrusted with the receiving and dis-
 
 252 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 tributing of letters ; while a fourth, whose 
 ideas run on drink, looks to a house larger 
 than the rest, having a square pictorial 
 signboard, with red lion rampant, io^passant, 
 horse's head, or such like symbol — pro- 
 claiming it an inn, or public. 
 
 Not far from, or contiguous to, the 
 church, will be a dwelling-house of special 
 pretension, having a carriage entrance, 
 sweep, and shrubbery of well-grown ever- 
 greens — the rectory, or vicarage ; at greater 
 distance, two or three cottages of superior 
 class, by their owners styled " villas," in one 
 of which dwells the doctor, a young Escu- 
 lapius, just beginning practice, or an old 
 one who has never had much ; in another, 
 the relict of a successful shopkeeper left with 
 an " independence \' while a third will be 
 occupied by a retired military man — " cap- 
 tain," of course, whatever may have been his 
 rank — possibly a naval officer, or an old salt 
 of the merchant service. In their proper 
 places stand the carpenter's shop and 
 smithy, with their array of reapers, rollers^ 
 ploughs, and harrows seeking repair ;
 
 A BLACK SHADOW BEHIND. 253 
 
 among tliem perhaps a huge steam-thresh- 
 ing machine, that has burst its boiler, or 
 received other damage. Then there are the 
 houses of the oi polloi, mostly labouring 
 men — their little cottages wide apart, or in 
 twos and threes together, with no resem- 
 blance to the formality of town dwellings, 
 but quaint in structure, ivy-clad or honey- 
 suckled, looking and smelling of the country. 
 Farther along the road is an ancient farm- 
 stead, its big barns, and other out-buildings, 
 abutting on the highway, which for some 
 distance is strewn with a litter of rotting 
 straw ; by its side a muddy pond with ducks 
 and a half-dozen geese, the gander giving 
 tongue as the tourist passes by ; if a pedes- 
 trian with knapsack on his shoulders the 
 dog barking at him, in the belief he is a 
 tramp or beggar. Such is the Herefordshire 
 village, of which many like may be met 
 along Wyeside. 
 
 The collection of houses known as Eugg's 
 Ferry is in some respects different. It does 
 not lie on any of the main county thorough- 
 fares, but a cross-country road 'connecting
 
 254 GWEN WYNX. 
 
 the two, that lead along the bounding 
 ridges of the river. That passing through 
 it is but little frequented, as the ferry itself 
 is only for foot passengers, though there is 
 a horse boat which can be had when called 
 for. But the place is in a deep crater-like 
 hollow, where the stream courses between 
 cliffs of the old red sandstone, and can only 
 be approached by the steepest " pitches." 
 
 Nevertheless, Eugg's Ferry has its mark 
 upon the Ordnance map, though not with 
 the little crosslet denoting a church. It 
 could boast of no place of worship whatever 
 till Father Eogier laid the foundation of his 
 chapel. 
 
 For all, it has once been a brisk place in 
 its days of glory ; ere the railroad destroyed 
 the river traffic, and the bargees made it a 
 stopping port, as often the scene of rude, 
 noisy revelry. 
 
 It is quieter now, and the tourist passing 
 through might deem it almost deserted. He 
 will see houses of varied construction — 
 thirty or forty of them in all — clinging 
 against the cliff in successive terraces.
 
 A BLACK SHADOW BEHIND. 255 
 
 reached by long rows of steps carved out 
 of the rock ; cottages picturesque as Swiss 
 chalets, with little gardens on ledges, here 
 and there one trellised with grape vines or 
 other climbers, and a round cone-topped 
 cage of wicker holding captive a jackdaw, 
 magpie, or it may be parrot or starling 
 taught to speak. 
 
 Viewing these symbols of innocence, the 
 stranger will imagine himself to have 
 lighted upon a sort of English Arcadia — a 
 fancy soon to be dissipated perhaps by the 
 parrot or starling saluting him with the 
 exclamatory phrases, ' Grod-damn-ye ! go to 
 the devil 1 — go to the devil 1 ' And while 
 he is pondering on what sort of personage 
 could have instructed the creature in such 
 profanity, he will likely enough see the 
 instructor himself peering out through a 
 partially opened door, his face in startling 
 correspondence with the blasphemous excla- 
 mations of the bird. For there are other 
 birds resident at Rugg's Terry besides those 
 in the cages — several who have themselves 
 been caged in the county g; :1. The slightly
 
 256 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 altered name bestowed upon the place by 
 Jack Wingate, as others, is not so inappro- 
 priate. 
 
 It may seem strange such characters con- 
 gregating in a spot so primitive and rural, 
 so unlike their customary haunts ; incon- 
 gruous as the ex-belle of Mabille in her 
 high-heeled hottines inhabiting the ancient 
 manor-house of Glyngog. 
 
 But more of an enigma — indeed, a moral, 
 or psychological puzzle; since one would 
 suppose it the very last place to find them 
 in. And yet the explanation may partly lie 
 in moral and psychological causes. Even 
 the most hardened rogue has his spells of 
 sentiment, during which he takes delight in 
 rusticity; and as the "Ferry" has long 
 •enjoyed the reputation of being a place of 
 ^bode for him and his sort, he is there sure 
 of meeting company congenial. Or the 
 scent after him may have become too hot in 
 the town, or city, w^here he has been dis- 
 pla3dng his dexterity ; while here the 
 policeman is not a power. The one con- 
 stable of the district station dislikes tak-
 
 A BLACK SHADOW BEHIND. 257 
 
 ing, and ratlier steals through it on his 
 rounds. 
 
 Notwithstanding all this, there are some 
 respectable people among its denizens, and 
 many visitors who are gentlemen. Its 
 quaint picturesqueness attracts the tourist ; 
 while a stretch of excellent angling ground, 
 above and below, makes it a favourite with 
 amateur fishermen. 
 
 Centrally on a platform of level ground, 
 a little back from the river's bank, stands a 
 large three- story house — the village inn — 
 with a swing sign in front, upon which is 
 painted w^hat resembles a triangular grid- 
 iron, though designed to represent a harp. 
 From this the hostelry has its name — the 
 " Welsh Harp ! " Bu-t however rough the 
 limning, and weather-blanched the board — 
 however ancient the building itself — in its 
 business there are no indications of decay, 
 and it still does a thriving trade. Gruests 
 of the excursionist kind occasionally dine 
 there; w^hile in the angling se^ison, j)iscator 
 stays at it all through spring and summer; 
 and if a keen disciple of Izaak, or an ardent 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 GTVEN WYXN. 
 
 admirer of the Wye scenery, often prolong- 
 ing his sojourn into late autumn. Besides, 
 from towns not too distant, the sporting 
 tradesmen and fast clerks, after early closing 
 on Saturdays, come hither, and remain over 
 till Monday, for the first train catchable at 
 a station some two miles off. 
 
 The '' Welsh Harp " can provide beds for 
 all, and sitting rooms besides. For it is a 
 roomy caravanserai, and if a little rough in 
 its culinary arrangements, has a cellar unex- 
 ce2:)tionable. Among those who taste its 
 tap are many who know good wine from 
 bad, with others who only judge of the 
 quality by the price ; and in accordance 
 with this criterion the Boniface of the 
 " Harp '' can give them the very best. 
 
 It is a Saturday night, and two of those 
 last described connoisseurs, lately arrived at 
 the Wyeside hostelry, are standing before 
 its bar counter, drinking rhubarb sap, which 
 they facetiously call " fizz," and believe to 
 be champagne. As it costs them ten shil- 
 lings the bottle they are justified in their 
 belief; and quite as w^ell will it serve their
 
 A BLACK SHADOW BEHIND. 259 
 
 purpose. They are young drapers' assist- 
 ants from a large manufacturing to^vn, out 
 for their hebdomadal holiday, which they 
 have elected to spend in an excursion to the 
 Wye, and a frolic at Eagg's Ferry. 
 
 They have had an afternoon s boating on 
 the river ; and, now returned to the " Harp " 
 — their place of put-up — are flush of talk 
 over their adventures, quaffing the sham 
 "shammy," and smoking "regalias,"' not 
 anything more genuine. 
 
 While thus indulging they are startled 
 by the apparition of what seems an angel, 
 but what they know to be a thing of flesh 
 and blood — something that pleases them 
 better — a beautiful woman. More correctly 
 speaking a girl ; since it is Mary Morgan 
 who has stepped inside the room set apart 
 for the distributing: of drink. 
 
 Taking the cigars from between their 
 teeth — and leaving the rhubarb juice, just 
 poured into their glasses, to discharge its 
 pent-up gas — they stand staring at the girl, 
 with an impertinence rather due to the drink 
 than any innate rudeness. They are harm-
 
 260 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 less fellows in their way ; would be quiefc 
 enough behind their own counters ; though 
 fast before that of the " Welsh Harp," and 
 foolish with such a face as that of Mary 
 Morgan beside them.. 
 
 She gives them scant time to gaze on it. 
 Her business is simple, and speedily trans- 
 acted. 
 
 " A bottle of your best brandy — the 
 French cognac ? " As she makes the 
 demand, placing ten shillings, the price 
 understood, upon the lead-covered counter. 
 
 The barmaid, a practised hand, quickly 
 takes the article called for from a shelf 
 behind, and passes it across the counter, and 
 with like alertness counting the shillings 
 laid upon it, and sweeping them into the till. 
 
 It is all over in a few seconds' time ; and 
 with equal celerity Mary Morgan, slipping 
 the purchased commodity into her cloak, 
 glides out of the room — vision-like as she 
 entered it. 
 
 "Who is that young lady ? " asks one of 
 the champagne drinkers, interrogating the 
 barmaid.
 
 A BLACK SHADOW BEHIND. 261 
 
 " Young lady ! " tartly returns the latter, 
 with a flourish of her heavily chignoned 
 head, " only a farmer's daughter." 
 
 " Aw ! " exclaims the second tippler, in 
 drawling imitation of Swelldom, " only the 
 offspring of a chaw-bacon ! she's a mon- 
 strously crummy creetya, anyhow." 
 
 " Devilish nice gal ! " affirms the other, 
 no longer addressing himself to the barmaid, 
 who has scornfully shown them the back of 
 her head, with its tower of twisted jute. 
 *' Devilish nice gal, indeed ! Never saw 
 spicier stand before a counter. What a 
 dainty little fish for a farmer's daughter ! 
 Say, Charley ! wouldn't you like to be 
 sellin' her a pair of kids — Jouvin's best — 
 helpin' her draw them on, eh ? " 
 
 " By Jove, yes ! That would I." 
 
 " Perhaps you'd prefer it being boots ? 
 What a stepper she is, too ! S'pose we slide 
 after, and see where she hangs out ? " 
 
 " Capital idea ! Suppose we do ? " 
 
 '' All right, old fellow ! I'm ready with 
 the yard stick — roll off! " 
 
 And without further exchan2:e of their
 
 262 GWEN WYITN. 
 
 professional phraseology, they rnsh out, 
 leaving their glasses half full of the effer- 
 vescing beverage — rapidly on the spoil. 
 
 They have sallied forth to meet disap- 
 pointment. The night is black as Erebus, 
 and the girl gone out of sight. Nor can 
 they tell which way she has taken ; and to 
 inquire might get them '' guyed," if not 
 worse. Besides, they see no one of whom 
 inquiry could be made. A dark shadow 
 passes them, apparently the figure of a 
 man ; but so dimly descried, and going in 
 such rapid gait, they refrain from hailing 
 him. 
 
 Not likely they will see more of the 
 "monstrously crummy creetya" that night — 
 they may on the morrow somewhere — per- 
 haps at the little chapel close by. 
 
 Resristerino: a mental vow to do their 
 devotions there, and recalling the bottle of 
 fizz left uncorked on the counter they return 
 to finish it. 
 
 And they drain it dry, gulping down 
 several goes of B.-and-S., besides, ere ceas- 
 ing to think of the " devilish nice gal," on
 
 A BLACK SHADOW BEHIND. 263 
 
 whose dainty little fist they would so like 
 fitting kid gloves. 
 
 Meanwhile, she, who has so much inter- 
 ested the dry goods gentlemen, is making 
 her way along the road which leads past the 
 Widow Wingate's cottage, going at a rapid 
 pace, but not continuously. At intervals 
 she makes stops, and stands listening — her 
 glances sent interrogatively to the front. 
 She acts as one expecting to hear footsteps, 
 or a voice in friendly salutation — and see 
 him saluting, for it is a man. 
 
 Footsteps are there besides her own, but 
 not heard by her, nor in the direction she 
 is hoping to hear them. Instead, they are 
 behind, and light, though made by a heavy 
 man. For he is treading gingerly as if on 
 eggs — evidently desirous not to make known 
 his proximity. Near he is, and were the 
 light only a little clearer she would surely 
 see him. Favoured by its darkness he can 
 follow close, aided also by the shadowing 
 trees, and still further from her attention 
 being all given to the ground in advance, 
 with thoughts pre-occupied.
 
 264 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 But closely be follows her, but never 
 coming up. Wben sbe stops be does the 
 same, moving on again as sbe moves for- 
 ward. And so for several pauses, witb spells 
 of brisk walkiui^ between. 
 
 Opposite tbe Wingates' cottage sbe tar- 
 ries longer tban elsewbere. Tbere was a 
 woman standing in tbe door, who, bowever, 
 does not observe ber — cannot — a bedge of 
 holly between. Cautiously parting its spi- 
 nous leaves and peering through, the young 
 girl takes a survey, not of tbe woman, whom 
 sbe well knows, but of a window — tbe only 
 one in which there is a light. And less tbe 
 window tban tbe walls inside. On her way 
 to the Ferry sbe bad stopped to do the same; 
 then seeing shadows — two of them — one a 
 w^oman's, the other of a man. Tbe woman 
 is therein tbe door — Mrs. Wingate herself; 
 tbe man, her son, must be elsewbere. 
 
 " Under the elm, by this," says Mary 
 Morgan, in soliloquy. ''I'll find him 
 tbere" — sbe adds, silently gliding past the 
 gate. 
 
 " Under tbe elm," mutters the man w^bo
 
 A BLACK SHADOW BEHIND. 265 
 
 follows, adding, "I'll kill lier there — ay, 
 both!" 
 
 Two hundred ^^ards further on, and she 
 reaches the place where the footpath de- 
 bouches upon the road. There is a stile of 
 the usual rough crossbar pattern, proclaim- 
 ing a right of way. 
 
 She stops only to see there is no one sit- 
 ting upon it — for there might have been — 
 then leaping lightly over, she proceeds along 
 the path. 
 
 The shadow behind does the same, as 
 though it were a spectre pursuing. 
 
 And now, in the deeper darkness of the 
 narrow way, arcaded over by a thick canopy 
 of leaves, he goes closer and closer, almost 
 to touching. Were a light at this moment 
 let upon his face, it would reveal features 
 set in an expi-ession worthy of hell itself; 
 and cast farther down, would show a hand 
 closed upon the haft of a long-bladed knife 
 — nervously clutching — every now and then 
 half drawing it from its sheath, as if to 
 plunge its blade into the back of her who 
 is now scarce six steps ahead !
 
 266 GWEN WTNN. 
 
 And with this dread danger threatening 
 — so close — Mary Morgan proceeds along 
 the forest path, unsuspectingly : joyfully, 
 as she thinks of who is before, with no 
 thought of that behind — no one to cry out, 
 or even whisper, the word : " Beware ! "
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 UNDER THE ELM. 
 
 Ts more ways than one has Jack Wingate 
 thrown dust in his mother's eyes. His 
 going to the Ferry after a piece of whip- 
 cord and a bit of pitch was fib the first ; 
 the second his not going there at all — for 
 he has not. Instead, in the very opposite 
 direction ; soon as reaching the road, having 
 turned his face towards Abergann, though 
 his objective point is but the " big elm.'' 
 Once outside the gate he glides along the 
 holly hedge crouchingly, and with head 
 ducked, so that it may not be seen by 
 the good dame, who has followed him to 
 the door. 
 
 The darkness favouring him, it is not ; 
 and congratula*fcing himself at getting off 
 thus deftly, he continues rapidly up the 
 road.
 
 268 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 Arrived at the stile, he makes stop, say- 
 ing in soliloquy : — 
 
 " I take it she be sure to come ; but I'd 
 gi'e something to know which o' the two 
 ways. Bein' so darkish, an' that plank a 
 bit dangerous to cross, I ha' heard — 'tan't 
 often I cross it — ^just possible she may 
 choose the roundabout o' the road. Still, 
 she sayed the big elm, an' to get there 
 i^he'll have to take the path comin' or goin' 
 back. If I thought comin' I'd steer 
 straisfht there an' meet her. But s'posin' 
 she prefers the road, that 'ud make it 
 longer to wait. Wonder which it's to 
 be." 
 
 With hand rested on the top rail of the 
 stile, he stands considering. Since their 
 stolen interchange of speech at the Harvest 
 Home, Mciry has managed to send him 
 word she will make an errand to Eugg's 
 Ferry ; hence his uncertainty. Soon again 
 lie resumes his conjectured soliloquy : — 
 
 "'Tan't possible she ha' been to the 
 Ferry, an' goed back again ? God help me, 
 I liope not ! An' yet there's just a chance.
 
 UNDER THE ELM. 269 
 
 I weesli the Captain hadn't kep* me so long 
 down there. An' the fresh from the rain 
 that delayed ns nigh half a hour, I 
 oughtn't to a stayed a minute after gettin' 
 home. But mother cookin' that nice bit o' 
 steak ; if I hadn't ate it she'd a been angry, 
 and for certain suspected somethin'. Then 
 listen in' to all that dismal stuff 'bout the 
 corpse-candle. An' they believe it in the 
 shire o' Pembroke ! Eot the thino: ! Tho' 
 I an't myself noways superstishus, it gi'ed 
 me the creeps. Queer, her dreamin' she 
 seed it go out o' Abergann ! I do weesh 
 she hadn't told me that ; an' I mustn't say 
 word o't to Mary. Tho' she ain't o' the 
 fearsome kind, a thing like that's enough 
 to frighten any^one. Well, what 'd I best 
 do ? If she ha' been to the Ferry an's 
 goed home again, then I've missed her, 
 and no mistake ! Still, she said she'd be 
 at the elim, an's never broke her promise 
 to me when she cud keep it. A man ought 
 to take a woman at her word — a true 
 vroman — an' not be too quick to antici- 
 pate. Besides, the surer way's the safer.
 
 270 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 Slie appointed the old place, an' there I'll 
 abide her. But what am I thinkin' 
 o' ? She may be there now, a waitin' for 
 me ! 
 
 He doesn't stay by the stile one instant 
 longer, but, vaulting over it, strikes off 
 along the path. 
 
 Despite the obscurity of the night, the 
 narrowness of the track, and the branches 
 obstructing, he proceeds with celerity. 
 With that part he is familiar — knows every 
 inch of it, well as the way from his door to 
 the place where he docks his boat — at least 
 so far as the big elm, under whose spread- 
 ing branches he and she have oft clandes- 
 tinely met. It is an ancient patriarch of 
 the forest ; its timber is honeycombed 
 with decay, not having tempted the axe by 
 whose stroke its fellows have long ago 
 fallen, and it now stands amid their progeny, 
 towering over all. It is a few paces dis- 
 tant from the footpath, screened from it by 
 a thicket of hollies interposed between, and 
 extending around. From its huge hollow 
 trunk a buttress, horizontally projected,
 
 UNDER THE ELM. 271 
 
 affords a convenient seat for two, making 
 it the very beau ideal of a try sting- tree. 
 
 Having got up and under it, Jack Win- 
 gate is a little disappointed — almost vexed 
 — at not finding his sweetheart there. He 
 calls her name — in the hope she may be 
 among the hollies — at first cautiously and 
 in a low voice, then louder. No reply ; 
 she has either not been, or has and is 
 gone. 
 
 As the latter appears probable enough, 
 he once more blames Captain E,yecroft, the 
 rain, the river flood, the beefsteak — above 
 all, that long yarn about the \canioyll corph, 
 muttering anathemas against the ghostl}^ 
 superstition. 
 
 Still she may come yet. It may be but 
 the darkness that's delaying her. Besides, 
 she is not likely to have the fixing of her 
 time. She said she would ''find a way;" 
 and having the will — as he believes — he 
 flatters himself she will find it, despite all 
 obstructions. 
 
 With confidence thus restored, he ceases 
 to pace about impatiently, as he has been
 
 272 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 doing ever since liis arrival at the tree ; 
 and, taking a seat on the buttress, sits 
 listening with all ears. His eyes are of 
 little use in the Cimmerian gloom. He can 
 barely make out the forms of the holly 
 bushes, though they are almost within reach 
 of his liand. 
 
 But his ears are reliable, sharpened by 
 love ; and, ere long they convey a sound, 
 to him sweeter than any other ever heard 
 in that wood — even the songs of its birds. 
 It is a swishing, as of leaves softly brushed 
 by the skirts of a woman's dress — which it 
 is. He needs no telling who comes. A 
 subtle electricit}^ seeming to precede, warns 
 him of Mary Morgan's presence, as though 
 she were already by his side. 
 
 All doubts and conjectures at an end, he 
 starts to his feet, and steps out to meet her. 
 Soon as on the path he sees a cloaked figure, 
 drawing nigh with a grace of movement 
 distinguishable even in the dim glimmering 
 light. 
 
 "That you, Mary?" 
 
 A question mechanical ; no answer ex-
 
 UNDER THE ELM. 273 
 
 pected or waited for. Before any could be 
 given she is in his arms, her lips hindered 
 from words by a shower of kisses. 
 
 Thus having saluted, he takes her hand 
 and leads her among the hollies. Not 
 from precaution, or fear of being intruded 
 upon. Few besides the farm people of 
 Abergann use the right-of-way path, and 
 unlikely any of them being on it at that 
 hour. It is only from habit they retire to 
 the more secluded spot under the elm, 
 hallowed to them by many a sweet remem- 
 brance. 
 
 They sit down side by side ; and close, 
 for his arm is around her waist. How un- 
 like the lovers in the painted pavilion at 
 Llangorren ! Here there is neither con- 
 cealment of thought nor restraint of speech 
 — no time given to circumlocution — none 
 wasted in silence. There is none to spare, 
 as she has told him at the moment of 
 meeting. 
 
 "It's kind o' you comin', Mary," he 
 says, as soon as they are seated. " I knew 
 ye would." 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 " Jack ! What a work I had to get 
 out — the trick I've played mother ! You'll 
 laugh when you hear it." 
 
 " Let's hear it, darling ! " 
 
 She relates the catastrophe of the cup- 
 hoard, at which he does laugh heyond 
 measure, and with a sense of gratification. 
 Six shillings thrown away — spilled upon 
 the floor — and all for him ! Where is the 
 man who would not feel flattered, gratified, 
 to he the shrine of such sacrifice, and from 
 such a worshipper ? 
 
 " You've been to the Ferry, then ? " 
 
 " You see," she says, holding up the 
 bottle. 
 
 " I weesh I'd known that. I could a 
 met ye on the road, and we'd had more 
 time to be thegither. It's too bad, you 
 havin' to go straight back." 
 
 "It is. But there's no help for it. 
 Father Eogier will be there before this, and 
 mother mad impatient." 
 
 Were in light she would see his brow 
 darken at mention of the priest's name. 
 She does not, nor does he give expression
 
 UNDER THE ELM. 275 
 
 to the thoughts it has called up. In his 
 heart lie curses the Jesuit — often has with 
 his tongue, hut not now. He is too 
 delicate to outrage her religious suscepti- 
 bilities. Still he cannot be altogether 
 silent on a theme so much concerning 
 both. 
 
 " Mary dear ! " he rejoins in grave, serious 
 tone, " I don't want to say a word against 
 Father Eogier, seein how much he be your 
 mother's friend; or, to speak more truthful, 
 her favourite; for I don't believe he's 
 the friend o' anybody. Sartinly, not 
 mine, nor yours ; and I've got it on my 
 mind that man will some day make mischief 
 between us." 
 
 " How can he, Jack ? " 
 
 " Ah, how ! A many ways. One, his 
 sayin' ugly things about me to your mother 
 — tellin' her tales that ain't true." 
 
 " Let him — as many as he Hkes ; you 
 don't suppose I'll believe them? " 
 
 "No, I don't, darling— 'deed I don't." 
 
 A snatched kiss affirms the sincerity of 
 his words ; hers as well, in her lips not
 
 276 GWEN WTNN. 
 
 being drawn back, but meeting him half- 
 way. 
 
 For a short time there is silence. With 
 that sweet exchange thrilling their hearts it 
 is natural. 
 
 He is the first to resume speech ; and 
 from a thought the kiss has suggested : — 
 
 " I know there be a good many who'd 
 give their lives to get the like o' that from 
 your lips, Mary. A soft word, or only a 
 smile. IVe heerd talk o' several. But 
 one's spoke of, in particular, as bein' special 
 favourite by your mother, and backed up by 
 tlie French priest." 
 
 ''Who?" 
 
 She ]ias an idea who — indeed knows ; 
 and the question is only asked to give 
 opportunity of denial. 
 
 " I dislike mentionin' his name. To 
 me it seems like insultin' ye. The very 
 idea o' Dick Dempsey " 
 
 " You needn't say more," she exclaims, in- 
 terrupting him. "I know what you mean. 
 But you surely don't suppose I could think of 
 him as a sweetheart ? That would insult me.'
 
 UNDER THE ELM. 277 
 
 " I hope it would ; pleezed to hear you 
 say't. For all, he thinks o' you, Mary; 
 not only in the way o' sweetheart, but " 
 
 He hesitates. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " I won't say the word. 'Tain't fit to be 
 spoke — about him an' you." 
 
 " If you mean wife — as I suppose you 
 do — listen ! Eather than have Eichard 
 Dempsey for a husband, I'd die — go down 
 to the river and drown myself! That 
 horrid wretch ! I hate him ! " 
 
 " I'm glad to hear you talk that way — 
 right glad." 
 
 " But why. Jack ? You know it couldn't 
 be otherwise ! You should — after all that's 
 passed. Heaven be my witness ! you I 
 love, and you alone. You only shall ever 
 call me wife. If not — then nobody ! " 
 
 " Grod bless ye ! " he exclaims in answer 
 to her impassioned speech. " God bless 
 you, darling ! " in the fervour of his grati- 
 tude flinging his arms around, drawing her 
 to his bosom, and showering upon her lips 
 an avalanche of kisses.
 
 278 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 "With thoughts absorbed [in the dehrium 
 of love, their souls for a time surrendered 
 to it, they hear not a rustling among the 
 late fallen leaves ; or, if hearing, supposed 
 it to proceed from bird or beast — the flight 
 of an owl, with wings touching the twigs ; 
 or a fox quartering the cover in search of 
 prey. Still less do they see a form skulking 
 among the hollies, black and boding as their 
 shadows. 
 
 Yet such there is ; the figure of a man, 
 but with face more like that of demon — for 
 it is he whose name has just been upon 
 their lips. He has overheard all they have 
 said ; every word an added torture, every 
 phrase sending hell to his heart. And now, 
 with jealousy in its last dire throe, every 
 remnant of hope extinguished — cruelly 
 crushed out — he stands, after all, unresolved 
 how to act. Trembling, too ; for he is at 
 bottom a coward. He might rush at them 
 and kill both — cut them to pieces with the 
 knife he is holding in his hand. But if 
 only one, and that her, what of himself! 
 He has an instinctive fear of Jack Win gate.
 
 UNDER THE ELM. 279 
 
 who has more than once taught him a sub- 
 duing lesson. 
 
 That experience stands the young water- 
 man in stead now, in all likelihood saving 
 his life. For at this moment the moon, 
 rising, flings a faint light through the 
 branches of the trees ; and like some 
 ravenous nocturnal prowler that dreads the 
 light of day, Eichard Dempsey pushes his 
 knife-blade back into its sheath, slips out 
 from among the hollies, and altogether 
 away from the spot. 
 
 But not to go back to Eugg's Ferry, nor 
 to his own home. Well for Mary Morgan 
 if he had. 
 
 By the same glimpse of silvery light 
 warned as to the time, she knows she must 
 needs hasten away; as her lover, that he 
 can no longer detain her. The farewell kiss, 
 so sweet yet painful, but makes their part- 
 ing more difficult ; and, not till after re- 
 peating it over and over, do they tear 
 themselves asunder — he standing to look 
 af|-er, she moving off along the woodland 
 path, as nymph or sylphide, with no
 
 280 GWEN WYNN. 
 
 suspicion that a satyr has preceded her 
 and is waiting not far 'off, with foul fell 
 intent — no less than the taking of her 
 life. 
 
 END 0¥ VOL. I. 
 
 Woodfall <k Kinder, Printers, Milford Lane, Strand, London, W.C.
 
 UN/VERSfTY 
 
 I'iSS-URBAN? 
 
 10112 osaoTS'l 
 
 III