een torn and rent by the
struggles after land and power, and how our own kinsman, Meredith ap
Res, is toying with Edward, and striving to take from us the lands we
hold yet -- so greatly diminished from the old portion claimed by the
lords of Dynevor -- we cannot call the English our only or even our
greatest foes. Ah, if Wales would but throw aside all her petty feuds,
and join as brothers fighting shoulder to shoulder for her independence,
then might there be some hope! But now --"

Griffeth was looking with wide-open, wondering eyes into his brother's
face. He loved and reverenced Wendot in a fashion that was remarkable,
seeing that the elder brother was but two years and a half his senior.
But Wendot had always been grave and thoughtful beyond his years, and
had been taken much into the counsels of his parents, so that questions
which were almost new to the younger lad had been thought much of by the
eldest, the heir of the house of Dynevor.

"Why, brother, thou talkest like a veritable monk for learning," he
said. "I knew not thou hadst the gift of such eloquent speech. Methought
it was the duty of every free-born son of Wales to hate the English tyrant."

"Ay, and so I do when I think of his monstrous claims," cried Wendot
with flashing eyes. "Who is the King of England that he should lay claim
to our lands, our homage, our submission? My blood boils in my veins
when I think of things thus. And yet there are moments when it seems the
lesser ill to yield such homage to one whom the world praises as
statesman and soldier, than to see our land torn and distracted by petty
feuds, and split up into a hundred hostile factions. But let us not talk
further of this; it cuts me to the heart to think of it. Tell me more of
these same travellers. How did our parents receive them? And how long
purpose they to stay?"

"Nay, that I have not heard. I was away over yon fell with Gelert when I
saw the company approach the castle, and ere I could find entrance the
strangers had been received and welcomed. The father of the maiden is an
English earl, Lord Montacute they call him. He is tall and soldier-like,
with an air of command like unto our father's. The damsel is a
fair-faced maiden, who scarce opens her lips; but she keeps close to our
mother's side, and seems loath to leave her for a moment. I heard her
father say that she had no mother of her own. Her name, they say, is
Lady Gertrude."

"A damsel at Dynevor," said Wendot