ears of peace have given thee opportunity to enrich and beautify.
Let the king once hear that we have rebelled, and his nobles will claim
thy lands, thy life, thy liberty, and thou must either yield all in
ignominious flight or take up arms to defend thyself and thine own. I
trow that no son of Res Vychan will stand calmly by to see himself thus
despoiled; and if thou must fight, fight now, forestall the foe, and
come out sword in hand at thy country's call, and let us fight shoulder
to shoulder and hand to hand, as our forefathers have done before us.
Thou knowest somewhat of English rule, now that thou hast lived beneath
it these past years. Say, wilt thou still keep thy neck beneath the
yoke, or wilt thou do battle like a warrior for liberty and
independence? By our act thou art lost -- yet not even that thought can
hold us back -- then why not stand or fall as a soldier, sword in hand,
than be trapped like a rat in a hole in inglorious inaction? For
methinks whatever else betided thou wouldst not raise thy hand against
thy countrymen, even if thy feudal lord should demand it of thee."

"Never!" cried Wendot fiercely, and his quick mind revolved the
situation thus thrust upon him whilst Howel was yet speaking.

He saw at once that a course of neutrality would be impossible to him.
Fight he must, either as Edward's vassal or his foe. The first was
impossible; the second was fraught with a keen joy and secret sense of
exultation. It was true what Howel said: he would be held responsible
for his brothers' revolt. The English harpies would make every endeavour
to poison the king's mind, so that they might wrest from him his
inheritance. He would be required to take up arms against his brothers,
and his refusal to do so would be his death warrant. Disgrace and ruin
lay before him should he abide by such a course. The other promised at
least glory and renown, and perhaps a soldier's death, or, better still,
the independence of his country -- the final throwing off of the
tyrant's yoke.

His heart swelled within him; his eyes shone with a strange fire. Only
one thought checked the immediate utterance of his decision, and that
was the vision of a pair of dark soft eyes, and a child's face in which
something of dawning womanhood was visible, smiling upon him in complete
and loving trust.

Yes, Wendot had not forgotten Gertrude; but time had done its work, and
the image of the fair face was somewhat dim and hazy. He yet wor