ace of bards, the little maiden was herself sleeping
soundly and peacefully within a small inner closet, close to the room
where Gladys, the lady of the castle, reposed; and with the earliest
streak of dawn, when the child opened her eyes upon the strange bare
walls of the Welsh stronghold, the first thing that met her eyes was the
sweet and gentle face of the chatelaine bending tenderly over her.

Although the present lady of Dynevor was the sister of the bold and
fierce Llewelyn, Prince of North Wales, who gave more trouble to the
King of England than did anybody else, she was herself of a gentle and
thoughtful disposition, more inclined to advocate peace than war, and
more far-seeing, temperate, and well-informed than most persons of her
time, and especially than the women, who for the most part had but very
vague ideas as to what was going on in the country.

She had had many thoughts herself during the still hours of this summer
night, and when she bent over the sleeping child and wakened her by a
kiss, she felt a strange tenderness towards her, which seemed to be
reciprocated by the little one, who suddenly flung her arms about her
neck and kissed her passionately.

"Is my father gone?" she asked, recollection coming back.

"Not gone, but going soon," answered the Lady of Dynevor, smiling; "that
is why I have come to waken thee early, little Gertrude, that thou
mayest receive his farewell kiss and see him ride away. Thou wilt not be
grieved to be left with us for a while, little one? Thou wilt not pine
in his absence?"

"Not if I have you to take care of me," answered the child confidingly
-- "you and Wendot and Griffeth. I am weary of always travelling on
rough roads. I will gladly stay here a while with you."

There was the bustle of preparation going on in the hall when the lady
descended with the child hanging on to her hand. Gertrude broke away and
ran to her father, who was sitting at the board, with Wendot standing
beside him listening eagerly to his talk. The boy's handsome face was
alight, and he seemed full of eager interest in what was being said.
Lord Montacute frequently raised his head and gave the lad a look of
keen scrutiny. Even whilst caressing his little daughter his interest
seemed to be centred in Wendot, and when at parting the lad held his
stirrup for him, and gently restrained little Gertrude, who was in
danger of being trampled on by the pawing charger, Lord Montacute looked
for a mo