ared to emulate. Richard saw that in a fashion Gwyllem was
superb. "And heigho!" said Richard, "I am attestedly a greater fool
than he, but I begin to weary of a folly so thin-blooded."

The next morning came a ragged man, riding upon a mule. He declared
himself a tinker. He chatted out an hour with Richard, who perfectly
recognized him as Sir Walter Blount; and then this tinker crossed over
into England.

Richard whistled. "Now my cousin will be quite sure, and now my
anxious cousin will come to speak with Richard of Bordeaux. And now,
by every saint in the calendar! I am as good as King of England."

He sat down beneath a young oak and twisted four or five blades of
grass between his fingers while he meditated. Undoubtedly he would
kill this squinting Henry of Lancaster with a clear conscience and
even with a certain relish, much as one crushes the uglier sort of
vermin, but, hand upon heart, Richard was unable to avow any
particularly ardent desire for the scoundrel's death. Thus crudely to
demolish the knave's adroit and year-long schemings savored actually
of grossness. The spider was venomous, and his destruction laudable;
granted, but in crushing him you ruined his web, a miracle of patient
machination, which, despite yourself, compelled hearty admiring and
envy. True, the process would recrown a certain Richard, but then, as
Richard recalled it, being King was rather tedious. Richard was not
now quite sure that he wanted to be King, and, in consequence, be
daily plagued by a host of vexatious and ever-squabbling barons. "I
shall miss the little huzzy, too," he thought.

"Heigho!" said Richard, "I shall console myself with purchasing all
beautiful things that can be touched and handled. Life is a flimsy
vapor which passes and is not any more: presently Branwen will be
married to this Gwyllem and will be grown fat and old, and I shall be
remarried to little Dame Isabel, and shall be King of England: and a
trifle later all four of us shall be dead. Pending this deplorable
consummation a wise man will endeavor to amuse himself."

Next day he despatched Caradawc to Owain Glyndwyr to bid the latter
send the promised implements to Caer Idion. Richard, returning to the
hut the same evening, found Alundyne there, alone, and grovelling at
the threshold. Her forehead was bloodied when she raised it and
through tearless sobs told of what had happened. A half-hour earlier,
while she and Branwen were intent upon their mi