parting make her sorrowful--or not, at least, too unalterably
sorrowful. It is very well that Branwen does not love me.

"How should she? I am almost twice her age, an old fellow now,
battered and selfish and too indolent to love her--say, as Gwyllem did.
I did well to kill that Gwyllem. I am profoundly glad I killed him,
and I thoroughly enjoyed doing it; but, after all, the man loved her in
his fashion, and to the uttermost reach of his gross nature. I love
her in a rather more decorous and acceptable fashion, it is true, but
only a half of me loves her; and the other half of me remembers that I
am aging, that Caradawc's hut is leaky, that, in fine, bodily comfort
is the single luxury of which one never tires. I am a very
contemptible creature, the handsome scabbard of a man, precisely as
Owain said." This settled, Richard whistled to his dog.

The sun had set, but it was not more than dusk. There were no shadows
anywhere as Richard and his sheep went homeward, but on every side the
colors of the world were more sombre. Twice his flock roused a covey
of partridges which had settled for the night. The screech-owl had
come out of his hole, and bats were already blundering about, and the
air was more cool. There was as yet but one star in the green and
cloudless heaven, and this was very large, like a beacon, and it
appeared to him symbolical that he trudged away from it.

Next day the Welshmen came, and now the trap was ready for Henry of
Lancaster.

It befell just two days later, about noon, that while Richard idly
talked with Branwen a party of soldiers, some fifteen in number, rode
down the river's bank from the ford above. Their leader paused, then
gave an order. The men drew rein. He cantered forward.

"God give you joy, fair sir," said Richard, when the cavalier was at
his elbow.

The new-comer raised his visor. "God give you eternal joy, my fair
cousin," he said, "and very soon. Now send away this woman before that
happens which must happen."

"You design murder?" Richard said.

[Illustration: "YOU DESIGN MURDER? RICHARD ASKED" _Painting by Howard
Pyle_]

"I design my own preservation," King Henry answered, "for while you
live my rule is insecure."

"I am sorry," Richard said, "because in part my blood is yours."

Twice he sounded his horn, and everywhere from rustling underwoods
arose the half-naked Welshmen. "Your men are one to ten. You are
impotent. Now, now we balance our ac