obtain entrance by the subterranean passage, slay the guard, and take
possession of the fortress. Arthyn has but bare time to escape with a
handful of men, and by hard riding to join her husband on the road to
England.

"So now have they turned aside to tell the tale to us, and to summon
thee to come with thy men and fight in the king's quarrel against this
wicked man. And whilst ye lead your soldiers into Wales, Arthyn and I
will to the court, to lay the story before the royal Edward, and to gain
from him the full and free grants of the castles of Dynevor and
Carregcennen for our husbands, who have responded to his call, and have
flown to wrest from the traitor the possession he has so unrighteously
grasped."

"Thy wife speaketh wise words, Vychan," said Llewelyn, whose dark brows
wore a threatening look, and who had the appearance of a man deeply
stirred to wrath, as indeed he well might be; "and it were well that we
lost no time in dallying here. How many men canst thou summon to thy
banner, and when can we be on the march for the south? The Earl of
Cornwall has been called upon to quell this revolt, and he has summoned
to his aid all loyal subjects of the king who hold dear the peace and
prosperity of their land.

"The days are gone by in which I should despise that call and join the
standard of revolt. The experience of the past has taught me that in the
English alliance is Wales's only hope of tranquillity and true
independence and civilization. When such men as this Res ap Meredith
break into revolt against Edward, it is time for us to rally round his
standard. What would our lives, our lands, our liberties be worth were
such a double-distilled traitor as he transformed into a prince, as is
his fond ambition?"

"True, Llewelyn, true. The race of kings has vanished from Wales, and
methinks there is no humiliation in owning as sovereign lord the
lion-hearted King of England. Moreover, has he not given us a prince of
our own, born upon Welsh soil, sprung of a kingly race? We will rally
round the standard of father and son, and trust that in the future a
brighter day will dawn for our long-distracted country."

So forthwith there sped messengers through the wild valleys and wilder
fells of Derbyshire, and many a sturdy son of the mountains came gladly
and willingly at the call of the feudal lord whose wise and kindly rule
had made him greatly beloved. The fighting instinct of the age and of
the race was speedily aroused by this call to arms, and the surrounding
gentlemen and yeomen of the county likewise pressed their services upon
Vychan, glad to be able to strike a blow to uphold the authority of a
king whose wise and brave rule had already made him the idol of the nation.

It was a goodly sight to see the brothers of Dynevor (as their wives
could not but call them once again) ride forth at the head of this
well-equipped following. Llewelyn marvelled at the discipline displayed
by the recruits -- a discipline decidedly in advance of anything his own
ruder followers could boast. But Welsh and English for once were in
brotherly accord, and rode shoulder to shoulder in all good fellowship;
and the English knew that their ruder comrades from Cambria, if less
well trained and drilled, would be able to show them a lesson in fierce
and desperate fighting, to which they were far more inured than their
more peaceable neighbours from the sister country.

And fighting there was for all; but the struggle, if fierce, was brief.
Sir Res was a coward at heart, as it is the wont of a traitor to be, and
finding himself opposed by foes as relentless and energetic as Vychan
and Llewelyn, he was speedily driven from fortress to fortress, till at
length he was forced to surrender himself a prisoner to the Earl of
Gloucester; who, out of kindness to his wife, Auda de Hastings, connived
at his escape to Ireland.

There he lived in seclusion for some time; but the spirit of rebellion
was still alive within him, and two years later he returned to Wales,
and succeeded in collecting an army of four thousand turbulent spirits
about him, at the head of which force he fought a pitched battle with
the king's justiciary, Robert de Tibetot. His army was cut to pieces. He
was taken prisoner himself, and met a cruel death at York as the reward
of his many acts of treasonable rebellion.

But the halls of Dynevor saw him no more from the moment when Res
Vychan, with a swelling heart, first drove him forth, and planted his
own foot once again upon the soil dearer to him than any other spot on
earth. As he stood upon the familiar terrace, looking over the wide,
fair valley of the Towy, his heart swelled with thankfulness and joy;
and if a slow, unwonted tear found its way to his eye, it was scarce a
tear of sorrow, for he felt assured that his brother Griffeth was
sharing in the joy of this restoration to the old home, and that his
loving and gentle spirit was not very far from him at this supreme hour
of his life.

"Father, father, father!"

Vychan turned with a start at the sound of the joyous call, and the next
moment was clasping wife and son to his breast.

"Sweetheart! come so quickly? How couldst thou?"

"Ay, Vychan, love hath ever wings, and neither I nor Arthyn could keep
away, our business at the court once accomplished. Vychan, husband, thou
standest here Lord of Dynevor in thine own right. Thou hast won back
thine ancestral home, the boy's inheritance.

"Seest thou this deed? Knowest thou the king's seal? Take it, for it
secureth all to thee under thy name of Vychan Cherleton. And if in times
to come those who come after know not that it was the son of Res Vychan
who thus reclaimed his patrimony, and if our worthy chroniclers set down
that Dynevor and its lands passed to the keeping of the English, what
matters it? We know the truth, and those who have loved thee and thy
father know who thou art and whence thou hast come. Let that be
sufficient for thee and for me.

"Griffeth, little son, kiss thy father, and bid him welcome to his own
halls again -- the halls of Dynevor."

Vychan could not speak. He pressed one passionate kiss upon the lips of
his wife, and another upon the brow of his noble boy, who looked every
inch a Dynevor, with the true Dynevor features, and the bold, fearless
mien so like his father's.

Then commanding himself by an effort, he opened the king's parchment and
quickly mastered its contents, after which he took his wife's hand and
held out the other to his son.

"My faithful fellows are mustering in the hall to bid me welcome once
more to Dynevor. Come, sweet wife; I must show to them their lady and
their future lord.

"Arthyn -- where is she? Has she gone on to Iscennen to meet Llewelyn
there?"

"Ay, verily: she was as hungry for him as I for thee; and she hath a
similar mandate for him regarding his rights to Carregcennen.

"O Vychan, dearest husband, I can scarce believe it is not all a dream."

Indeed, to Vychan it seemed almost as though he dreamed, as in the old
familiar hall he stood, a little raised from the crowd of armed
retainers upon the steps of the wide oak staircase, as he addressed to
them a speech eloquent with that thrilling eloquence which is the gift
of all who speak from the heart, and speak to hearts beating in deep and
true response. Vychan thanked all those who had so bravely fought for
him, explained to all assembled there his new position and his new name,
bid them not think him less a Welshman and a Dynevor because he bore his
wife's arms and called himself the servant of the English king, and held
up before their eyes the mandate of that English king confirming to him
the lands and halls of Dynevor.

A wild, ringing cheer broke from all who heard him as he thus proved to
their own satisfaction that the royal Edward was their best friend, and
as the new Lord of Dynevor held up his child for them to see, and to own
as future lord in the time-honoured fashion, such a shout went up from
the throats of all as made the vaulted roof ring again. Blades were
unsheathed and waved in wild enthusiasm, and Gertrude's dark eyes
glistened through a mist of proud and happy tears.

Suddenly from some dim recess in the old ball there issued a strain of
wild music -- the sound of a harp played by no unskilled hand; whilst
mingling with the twang of the strings was the voice of the ancient
bard, cracked through age, yet still retaining the old power and some of
the old sweetness. And harp and voice were raised alike in one of those
triumph songs that have ever been as the elixir of life to the strong,
rude, sensitive sons of wild Cambria.

"It is Wenwynwyn," quoth Vychan. "He is yet alive. I little thought to
see him more.

"Griffeth, boy, run to yon old man and bid him give thee his blessing,
and tell him that there is a son of Dynevor come back to rule as Lord of
Dynevor once again."

POSTSCRIPT.

The story of the sons of Res Vychan is very intricate and difficult to
follow, owing to the lack of contemporaneous documents; but the main
facts of their story as related in the foregoing pages are true, though
a certain license has been taken for purposes of fiction.

They have been represented as somewhat younger than they were at the
time of these events, whilst the children of Edward the First have been
made some few years older than their true ages.

There is no actual historical warrant for the change of identity between
Wendot and Griffeth, and for the escape and reinstatement of the former
in the halls of Dynevor; but there are traditions which point to a
possibility that he did escape from prison, in spite of the affirmation
of the chroniclers, as there have been those who claim descent from him,
which they would hardly have done if such had not been the case, for
there is no record that he was married before he was taken prisoner to
England.

The children of the English king were not really at Rhuddlan Castle in
1277, as represented here, as they were at that time too young to
accompany their father on his expeditions. If, however, they had been as
old as represented in these pages, there is little doubt they would have
accompanied him, as the monarch was a most affectionate father, and
loved to have wife and children about him.

Arthyn is a fictitious character; as is also Gertrude. There is no
record that any of the sons of Res Vychan married or left descendants,
except the tradition alluded to above.

THE END.