"Llewelyn! for shame!" he said in his own tongue. "Art thou a man, and
claimest the blood of princes, and yet canst stoop to frighten an
inoffensive child?"

"She spoke of conquest -- the conquest of our country," cried Llewelyn
fiercely, in the hated English tongue, scowling darkly at the little
girl as he spoke. "Thinkest thou that I will stand patiently by and hear
such words? What right hath she or any one besides to speak of that
tyrant and usurper in such tones?"

"He is not a tyrant, he is not a usurper!" cried the little Lady
Gertrude, recovering herself quickly, and, whilst still holding Wendot
by the hand, turning fearlessly upon the dark-faced lad who had startled
and terrified her at the first. "I know of whom you are speaking -- it
is of our great and noble King Edward. You do not know him -- you cannot
know how great and good he is. I will not hear you speak against him. I
love him next best to my own father. He is kind and good to everybody.
If you would all give your homage to him you would be happy and safe,
and he would protect you, and --"

But Llewelyn's patience was exhausted; he would listen no more. With a
fierce gesture of hatred that made the child shrink back again he turned
upon her, and it seemed for a moment almost as though he would have
struck her, despite Wendot's sturdy protecting arm, had not his own
shoulder been suddenly grasped by an iron hand, and he himself
confronted by the stern countenance of his father.

"What means this, boy?" asked Res Vychan severely. "Art thou daring to
raise thine arm against a child, a lady, and thy father's guest? For
shame! I blush for thee. Ask pardon instantly of the lady and of her