strangers had been received and welcomed. The father of the maiden is an
English earl, Lord Montacute they call him. He is tall and soldier-like,
with an air of command like unto our father's. The damsel is a
fair-faced maiden, who scarce opens her lips; but she keeps close to our
mother's side, and seems loath to leave her for a moment. I heard her
father say that she had no mother of her own. Her name, they say, is
Lady Gertrude."

"A damsel at Dynevor," said Wendot, with a smile; "methinks that will
please the mother well."

"Come and see," cried Griffeth eagerly. "Let us hasten down to the
castle together."

It was easy work for the brothers to traverse the rocky pathway.
Dangerous as the descent looked to others, they were as surefooted as
young chamois, and sprang from rock to rock with the utmost confidence.
The long summer sunlight came streaming up the valley in level rays of
shimmering gold, bathing the loftier crags in lambent fire, and filling
the lower lands with layers of soft shadow flecked here and there with
gold. A sudden turn in the narrow gorge, through which ran a brawling
tributary of the wider Towy, brought the brothers full in sight of their
ancestral home, and for a few seconds they paused breathless, gazing
with an unspeakable and ardent love upon the fair scene before them.

The castle of Dynevor (or Dinas Vawr = Great Palace) stood in a
commanding position upon a rocky plateau overlooking the river Towy.
From its size and splendour -- as splendour went in those days -- it had
long been a favourite residence with the princes of South Wales; and in
a recent readjustment of disputed lands, consequent upon the perpetual