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•THE HEIR OF ' GLYNAFON. .

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•THE HEIR OF GLYNAFON. BY BEIUAH G. EVANS, Author of "THE FAIR MAID OF YSTUAD Tnn," AND CAVALIER," BRONWEN, &C. BOOK THE ITIFlr, AT HOME. f) y 0 PSI S. CHAPTER I. wild The opening scene is laid in one of those wild recoils « Wale:, which charm the tourist awl the arust wi«i their never-ending- beauty. Kate l'arry is awaiting her lover on the bridge, when one Owen Meredith sua- fienly appears, and tells her that the heir of Gljnafon is about to be wedded to another. She turns and declares in passionate language that he shall never •aarry her." CHAPTER II. L., The second chapter opens at the liovne of Sir Aiaaai Vaughan, the father of the heir of Glynafon, where we Sad Winifred, the sister of Sir Arthur, in solemn con- versation with Edith Lloyd, whom she is persuading to iiiiir her nephew. Kdith confesses her io\e toi John Rhys, and Winifred works on her J>r*e to that extent that. at the close of the chapter Edith debates that she will marry Arthur Vaughau, aiiu reject John 111) v. CHAPT ER III.—FOR A LAST LOOK. Lying on the shingly beach of a small cave, atchigthe flapping sails of the few fishing boats Tvhich are slowly beating up towards the Bay of Aberffraw, is a young man. The scenery around liim is very different from that we have just left :it Glynafon, with its kingly mountains,_ rock encompassed lakes, and fairy glens. Yet the surroundings of the reclining youth possess charms of tileir own. If here lie has no more the scent-laden breeze of the Carneddau, he has at feast an equally invigorating air bath in the ozone-charged gusts sweeping up the St. George's Channel. Behind him lie the low hills which stopped the Encroachments of the terrible Malldraeth before the hand of man, guided by the light of science, attempted to reclaim the land which had succumbed to the power of the shifting sands. But though these hills were but a poor substitute for the Carneddau, and though the Llyn Goron was tame as compared with Llyn y J orwyn, and the Ffraw sank into insignificance when the eye bad become accustomed to the grand beauty of the Rhinelike Conway, yet the view from the Jjoint to the right of the cave where now reclined one of the characters of our story was anything but wanting in extent and beauty. Before him the blue expanse of St. George s Channel, with its roll of waves from the Atlantic. To the right, as lie lay within Mund of its bell, the church of Llangwyfen, the sacredness of Pilose precincts were, as he gazed, protected by the encompassing waves which had now over- flowed the causeway which conncctsd it with the tnainland. Losing there the indentation of Forth y Gloch (The Bell Port) and Traeth Llydau (The AVide Coast), the eye next struck Ynysoeù y Gwylanod (The Sea Gulls' Isles), and even Forth y Gwin at the southern extremity of Holyhead Island. > To his left the Aberffraw Bay, the Malldraeth •Bay, the Island Abbey of Llanddwyn, with just ail idea of the opening of the Menai then down the Arfon coast with its background of towering iioights, past where the waves rolled over the long-since submerged town of Caer Ariaurod down till the twin peaks of the Eifl (which the Saxon with better luck than reason has christened The Rivals") raise their heads proudly over their competitors, and on again till the projection of Porthduilleyn proclaims the proximity of the Whistling Stone (Careg y Chuisien), until with difficulty could distant Bra-ich y Pwll and Bardsey Island be distinguished from the clouds which Seemed to kiss the sea beyond them. f Scenery rich in beauty, country rich in traditions, homes rich in folk lore, the Welsh Scholar, lover of nature, and student of an- tiquities, would have none but himself to blame did he find the quiet of that coast village a burden. I And sooth to say, John Rhys had never found it to be so-until now. Now, a settled gloom rested on a countenance iiaturally open, frank, and merry. Possibly tdie jband of crape on his arm may account for it. Two tnonths since a hasty summons had called him from the fascinations of Arranfawr where he was spending his vacation, to his widowed mother's bedside. After a few weeks' tender nursing, all Svas over, the mother died, leaving her son with- out kith or kin in the place, to fight the world's jbattle alone. Suddenly the sound of footsteps made him raise his eyes. A barefooted lad was approaching him with a letter, which he handed to him without a ivord. When he first glanced at the address, a shade of disappointment crossed his features, which gave place, however, to a pleased smile as lie tooted more carefully tho handwriting. From Ithel Lewis said he, Here Dick, my boy, this for your trouble." The this" proved to be a sixpence, which, with ft nod and a grin, the boy pocketed, and bounded off while John Hhvs broke tiie seal of his friend s letter. My dear Jack," it ran. You will be sorry to iearn that your bachelor friend, lthel Lewis, is no more Two days ago be th rew off the coil he had worn for fi ve-and-twenty year?, tie has g^ne to that bourne whence but Sew travellers return (except througn the divorce Court) and like many another good man beiore him, he has quitted the vale of tears for a brighter and a better sphere. In a word, my dear boy, I sltti married More than this, too, 1 am married to the prettiest, the most winsome, and all that- i-good lass this side of Offa's Dyke—and the other side, too, for the matter of that. Now, don't shake your wise old head, and say, I know a lass —— I am perfectly aware that you do know a lass, and as a matter of fact I know a dozen or so myself; but of all the lasses, I can assure you none will compare with sweet Jenny Jones that was. but sweeter Jenny Lewis that is. I fancy I see that scornful curl of tho lip, and that half-pitying glance of the eye with tvhieh you favour this, and I know that there Uses before your mind's eye another form which you deem more graceful and attractive. Under 3ftfj imaginable circumstances whatever would I give up my Jenny's claim, and, under existing circumstances, I believe you would be the last xnan to press the claim of the one who doubtless occupies your thoughts now, as she was wont to do when you were here last but though you are a Welshman, and warm one at that, you arc enough of an Englishman to understand, and enough of a man to sing, the old couplet— i If she be not fair to me, iviiac care I howfair she heT s The reader flushed and paled as he read the passage, and then with firm set teeth he con- tinued— In a word, since you left here, there has ap- t>eared on the field a man who could, and did, aiug— Oh sin' I am a baron's heir, And I can braid with gems your hair, And make ye braw as ye are fair, Lassie, ye maun love me 1 And the fickle Edith has listened to the Voice of the charmer. But remembering he Jiad appeared before you left, Arthur Vaugli.in-for he is the happy man, has left for wherever the halls of his ancestors Jrnay be, and in a very short time the Beauty of -Arranfawr will be Lady of Glynafon Accept y condolences. (My darling has just been look- ing over my shoulder, and blames me for speak- ing, or rather writing, thus lightly.) She fears you may have been very hard hit, and that, there- fore, you may take my remarks unkindlv. I need "ot say, dear Jack, that if I thought you had entertained more than a passing fancy for the jade (how the reader's teeth crunched at the Word), I would not have treated the matter as I kave done.) I have still one more item. We are about to leave "Wales. We shall be sailing in the Gwalia, from the Mersey, on the 24th. 1 have had a promise of an appointment in New York, which may in time turn out to be a very good one. I should much like to see you once again before I go, not only to have the gratification of introducing you to my darling, but to have the pleasure of at least one snore chat with my best of chums, and my most faithful of friends—for God alone knows when we 2nay meet again. Do, my dear Jack, afford me the pleasure, and believe me to be, as ever, your friend, ITHEL LEWIS." With a groan, John Rhys let the letter drop from his hand. For a moment he was too much overcome to think, much less to act, and remained Vitli his face buried in his hand and all his senses Bumbed. Then, rousing himself, he again read part of his friend's letter, which was to him of such vital im- portance, in order to assure himself that he had aaot been mistaken. No, it was all too plain. The girl to whom he had given his heart's service and all its wealth of Jove had jilted him. There is no other word for it," said he bitterly to himself. I see now how it is that all my otters, written in double pain by my poor Another's death bed, have been unanswerecl-how it is that I have not received a word from her "IDee I came away. And yet I would have staked *ny life on her fidelity He looked wearily around him. The waters of the bay shimmered gloriously in the evening sun. The boats had come in, and the merry voices of the fisher-folk as they gathered in their harvest of the sea were borne on the light breeze, but John Rhys had no eye for the beauty of the scene, and 110 ear for the music of laughter. He felt thank- ful he was alone, that no one could see how very eeply he had been affected by the letter he had .iust received. He wearily thought how pleasant it would be to lie in the quiet churchyard of Llan- Swyfan by his mother's side, or be hushed to ever- lasting sleep 'neath the waves of the channel, or -even be engulphed by the hungry sands of tne Malldraeth if so his griefs could be everlastingly ng-ulphed as well.. Shaking off, however, with an effort, the de- gression of spirits, he jumped uo, saving :— I have it Captain Davies shall take me over to Liverpool. I will secure my passag'o with lthel to America. I cannot breath the same air as she does. But oh Edith Edith would to (}od I had never seen you. never looked on your face. Ana, God help me I cannot forget you yet! Heaven alone knows what I might be tempted to do if I remained in tho same land as you And yet 1 cannot quit the country without feeeing you once more. I must have one last look on your fair face, so cruel in its beauty. Let me .see, Glynafon. Ha we can put in at Conway, and I shall have time to run up the valley while Captain Davies waits over night. I will risk anuch to have one last look upon the one who has anade my future dark to me." With rapid strides he approached one of the groups of fishers. Captain Davies, I want you to give me a cast I ■over to Liverpool. Will you ?" T '"A cast over to Liverpool, Master John queried the skipper, scratching his head. Yes. this evening if you can." H Well, you see, my boy, the boat, poor thing, 3te not in trim for passengers." Never mind the trim of your boat, man. She a plank between us and the sea, and that is all I shall care for." But it isn't all I care for," put in a third Ipftrson, and the speaker, a brown-skinned, merry- 10led rustic beauty looked up saucily. What are yon putting your oar in for, Queen Mary ?" asked John Rhys smiling, Pretty Mary Davies, the only child of Captain Davies, and frequently the presiding spirit of the tr;m craft Queen Mary, very often had the royal title applied to herself, and right regally she bore herself, reigning it over all. The young skippers and farmers for miles around were her willing subjects, and would have risked every- thing to gain her hand, but though she had a smile for all, the saucy beauty tossed up her head when any of her admirers attempted anything further than a manifestation of friendship. Because, Master John, I won't have my pretty namesake go to town in such a stats, and that by reason that I shall be in her myself." You in her, lass ?" cried hcrfather. "Yes, father, and you are none the better of looking sour. You promised me that I should go with you on your very next trip to Liverpool." The sailor again scratched his head, as he was wont to do when more than usually puzzled. In the present instance the action seemed to have brought him back his wits, for he turned with an amused smile to John Rhys, and said— "it is of no use, Master John. When the Queen says it must be, I suppose it must." "\Vell, then, and when does your majesty say we may go ?" asked John, not with too good a grace. „ <l To-morrow corning, as soon as you like," ess. me the xeply. "Will that do for you, Master John ? queried the captain. "Y os, I suppose it must, and the more so since now 1 come to think of it, I shall have some work to prepare myself." At six o'clock, then, Master John, we snail sail," said the skipper as he turned away, Jonn Rhys likewise hastening to make his preparations. These were few enough. To pack up a few necessaries, to dispose of the very few things left; in Sea View Cottage, to take one long last ramofe over the country side, up to the Old cromlech at Hen bias where he had many a time conjured up to his mind's eye the departed greatness of his country, and to take one or two last leave takings. The next morning, therefore, John xviiys swjod on the clean-scoured deck of the Queen Maij', boasting the ownership of a couple ot large port- manteaus, something over a hundred pounus in his pocket, and a brave, if heavy, heart. Leaving the boat at Conway, with orders to await his return, he hired a car and driver and sped up the valley. Leaving these again at the village inn, with similar instructions to those he had given Captain Davies, he continued on foot to Glynafon. As he drew near the bridge he almost ran against a woman of commanding figure, with fiery eyes lighting up a wonderfully handsome countenance still working with passion. It was Kate Parry, returning from her disap- pointing visit to the trysting-place. *■ I have to beg that lady's pardon, too, for having so long left her, though, sooth to say, the time has not been idly spent by her. And I say he shall never marry her There was a world of hidden feeling exhibited in these passionate words of handsome Kate Parry. They showed that the girl had loved, not wisely, but too well. They showed that the sweetness and joy had turned to gall and bitter- ness that the love of old, slighted and trampled upon, had been transformed into hate. And of all hatreds God preserve me from the hatred of a woman injured in her most sensitive affections, a woman whose love has been slighted, and devotion discarded. Yes, fiercely as Kate Parry could love, as fiercely, too, could she hate. Vaughan seen her at that moment, and heaid tne world of bitterness, hate, and threat in the words she had just uttered, he would have cursed the day in which he had sought her love. Kate Parry's love, swallowing up. every Ooher consideration, had demanded sacrifice on tier part, and the demand had been met. Kate Parry's love turned to hate, demanded satisfaction, and satisfaction in a form ever sweet to those of fiery temperament like hers, satisfac- tion in the form of revenge. t. Once, and once only, did a doubt cross her thoughts. Turning sharply upon her companion, and seeming to pierce his very soul with her b™EdX? f'kno^ol of old. Tell mc that you are deceiving me-for what purpose I care not-only tell me that you are deceiving me, and —and—though iny fingers should itch to tear your false tongue out, I will forgive you. "Kate," replied he, solemnly, "as heaven is my witness and (iod mv judge, 1 speak but the truth. A marriage has been arranged between the heir of Glynafon and a distant cousin. The i may heaven forgive mm, for I never can cried she, employing in her gnet and anger the historic words of another deceived maiden as relentless as Kate Parry. There was a moment's pause, and then, with all a woman's natural jealousy of rivalry, sue asked, And she—who is she ?" "She?'' asked he with apparent innocence. Oh, the Lady of Glynafon that is to and he noted how she winced at the name as though she had been struck a blow. "They call her Edith Lloyd." r Ay, but what is she?" came sharply from be- tween the red lips, en whose even and dewy sur- face might be seen a blurred and crimson mark, which showed where the pearly teeth had pressed ciuelly in the vain endeavour to curb her feelings. I thought I had said she was a distant cousin of his. That is what she is now. When she be- comes his wife and Lady of Glynafon, she will hold her head high among the highest." Again she winced, but this time angrily. Let me do her justice. She had loved with a deep uuseitisli allection, and would have loved him as passionately were he the poorest man in the whole country side. Yet she would not have been a woman if occasionally the splendours surround- ing the Lady of Glynafon did not occupy her imagination. "Why do you play with me thus?" cried she passionately. Don't you see I am burning to see this—this woman before my mind's eye ? Pic- ture her to me, face, figure, eyes, hair. Let mo, too, see the woman who has supplanted me. Is she like me ? „ Like and unlike. As like as two rival flowers. As different as darkness and light." Is she beautiful?" As the dawn of a summers day. Were you but to hear Arthur rave about her! He calls her hair refined gold split into threads by the angels her eyes, heaven's own azure; her cheeks, ripe peaches her teeth, pearls her lips, coral; a voice sweet as the song of the mavis ethereal figure worthy the Queen of the Fairies. All this and more dues my cousin repeat a dozen times a-day, and so flowery are the similes that I think he must have some of the old Welsh bardic blood in his veins. The jealous woman who had demanded the torturing pleasure of a minute description of her rival, paled to the very lips at the picture drawn by Meredith. It was pain, it was torture to her proud heart which could brook no rival, to hear another so praised, and praised apparently in the very words used by her own faithless admirer. Owen Meredith, too, was beginning to reap the fruit of his own baseness. Admiring Kate I himself, it was torture to him to see that she took his cousin's infidelity so much to heart. Xet, such a strange mixture of passion are we, that while delighting in exposing his cousin s baseness and gloating over the pain this exposure caiwe: o one who had scorned him, yet her evident intense sufferings touched a tender chord in his heart which had hitherto, and perhaps was yet, all selfishness. Seizing one of her trembling and irresisting handd he kissed it passionately, ex- claiming :— Tr t~. Kate, my beautiful, my peerless Kate Do not take this so to heart If he, false fool, has been blind, others can see. To me your charms are ten thousand times superior. AVhat is her yellow hivir to your raven tresses, and her shallow blue eyes to the glorious depths of yours? Kate, my beautiful one, think no more of him, waste not the wealth of your priceless love on one like him, who values it not." And think you," said she," I am such a dotard as to give my love where it is spurned ? No, no his blue-eyed beauty may do so if she likes, but Kate Parry—never There spoke my own brave Kate 1" Nu, the love lie has trampled upon shall spring up, renewed with the vigour of hate. Woe to thee, Arthur Vaughan deeply wilt thou rue the day thou turnedst my devotion to hate." The shapely hand which she had unconsciously allowed Owen to retain in his was burning hot. His lius as he pressed them upon it were equally so she burning with the fire of anger, he con- sumed with that of love. And yet ho knew not how to press his cause. He had hoped to catch her heart in the rebound, and even to ingratiate himself with her oy expos- ing the unworthiness of her lover. And yet Kate Parry's temperament was so fiery, and her moods so changeable, that he almost feared to risk the venture. But love is proverbially blind and unreasoning and cold and calculating as Owen Meredith generally was, he was now carried away by the current of his feelings, and acting upon the im- pulse of love, he yielded himself to the delicious influence of love. Her hand pressed his. Not waiting to consider whether the pressure might not be an involuntary sign of her auger, but taking it to be what he hoped it was, the first response to his passion, he threw his arms around her, clasped her to his breast, and poured his kisses on her lips and cheek. CHAPTER IV.—G OUT AND MATRIMONY. Sir Arthur Vaughan, lord of Glynafon, owner of one of the fairest estates and representative of one of the oldest families in Wales, sat on this eventful evening in his own invalid chair in the library of Glynafon. He had for a moment, in his gratification at the return of his heir and favourite son, and in the prospect of seeing his wishes fulfilled by the union cf the future Sir Arthur with the present Sir Arthur's favourite niece, almost forgotten even his old enemy the gout, which had of late given tokens of intention to assail the citadel in force. Reclining in his easy chair, with his bandaged foot supported by a cushioned stool, and joyfully rubbing one hand on the back of the other, he looked at his sister, who sat opposite, as stiff- backed as usual, and said: And so everything goes on well, Gwinny ?" Sir Arthur never ventured to address his sister so except when he happened to be himself in the greatest good humour. Yes," replied Miss Winifred, I think we may begin making our preparations at once; and perhaps the sooner the better." That is well, and so we had better be doing what we can. I will have Lawyer Bowen up in the morning to take instructions for the settle- ment." "I have no objection to that; but what do you intend doing with Gwynne ?" <(G wynne? Oh I'll buy him a commission in the Royal Welsh 'tis there his heart is already." Yes. Well ?" Well, I will make him an allowance of say eight hundred while I live, and it shall be in- creased by my will to a thousand a year." Well, I will make him an allowance of say eight hundred while I live, and it shall be in- creased by my will to a thousand a year." "That won't do, brother. I must see that Gwynne gets fair play." "Fair play, indeed! There you are again, harping on that old string for ever As though the boy had not had fair play all his lifetime I" I 4i You know that he has not." 1 I know no such thing, madam. I know that many a young man, ayre, and many an elder ^son too, has not had half the chances I have given Gwynne." "That may be," was the quiet reply, buo that has nothing to do with the question. Few fathers have the means of doing as well by their children as you. The title will, of course go to Arthur "Ay, of course, indeed! and the estates, too' twitching viciously at the leg of his trousers. No, not all of th9m-" "D n it, woman, one might suppose the estates were yours and not mine to dispose of." "You forget yourself, Sir Arthur," said his sister, drawing herself up more st;:Tly than ever. "And if I do; it is you and this—this con- founded gout that make m. But I will have no more of this badgering about Gwynne. You have ever been raising the lad's sleeve." You should know better. I have never coun- tenanced disobedience, disrespect, nor disaffec- tion." If you have not done that you have lost no opportunity of putting' him forward in season and out of season." I have never done so except when I saw, all too plainly, that you were neglecting him and showing Arthur niore favour than you were war- ranted in doing," and Miss Winifred drew her thin lips close together, a sure sign that she had a point in view, and that she would gain it—or know the reason why. Sir Arthur, too, noted the sign, and knew it augured badly.. Though seldom given to yielding to others'opinions, he had learnt IOB ere this tu respect his sister's unflinching determination. He was now too much bent upon making things smooth for Arthur and Edith to stand upon trifles, and so he said, though somewhat ungraciously :— Well, I dou't want to quarrel with you. I will allow him a thousand a year during my life- time, and fifteen hundred a year from the funds after my death." "It won't ùo, Arthur. I tell you I will see G wynne with an estate of his own." Well, wiiat the devil do you want ?" having in his passion moved his tender foot too roughly, and so not caring to be very choice in his words. "I want you to allow him a clear thousanu a vear during your lifetime Well, in the name of the blessed saints, woman, haven't I said I would do so ?" "And," continued she imperturably, without heeding the interruption, I want you to secure him in the marriage settlement between Arthur and Edith the reversion at your death of the Glynmawr estate." The Glynmawr estate the best shooting and fishing property I have As well ask me to give him Glynafon at once "If you preier doing so I shail have no objec- tion." "No; d-n him—and you "he had tried to start up, but sank back with a suppressed groan, as his stronger enemy seized his extended limb. He shall never have either of them. The estates are mine, and I shall do what I please with them." "As you choose, but remember that this marriage will not take place with my consent until Y JIl do this." Do your worst, then, and be hanged to you. The girl will be of age in another twelve months, and she shall snap her fingers at you." She may do so, but remember that Arranfawr is mine, and as sure as you refuse to secure the Glynmawr property to Gwynne, as sure as that will I make over Arranfawr to him by deed of gift the day Edith marries Arthur." The stool supporting the swollen limb toppled over, leaving the foot to fall with a thud upon the carpet. Hell's furies, woman but he could proceed no further, his torture was too intense. At this moment the door opened and a young man entered. He was apparently twenty-four or twenty-five years of age, with a remarkably pleasing and open countenance. One glossy curl fell over the broad white forehead, under which shone a pair of deep blue eyes, which could sparkle as much mirth as any heedless youth, but whose steely glitter showed too that they were the windows of a spirit all too hasty and unrestrained while the fit of passion lasted. Seeing the fallen stool, and having heard Sir Arthur's exclamation ?„s he opened the door, the young man hastened forward, and, replacing the stool, he tenderly lilted the foot to its old resting- place on the soft cushion. Tenderly, however, as he handled it, he could not avoid giving some pain, and the sufferer groaned and cursed. Curse you boy, you handle my leg as you would a log of wood "I am sorry, sir, to see you suffering thus." "Ay, sympathy is cheap; it is easy for those who are well to say they feel for those who are in pain when they know not themselves what pain is." The youth made no reply, and Sir Arthur con- tinued— "And what is it you want? I suppose you come to second your aunt's unblushing request. But you have both mistaken the one you have to deal with." "I do not know what request my aunt may have made, but I came to prefer a request of my own." Ay, I dare say you are far readier to request favours than to deserve them." I am sorry, father, you should think so ill of me. I am sure it is my desire to do what I can to please you." Well, well, Gwynne lad," said his father somewhat mollified by the young man's answer, and feeling now in lessened pain the pleasing effects of Gwynne's tender services to the injured foot. Well, weli, Gwynne Lid, we will let that pass you may be a good lad, but this cursed gout gives me such terrible pain that it makes me some- what hasty, perhaps." Do not say a word, father I am only sorry I cannot lighten your pain." Well, what is it you want? If it be not something outrageously unreasonable, I will do it for you if I can, notwithstanding what your aunt says about you." I trust Aunt Winifred has nothing very bad to say about me," turning with a pleasant smile towards her. No, no, my boy," replied his father, little danger of that. She deems all your black deeds white." Brother, how can you say asked the spinster. "I should think I have had to-day plenty of cause to say so but come, Gwynne lad, what is it you want ? Don't be very long about it, for I have business to speak atout with your aunt." If Aunt Winifred," commenced Gwynne. If your business is private," said she, rising, I can retire, and you can summon me when you have done." a No-that is—yes, I mean," stammered the youth in some confusion. What the d the—what do you mean with your no and your yes blowing hot and cold in the same breath ? If you want your aunt to go, say so aud if you would rather she should stay, if your business is not private, why say so too, and be done with it." Well, sir, my business is private, but I would rather aunt should stay." Very well, then sit down Gwinny, and come Gwynne, let us hear what this private business which must be public, is." If the business does not affect mo I would rather retire," said Miss Winifred. Confound you, woman, does not the boy say ho wants you to stay ? Why don't you sit down and listen." The business does affect you, aunt, and if you had not been here I think I should have stated it to you before informing my father." "Ay, I dare say," drily remarked Sir Arthur, "you are more ready to trust your aunt than your father." The young man bit his lip, but made no reply. The baronet, after waiting a moment, cried testily— Why don't you say your say, and be done with} i-ou?" Well, sir, I wish to make a request— "Yes, I know you do. Haven't you said so before?" I was about to say that I Imve a very im- portant request to make-a very great favour to ask." And have I not said that if it is anything I can reasonably be expected to do, I will do it ?" "Thank you, father, very much it removes a load from my mind." "Ay, young people think none but they have burdens to bear. Well, after all this rigmarole, what is it you want?" Gwynne Vaughan blushed deeply, and at length in very desperation blurted out !— I want to marry Ho ho ho and this is the end of it all! What do you say to that, Gwinny, eh ? Confound this gout," as a fresh twinge contracted his muscles with pain. Then after a momen't pause: And so you want to marry, do you?" Yes." And I suppose, like every other young fool, you have made up your mind to do so before con- sulting your father about it?" Well, sir, not exactly." "No, I dare say not. And is the young lady rich ? Has she the means to support you both ?" She is rich, sir, in grace, and every beauty and virtue." Ay, I dare say. Every love-struck boy deems his choice to be that. But such riches, after all, are not the currency which shopkeepers accept for their goods." "That is true enough, father; and, if they were, I would scarcely wish my wife to part with them for that purpose." "Of course it is true enough, or else I shouldn't have said it. But has she any money, boy?" Ycry little of her own, sir. She is an or- phaned lady living with a relative, whose kind heart has lucherto kept her niece from want." That is just your case, Gwinny, eh ? But how the devil, Gwynne, do you think to live ?" I had hoped, sir, you would increase my al- Io H Yes", that is ever the story. You put your foot in some mess or other, and then come to ask me to help you to get out of it again. But this girl, is she a lady ? „ She would grace the Queen's court, sir. Yery well Is she of good family, or is she one of the 'nature's nobility' we hear so much about these davs, born in a cottage and fitted for a throne, eh ? this with a sneer. "She is of pure nobility, sir, and will bear comparison in every respect of birth, even with our family." T Well, Gwynne, my boy, I must say that I admire your choice so far as I see now. Remem- ber that the Vaughans of Glynafon have never made a mesalliance, and though, of course, when I am gone Arthur will be the Vaughan of Glyn- afon, I am glad to understand that you have chosen worthily." Thank you, father, I am sure when you-know who the lady is you will approve still more warmly." „ £ Perhaps so, lad, perhaps But now the question is how you are to keep her. The graces and virtues you so praise would soon disappear in the presence of a cupboard in a state of chronic emptiness. Duns do not materially add to the pleasures of matrimony." I assure you, sir, I am ready to Yes, I daresay you are, whatever it is—but— confound this leg of mine—But, I was about to say, you require means to keep your wife. If I find she is all you describe her to be I shall give my consent to the match in the form of a deed, settling fifteen hundred pounds a-yeav upon you. There, d n you, what can you expect ? May the devil take this gout 1" Father, indeed it is more than I expected. I scarcely know how to thank vou. I am sure that Edith and I Who did you 8:ty?" shouted Sir Arthur, start- ing np. What did you sa,y1" screamed Miss Winifred. Gwynne looked from one to the other in mute surprise. "Oil !"groaned Sir Arthur, in torture from his sudden#novement. Why the devil don't you answer," boy, instead of standing there like a like like and he shook his fist at the astonished youth. "I only sid, sir, that I and my future wife, God bless her, can never sufficiently repay your generosity." Yes, yes, but who did you say she was ?" Who, sir? Have I not named her yet ? I thought I had told you it was my cousin, Edith Lloyd, of whom but he was never allowed to finish the sentence. Ten thousand devils," roared Sir Arthur. Merciful Father shrieked Miss Winifred. Sir Arthur lay groaning in his chair, glowering at his son Miss Winifred, forgetting her usual rigidity of backbone, had her hands placed on the arms of her chair, and bending forward her head, her eyes opened wide in unspeakable dismay. (To bi cç¡¡tí;zucd,)

MR 0SB011NE MORGAN, M.P.,…

SAD CASE OF STARVATION;

ANOTHER RIOT AT ST. JUDE'S…

THE CH A RGEAXi A IN S T A…

FATAL BOILER^ EXPLOSION NEAli…

[No title]

! Y GOLOFX GYMREIG ---

[No title]

GYNGHANEDD.

Y CllYDD.

! DOROTHY ANN.

f ARTHUR LLEWELYN OWEN,

BEDDARGRAFF DAU BLENTYN

BEDDARGRAFF JOHN,

BEDDARGRAFF DOWLEISYDD,

ONLLWYN BRACE FEL MARWNADWR,

FY FFON.

ENGLYNION CROESAW,

!YMSON AM GYFAILL.

MACHLUDIAD YR HAUL.

[No title]

THE CHILDREN'S HOUR

SWANSEA HARBOUR TRUST.

GROSS ASSAULTS NEAR SWANSEA.

THE lIAR VEST AND THE GRAIN…

---_.----_----------ROBBING…

MR SIMS REEVES AT SWANSEA,

THE GLASGOWDYNAMITE OUTRAGES.

THE MURDER OF JAMES CAREY.

FATAL FIRES.

DEATH OF THE -ViiiAiiDKD ILADY.

ISALVATION AnIY BlOTS AT BIRKENHEAD.

SIR WATKIN W. WYNN AND MR…

-----¡ BOARD OF TRADE RETURNS,…

SO-LTTII IVALES COAL AND IRON…

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