One goes to Capel Curig, and I can't mind its name;
And one, it is Llanberis Pass, which all men knew the same."
Never did any gesture give a better welcome than the opening of that door! We'd been too happy to know we were cold with the chill of the mountains—half-seen shapes that hovered close, with white cascades like ghosts flitting ever across their dimness; but when a glow of firelight streamed out to greet us, suddenly we realized that we were shivering.
In the square hall, several men were talking together, men with Oxford voices and open-air faces. In their midst was one man, much older, grizzled and weather-beaten, not a gentleman in the conventional sense, yet in listening to him the others had an air of deference, as if he were a hero to the group. The four or five figures stood out like a virile, impressionist sketch in black and brown on a red background; but as we entered, welcomed by some pink-cheeked young hostess, the ruddy light danced into our eyes. The men in front of the fire moved a little as if to give place, and glances were thrown at us, while for an instant the conversation flagged. Then the group was about to return to its own interests, when suddenly, out from among the rest stepped the grizzled man. He hesitated, as if uncertain whether or no to obey an impulse, then came forward with a modest yet eager air.
"I can't be mistaken, sir, can I?" he asked. "It must be Mr. Pendragon—I beg your pardon, Sir Li——"
"Why, Penrhyn!" cried Sir Lionel, not giving him time to finish; and seizing one of the gnarled brown hands, he shook it as if he never meant to stop. Both their faces had lighted up, and were beaming with joy. The grizzled man seemed to have thrown off fifteen years in a minute, and Sir Lionel looked like a boy of twenty-two. By this time everyone was gazing—staring is too rude a word—and the other faces were beaming as well, as if the most delightful thing had happened. I am sure that Sir Lionel had forgotten the existence of us three females, and had rushed back to the bright dawn of his youth. It was the light of that dawn I saw on his face; and I found my heart beating with excitement, though I didn't know why, or what it was all about.
"By Jove, Penrhyn, to think of your being the first man to greet me on our old stamping-ground!" Sir Lionel exclaimed. "It seems too good to be true. I've been thinking about you all day, and your face is a sight for sore eyes."
"I'd rather see you, sir, than have a thousand pounds drop down on me through the ceiling," retorted the mysterious hero. (I should think so, indeed.)
They shook hands, and beamed on each other a little more, and then Sir Lionel remembered his flock. Turning to us, he introduced the grizzled man.
"This is my old friend and guide, Owen Penrhyn," said he, as if he were drawing us into the circle of a prince. "There never was a guide like him in the Welsh mountains, and never will be again. Jove! it's glorious to find him at the old business still! Though, in our day together, we didn't carry this, eh?"