Sir Thomas Mortimer, a distant relative of the Earl, brought his noble kinsman's letters. He was appointed the governor of little Roger, and was to take care of him on his perilous journey. In order to impress the Irish with a sense of the child's grandeur and importance, he was to have a distinct establishment; and the Earl had suggested that the majority of the new servants had better come from his Welsh estates. Two Celtic races, which centuries ago were one, would, as he thought, be more likely to amalgamate with each other than either with the Saxon. Perhaps he forgot that the meeting of two fires will scarcely extinguish a conflagration.
Sir Thomas therefore had come through Usk, where he had imparted the Earl's commands to the keeper of the Castle, ordering him to have ready by a certain day, to meet him at Holyhead, such and such persons—so many men and boys to fill so many offices—much as he might have ordered as many garments or loaves of bread. The villeins were bound to serve in the menial offices; and for higher places, the neighbouring gentry and their sons would only be too glad to hear of the vacancies.
One appointment was to be made, at her son's request, by the Countess herself. This was perhaps the most important of all, for it was the choice of a woman who should look after the child's necessities, and fill so far as possible the place of the dead mother and the absent grandmother. The boy, having passed his seventh birthday, was ostensibly emancipated from the nursery: yet, with no lady at the head of the household, the presence of some responsible woman about the child became needful. The Countess's choice was soon made. It fell on her own waiting-woman, Guenllian, in whom she had more confidence than in any one else. It was an additional recommendation that Guenllian had been about the child from his infancy, so that he would feel her to be a familiar friend. Yet, though she was sending with him the person of all others in whom she most relied, the Countess suffered severe anxiety in parting with her boy, who, after his father, was her one darling in all the world. What would become of him? Suppose he were drowned in crossing the sea, and never reached his father! Suppose he were murdered by the "wild Irish," who, in the eyes of all English people of that date, were savages of the most dreadful type. Or, worse still,—suppose he grew up to be a monster of wickedness,—that pretty little child who now lifted his pure blue eyes so honestly and confidingly to hers! She thought it would break her heart. And strong as that heart was to cleave to God and do the right, yet, as the event proved, it was not one to bear much suffering.
"Very dear Lady," suggested Guenllian tenderly, "can you not trust the young Lord into the merciful hands of God? Can my young Lord go whither He is not?"
"Thy faith shames mine, my maid. May God verily go with you! Wenteline, thou wilt surely promise me that my darling shall be bred up to prize this," and she laid her hand on the French Bible. "Let the Word of the Lord never be out of his reach, nor of his hearing. Rising up and lying down—coming in and going out—let him pillow his soul upon it, and be made strong."
Guenllian gave the required promise very quietly. Her mistress knew she might be trusted.
"And if it should come—as we hear rumour afloat—that Dan John busieth himself to render the Book into the English tongue, then will I send it o'er so soon as may be. An whole Bible in English! Ay, that day that seeth it shall be a merry day for England."
The French Bible was the Countess's parting gift to her grandson. It was no mean gift, for the writing of its fellow, which was to remain with her, had cost her more than twenty pounds.
To the child himself she said comparatively little. She wished her words to sink deep and take root; and she knew that an important means to that end was that they should be few. So, as her last words, she gave him two mottoes, in the language which was only then ceasing to be the mother tongue of English nobles.
"Fais ce que doy, advienne que fourra." And—"Un Dieu, un Roy, servir je day."