“What is the name of this bridge?” said I to a man riding in a cart whom I met almost immediately after I had crossed the bridge.
“Pont Vleer,” methought he said, but as his voice was husky and indistinct, very much like that of a person somewhat the worse for liquor, I am by no means positive.
It was now very dusk, and by the time I had advanced about a mile farther dark night settled down, which compelled me to abate my pace a little, more especially as the road was by no means first-rate. I had come, to the best of my computation, about four miles from the Rhyd Fendigaid when the moon began partly to show itself, and presently by its glimmer I saw some little way off on my right hand what appeared to be a large sheet of water. I went on, and in about a minute saw two or three houses on the left, which stood nearly opposite to the object which I had deemed to be water, and which now appeared to be about fifty yards distant in a field which was separated from the road by a slight hedge. Going up to the principal house I knocked, and a woman making her appearance at the door, I said—
“I beg pardon for troubling you, but I wish to know the name of this place.”
“Maes y Llyn—The Field of the Lake,” said the woman.
“And what is the name of the lake?” said I.
“I do not know,” said she; “but the place where it stands is called Maes Llyn, as I said before.”
“Is the lake deep?” said I.
“Very deep,” said she.
“How deep?” said I.