“It was ten o’clock in the morning, and Sir Roger Mostyn sat in the great hall of Gloddaeth. There was the ample fireplace with its old-fashioned dogs, the panelled and carved oaken walls and roof. There was a balcony at the further end, where the white-haired harpers played, and sang tales of war and love; curious antique mottoes were blazoned on the walls in old Welsh characters. There, too, were the arms of the Mostyns and the Royal device of the Tudors, with the red dragon grinning defiance to the world. Sir Roger seemed uneasy as he threw open the latticed window and let in a glorious flood of sunshine and fresh air into the ancient hall. On the terrace beyond several children were playing, while before him, for many a mile, lay his own broad lands. The woods of Bodysgallen and of Marl were waving in the wind. There were the grey towers of Conway Castle and the glancing river, the noble background of the Snowdonian Mountains closing the view, with the splendid outline of old Penmaenmawr as it sank with one sheer sweep into the sea.”
“I don’t want to hear of all that, Enrico,” said Isabel, slipping her hand into her husband’s. “I don’t care for waving trees, old ruins, and rivers—at least not here.”
“Well, I don’t think Sir Roger Mostyn did either at that moment, for his face was clouded with care.
“‘And so, Griffith,’ he said to a man who was standing near the door, ‘that was all you learned?’
“‘It was, Sir Roger; but not all I saw. Susan was as close as a miser with his gold, and though I slept in an out-house and only returned half an hour since, she would tell me nothing.’
“‘And you say great preparations were on foot for the reception of guests?’
“‘Messengers were coming and going, Sir Roger, the whole night long; the butchers were busy slaughtering; all was bustle and excitement.’
“Thou art a poor lover, Griffith, if this is all thou couldst obtain.
“‘About twelve o’clock, Sir Roger,’ continued the fellow, reddening, ‘I heard the tramp of men, and looking out, I saw a company of about fifty. They appeared to obey a word of command, were dressed in grey frieze, and armed. The windows of the chapel were a blaze of light. I learned that they were Irish from the Isle of Man.’
“‘Very well, Griffith; send the steward here;’ and Sir Roger leaned on the sill of the latticed window in deep thought. The children called to him in their play, but he did not see them; the birds sang and the leaves rustled, but he did not hear them.