Rhys had come upon the scene in the midst of this altercation, brought thither by a word from Lewis, who had seen the agent ride up the hill, with a sinister smile upon his face, and a ruffianly fellow in his rear.
At once the hot-blooded young farmer, in a smock-frock showing many an earthy stain, interposed between his mother's faithful domestic and the steward, unawed by the gold lace or ruffles visible under the open riding-coat.
'Nay, nay, we don't take whips to women in Eglwysilan, Mr. Pryse. What is all this uproar about? And what do be your business here, sir?'
His mother attempted an explanation. Ales had shrunk back overawed.
'I have come for the unpaid rent, and the costs attending this application,' Mr. Pryse thrust in, heedless of Rhys' disclaimer that 'nothing was owing'; 'and, as no cash appears to be forthcoming, I take possession of the farm in the name of his lordship, and leave this man in charge of the premises, and I warn you against removing stock or stone. Take the inventory, Morgan'—to the man who had edged himself into the kitchen, and now put on a truculent air.
William had come rushing in from the potato-field, but he stopped short, as much paralysed as his elders.
His mother was the first to break the spell.
'Paid or unpaid,' she cried, with the dignity of truth and honesty, 'that wretch shall take no inventory here, whatever. I do not be without the means to pay your demand, though I protest that it is unjust, and will have to be returned to me when Evan returns with the receipt, look you.'
'Ah, when he does. But you may take my word for it, the bird has flown away with your golden feathers, and is far enough from Wales by this time.'
And again the sinister smile lighted the evil face, much as if he had good reason for knowing that Evan was far away, and that his word might therefore be taken.