Well, well! that’s handsome, he replied. Wait the going of a few short weeks, and you’ll find him in my will.
There is something more than meets the eye in this circumstance of the horse, or we should not have inserted it.
The guests in the mean time were coming in, and at an early hour the castle-bell rang out for dinner. At this instant the heir of the Owens made his appearance in his hunting uniform, and booted. He apologised for this by saying he had not quitted the saddle, that he might be in time to pay his compliments to Mr. De Lancaster within the hour, that was specified on his card. All this was very well, and Mr. David Owen was most courteously welcomed by Mr. De Lancaster and the inmates of his family. John made his bow, and Mr. Owen fell in with the company, who were now summoned to the dinner room, and took his seat at table.
Hospitality without parade, and festivity without excess was the character of an entertainment projected and conducted by the presiding genius of Cecilia De Lancaster.
Mr. David Owen assumed a certain consequential style and carriage, which strongly indicated, that he knew himself as the heir of his uncle’s title and estate, and that he saw the hour at hand, which was to put him in possession of both. A set of vulgar companions, who frequented his uncle’s table, had blown him up with flattery, whilst they were sapping the constitution of poor Sir Owen with their sottish debaucheries, which, if Mrs. David Owen took no ostensible measures to encourage, she certainly used no efforts to prevent: of her maternal authority she made no use, nor indeed could any be made, for it was completely dispensed with. Nature in the meanwhile had not done much for the young gentleman, and education very little; yet he was not without talents of a certain sort, and whenever opportunity offered for employing them, diffidence never stood in his way. He had the cunning of a Jew, and the haughtiness of a Spaniard: ridicule was his passion, and mimicry, particularly of his uncle, what he most excelled in. He had black piercing eyes, an aquiline nose and Moorish complexion, a high shrill voice, and when he wrinkled up his features into a smile, it was the grin of malice and derision.
CHAPTER VI.
Occurrences at Kray Castle during the Assembly of the Minstrels.
When the repast was over, and the glass had cheerfully, yet temperately, circulated, the doors of the great hall were thrown open: a scaffolding containing seats for the company, and a stage for the performers had been prepared, and the audience was full. Old De Lancaster, encircled by his guests, made the central figure of the assembly, and his entrance was hailed by a chorus of harps, joining in the popular air—Of a noble race was Shenkin.
When this was past, the names of six selected minstrels were announced. Each of these was of high celebrity in his art, and the respectability of the audience called on them for their best exertions. When four of this number had now acquitted themselves with great credit, and the plaudits of the hearers seemed to have been pretty equally bestowed amongst them, there remained only Robin Ap-Rees, the famous harper of Penruth Abbey, and David Williams of Kray Castle as yet unheard. In these celebrated performers there existed a high spirit of emulation, and the opinions of the country were divided between them: Though rivals in art, they were brothers in misfortune, for both were bereft of sight—Blind Thamyris and blind Mœonides.
After a pause of some minutes, Ap-Rees presented himself to the spectators, led, like Tiresias, by his young and blooming daughter, and followed by his son, carrying his harp. The interesting group so touched all hearts, and set all hands in motion, that the hall rung with their plaudits. He was a tall thin man with stooping shoulders, bald head, pale visage, of a pensive cast, and habited in a long black mantle of thin stuff bound about with a rose-coloured sash of silk, richly fringed with silver, and on his breast, appending to a ribbon of pale blue, hung a splendid medal of honour.
Before he took the seat, that was provided for him, he stopped and made a profound obeisance to the company: his daughter in the meantime, modest, timid and unprepared for such a scene, not venturing to encounter the eyes of the spectators, when she had placed her father in his seat, no longer able to struggle with her sensibility, sunk into his arms, trembling and on the point to faint: her brother stood aghast and helpless: the ladies manifested their alarm by screams, and the men were rising from their seats, when our hero, whose only monitor was his heart, leapt on the stage and sprung to her relief: she revived, and he gallantly conducted her to a seat, where she was no longer exposed to the observation of the company who cheered him with a loud applause.