The colour fled from the fair widow’s cheeks, and in a moment she sank into a swoon in her lover’s arms. Soon recovering, she desired her maid to deny her to every body that called, “as,” added she, with a smile, “I have particular business with the gipsy.”
A scene of tears and tenderness ensued; when Twm, with the utmost fervour, urged his suit. She replied that her father had insisted on, and received her promise that she should wed no being but who either bore a title or stood within a prospect of one.
“You did well,” replied our hero, with the most easy confidence, “and your promise, so far from militating against me, would really be in my favour, for am I not the son of a baronet? his nature child, ’tis true, but still his son; and you would break no promise to your father in marrying me; but if you did, so much the better broke than kept. I have friends at this moment who are doing their utmost to move my father, Sir John Wynn, of Gwydir, to own me publicly, for his right worthy son; and if he does not, the loss is his, not mine, for I shall certainly disown him else for a father, and claim parentage of some greater man.”
In this interview, Twm pleaded his affection with such persuasive vigour and tender persistence, that the old “lady of his dream” resisted the promptings of her own heart no longer, and promised to be his in spite of every obstacle. The joy of our hero knew no bounds, nor did the lady very strenuously resist his rapturous embraces; but seemed to find her heart relieved by the resolution she had come to, that now for ever put an end to the conflicting doubts as to her future course, which had so long torn her heart, and banished her peace.
It was now time for the pretended gipsy to depart, as the sun was descending rapidly, and Twm was chary of the fair widow’s reputation. He would not have the faintest breath of slander associated with her name and so he unwillingly left. She directed him to wait for her, and her confidential friend Miss Meredith, at the entrance to the ancient cave on the top of Dinas, which was the name of the conical hill exactly fronting the mansion of Ystrad Feen. He accordingly took his departure; and winding round the base of Dinas, he crossed the river Towey, which, being then in summer, was there little more than a brook.
After walking over a couple of fields, and a piece of rough common, he had to cross the Towey once more, when he commenced his ascent at the only part of this very steep hill where it was possible to climb.
During his former stay at Ystrad Feen, this wildly-romantic height had been his favourite haunt, as the cave in its side was the greatest wonder. It was in fact a mighty mound, that bore all the appearance of having been, at the period of its formation, convulsed by an earthquake, and in the height of nature’s tremendous heavings, suddenly arrested and becalmed, even while the huge crags were in the act of tumbling down its steep sides.
A narrow valley encircled its base, and the mountains around of equal height with itself, separated only by this deep and scanty dell, seemed as if rent from it, during the convulsions of the earth, and Dinas left alone, an interesting monument of the memorable event. The surface of the acclivity was so speckled with huge loose stones, that it was dangerous to hold by them in ascending, as the slightest impetus would roll them downward.
Once in poetical mood, when accompanied by his mistress, while tenderly and lovingly protecting her during their ascent at this very spot, he had said, that no doubt an earthquake had turned the bosom of the hill inside out, so that no secret could be therein concealed: archly insinuating that he trusted the time would soon come, when, without so violent a process, her own fair bosom would be equally open to him, while it rejected the stony barriers that then stood between him and her heart.
But let us proceed with our description, while Twm awaits the arrival, according to promise, of the Lady of Ystrad Feen.