“That is soon told,” replied Watt, pettishly; “the squire turned him out of his farm, and made so many claims one sort or other, that Cadwgan was beggared, and left him so poor that he could scarcely take a cottage for himself and daughter. If I hadn’t let him mine, he would have had none.” “Good heavens!” exclaimed Twm, “thy hovel for farmer Cadwgan and the gentle Gwenny!”
“Why not?” replied Watt, with a lowering brow; “is he not a day labourer? it served me when I was one, for many a bitter day. His daughter too, the dainty Gwenny, she was too good for me—turned with scorn from poor Watt the mole-catcher—but never mind! she was a bit of a sweet-heart of thine too, Twm, I remember; but set thy heart at rest, lad, if she won’t be mine, she will never be thine, at any rate.”
All this was uttered in a tone of bitter sarcasm, that both surprised and enraged our hero; especially when he thus learned from his own mouth that Watt had sought to win the affections of the fair and generous Gwenny Cadwgan. He replied—“Well, the devil take thee when he will, for he must have marked thee for his own, long since, or thou wouldst never have had the impudence to court Gwenny Cadwgan!”
“Ha! ha!” laughed Watt, with a bitter snarl; “she will never be thine nor mine! so don’t burden thy memory with one who has already forgotten thee. Farewell! and better luck with thy next sweet-heart!” With that he cracked his whip and drove on his herd of swine, with an air of excited fierceness that was actually fearful to witness.
So much hurt was Twm at the bearing and conduct of Watt that he allowed him to go without asking more questions. His sorrow to hear of the change in the fortunes of Cadwgan and his lovely daughter, threw a heavy cloud over his mind; and he regretted that his remittance to him, by the hand of his friend, was so small. He felt rather relieved by the reflection that however small the sum was, it would be deemed a “God-send” to them under present circumstances; and at the same time prove to friends that he was not unmindful of them, nor ungrateful for their boundless kindness in his dark days of peril. However, he felt somewhat embittered by the insinuations of Watt, that the fair Gwenny’s regard for him was on the wane, if not altogether given to another; and right glad would he have been to learn the exact bearing of the whole affair, at which the mole-catcher’s hints but darkly hinted.
Twm was detained at Hungerford for some days, by starving weather; and while looking about for another animal, was taken by an old pedlar, down a green lane, to a creature of his, left there to graze. He was not a little surprised to find it to be his own pony, left in exchange with the highwayman, having on his back the identical pack-saddle in which he had formerly concealed his money. Twm made a purchase of both, and the next morning took his departure from Hungerford.
His enforced leisure at Hungerford had not been unprofitably spent, for he had listened attentively to the conversation of the different drinking parties at the tavern where he stayed; and found the dangers of the road to be the general theme. The great hero of the turnpikes at this time, was a certain knight of the road called the Gallant Glover, alias Tom Dorbell, originally a leather-breeches maker and glover. It appeared that he was a man who, by his shrewdness in general, as well as particular instances of cunning, combined with his dauntless daring, had become so much an object of admiration to those who had nothing to lose, as of terror to the men of money, who had become the victims of his audacity.
The following anecdote of him, told by one of these tavern worthies, interested our worthy much, and had the effect of putting him on his mettle, in case of an accidental meeting with him during his journey.
It seems, a gentleman’s son was taken for robbing on the highway; and as he had been formerly pardoned, he despaired of mercy a second time. Upon this, Tom Dorbell opened a treaty with his wealthy relatives, and undertook, for five hundred pounds, to bring him off. It was stipulated and agreed to, that one half of that sum be paid in hand, and the other half when the deliverance was effected. On the trial of the young gentleman, he was found guilty; but just as the judge was about to pass sentence, Tom Dorbell cried out “Oh! what a sad thing it is to shed innocent blood!” and continuing to reiterate the expression, he was apprehended, and the judge asked him what he meant by such exclamations, he answered,—“May it please your Lordship, it is a dreadful thing for a man to die wrongfully; but one may see how hard-mouthed some people are, by the witnesses swearing that this gentleman now at the bar robbed them on the highway, at the time stated in the indictment, when, indeed, my Lord, I was the person who committed that robbery.”
Accordingly the “Gallant Glover” was taken into custody, and the young gentleman liberated. Being brought to trial the following assizes, to the astonishment of the court, he pleaded not guilty. “Not guilty!” exclaimed the judge in a voice of thunder, “did you not at the last assizes own yourself guilty of the robbery in question?”