Twm, at last, face to face with his paternal parent. A little scene between a Baronet and a Bishop. Twm’s particular star brightens.
When it became known that Twm was the bearer of money from the baronet to Mr. Martyn, that he had rescued the bishop of St. Asaph and party, and that he was the hero of many other encounters with daring highwaymen, he became quite a lion in the house, was regarded as a fine specimen of a Welshman, and, in homely language, was “made much of.”
Previous to the sound slumber that soon overcame his softly-pillow’d head, he pondered much on what he had heard of his reputed father, and felt his mind strongly impressed with the idea that the coming morrow teemed with events that would cast their shade or sunshine on his future days.
In a dream that followed, he found himself in the presence of a passionate little gentleman who threatened him with terrible vengeance, unless he returned to the house of Morris Greeg, and gave his hand in marriage to the amiable daughter Shaan; and he thought he discovered in a murky recess, a parrot-nosed sprite, resembling Moses, who was grinning at his dilemma; when the lady of his former dream appeared suddenly, and smiled like an angel on the churlish old man, who forthwith smiled again, when Ianto Gwyn stood forth with his harp; on which he joined her in a Welsh jig. Then came a long and dreamless sleep, which at length was broken by the numerous clocks of London, clamorously informing its citizens of the seventh hour of a new day.
The letters borne by our hero to Mr. Martyn from Sir George Devereaux spoke most highly of his abilities and good qualities; and the trust reposed in him by the baronet was fully evinced by his being trusted with such an important pecuniary mission as that which had brought him to London.
In addition, his introduction by the Bishop of St. Asaph, with the details of his acknowledged services to that venerable prelate, insured our hero the most marked consideration among his present friends, who vied with each other in their attentions to him. The whole family expressed their hope that his stay would be long in town; and Mrs. Martyn insisted that he would make their house his home the while.
After breakfast, Twm requested a private conversation with his host; when he explained, with straightforward candour, that, although unlooked-for circumstances had placed him in his present favourable position, he was, in reality, the most friendless of human beings; inasmuch that he was a natural son, unacknowledged by his father.
Mr. Martyn kindly commiserated him; and our hero continued,—“I learnt yesterday evening that the Bishop of St. Asaph is to-day engaged to meet the man, who, of all others, I wish, yet dread to see—my father, Sir John Wynn of Gwydir.”
“Sir John Wynn, your father!” exclaimed Mr. Martyn, in great astonishment. “The same,” replied Twm, “yet he knows me not, nor have I a single document or a witness to prove it. Yet did I hope, ardently hope, that some chance would turn up in my favour, to avail myself of the meeting of this day, between Sir John and the good bishop.” Mr. Martyn said, with much concern, that, although their mutual friend, he saw great difficulties to oppose the introduction of such a matter.
“This conference,” continued he, “cannot end amicably; one party is bent on urging a claim, while the other is resolved to reject it, and they will part bad friends at last; while I, their umpire, cannot prevent it. Sir John, ruffled by disappointment, will be in no cue to listen to any claims on his kindness, especially one of a nature so serious, more especially as the very existence of such a complaint, criminates his past conduct.”