“If she sent you to school, she had some motive; what was it?” “I am a natural son, Sir John, which, perhaps Mr. Martyn informed you of: the lady sent me to school, because one of her great relations was said to be my father,” replied Twm, fixing his eyes on the baronet’s face, which he had the satisfaction of seeing quail beneath his riveting gaze.
Recovering himself, however, he cast a severe look on our hero, and, in a harsh tone and manner, said, “Now must I doubt all your assertions, as one falsehood is apparent to me. The lady you named was my sister, and certain it is that no relation of hers could be your father.”
Here the lion in our hero’s heart was roused, and he indignantly repelled the charge of falsehood, saying that he expected neither truth nor honour from his father, since he was known to him.
“And what may be your father’s name then?” asked the Baronet, biting his lip, to prevent the laughter that seemed ready to burst out. “Sir John Wynn of Gwydir!” exclaimed Twm in a dare-devil strain, that made the Baronet start at his vehemence. Admiring the fire that flashed in his eyes, his honest, fearless, and energetic behaviour, Sir John opened his arms, and received him in his embrace!
When Mr. Martyn came to announce the arrival of the bishop, he found our hero sobbing on his father’s neck, who soothed him by promises, that the neglect of years should now be remedied, and that he was glad and proud of the original, which he found in Mr. Martyn’s picture gallery.
The interview had ended very differently to what Twm and Mr. Martyn had expected, and our hero felt grateful to a protecting Providence which had so ordered events.
Sir John and Mr. Martyn descended, and our hero was left alone in the picture gallery. They joined the worthy Bishop at the table in the old-fashioned saloon, which, being overlooked from the rails of the gallery, Twm saw and heard all that passed, by the particular invitation of his worthy host.
The Bishop commenced addressing Mr. Martyn:—
“We are here met to-day, Mr. Martyn,” said he, “to submit to your arbitration, a matter in dispute between Sir John and myself. Sir John has expressed himself to you with reference to me, in an unfriendly manner, yet I have every confidence in your impartial judgment.” Here Mr. Martyn bowed, and Sir John, coughing to keep down his choler, of which he had as good a share as ever fell to the lot of a Cambro Briton, flourished his laced cambric handkerchief about his face, as he added, “His lordship cannot be more glad of an unbiassed umpire than I am myself, Mr. Martyn.”
The Bishop continued:—“Sir John’s request to me, was, that I would confirm a lease for three lives, upon the rectory of Llanrwst, at the yearly rent of fifty pounds; the same being worth one hundred and forty pounds, and is of my patronage. This request much perplexed my mind, for it grieved me to deny Sir John anything, yet my conscience cried aloud against such a grant, so prejudicial to the church itself, and especially to the next incumbent, whom I should have grievously wronged by beggaring the See, and injuring the living for future Clergymen.”