The whole party stared with amazement at the unexpected reply. The Baronet was softened to tears, and but for compromising his dignity, would have embraced him before them all. The Bishop smiled, and shaking his hand very cordially replied, “The request is as graceful in you to make as in me, to deny; that question is disposed of. In a few days I will call again, when you may decide in what I can be of service to you.”
He then took a courteous leave of Mr. Martyn and of our hero, with a ceremonious bow to Sir John, and departed. Right glad was Martyn to be relieved, by the temper of the Baronet, from the unpleasant office of an arbitrator of their differences.
CHAPTER XXXI.
Twm meets one of his best friends from Wales. Death of Sir George Devereaux. Hopes and fears. Interruption of happy hours. Lady Devereaux’s forced return to Wales. Twm follows her.
Our hero was now living amongst the elite of the metropolis, and his daily communion with men of taste, feeling, and education, produced a quick and remarkable change for the better in his manners and personal appearance. His new-found father assisted him largely in his finances, and a handsome pecuniary present from the worthy bishop, accompanied with a complimentary letter, which was doubly gratifying to him, as emanating from so respectable a source.
When he had been eight months in London, he was sitting alone one morning in Mr. Martyn’s picture gallery, intently pondering on his future plans of life, considering whether to return to his friends at Ystrad Feen, or seek employment in town. His reverie was disturbed by a servant’s informing him that a gentleman was waiting to see him.
On his descent to the parlour, great and gratifying was his surprise to meet there his old friend Rhys. The cordiality of their mutual greetings but faintly echoed the ardour of their feelings. News from the country was our hero’s first inquiry, and Rhys assured him he had an abundance to relate. Gwenny Cadwgan is married, and living with her husband and father on a fine farm at Kevencoer-Cummer, near Merthyr. Walt the mole-catcher is transported, having narrowly escaped the gallows. Your mother and step-father are well. “So much for Tregaron news,” said Rhys; “and now for Ystrad Feen and Llandovery. A singular coincidence,—in the same week we lost the venerable Vicar Prichard, and your friend Sir George Devereaux.”
“The last is a climax indeed to your budget; but is it really a fact that Sir George is no more?” enquired Twm, looking hard in his friend’s face.
“Fact as deeth! as the Scotchman says,” replied Rhys; “He threw his life away in one of his foolish fox-hunting leaps.”
“Well, well! I am truly sorry,” exclaimed Twm, “for he was a kind being.” “He was so; but tell me truly,” said Rhys, looking archly in his friend’s eyes, “is it for death, or his lady’s being left so young a widow, that your sorrow is most intense?” Twm looked grave, but finally smiled, as Rhys, with great archness, added, “It somewhat strikes me that this is a sorrow which you will soon get over; and, if I mistake not, so will the widow too.”