"I tell you, I know of no smugglers at Ap Gauvon: some folks say there are ghosts at Ap Gauvon; and Merlin has been seen of moonlight nights walking up and down the long galleries: and sometimes of dark nights the whole Abbey in a manner has been lit up; and shouting and laughing enough to waken all the church-yards round Snowdon. But I mustn't stand gossiping here, master: I've my cows to fetch up, and fifty things to do before its dark."
So saying he turned on his heel, whilst Bertram pursued his way to the stone gallows. This he reached in about an hour and a half; by which time the light was beginning to decay. Looking round for some person of whom he could inquire the road, he saw or fancied that he saw--a human figure near the gallows; and, going a little nearer he clearly distinguished a woman sitting at its foot. He paused a little while to watch her. Sometimes she muttered to herself, and seemed as if lost in thought: sometimes she roused herself up suddenly, and sang in a wild and boisterous tone of gaiety: but it easily appeared that there was no joy in her gaiety: for the tone of exultation soon passed into something like a ferocious expression of vengeance. Then, after a time, she would suddenly pause and laugh: but in the next moment would seem to recover the main recollection that haunted her; and falling back as into the key-note of her distress, would suddenly burst into tears. Bertram saw enough to convince him that the poor creature's wits were unsettled; and from the words of one of the fragments which she sang, a suspicion flashed upon his mind that it could be no other than his hostess in the wild cottage; though how, or on what errand, come over to this neighbourhood--he was at a loss to guess. To satisfy himself on all these points if possible, he moved nearer and accosted her:
"A cold evening, good mother, for one so old as you to be sitting out in the open air."
"Yes, Sir," she answered, without expressing any surprise at his sudden interruption; "yes, Sir, its a cold evening: but I am waiting for a young lad that was to meet me here."
Bertram now saw that his conjecture was right: it was indeed his aged and mysterious hostess: but, before he could speak, she seemed to have forgotten that he was present--and sang in an under tone:
They hung him high aboon the rest, He was sae trim a boy; Thair dyed the youth whom I lov'd best --My winsome Gilderoy.
"A young man you were expecting to meet you?" said Bertram.
"Yes, Sir, a young man:" and then, holding up her apron to her face as if ashamed, she added--"he was a sweetheart of mine. Sir." But in a moment, as if recollecting herself, she cried out--"No, no, no: I'll tell you the whole truth: he was my son, my love, my darling: and they took him, Sir, they hanged him here. And, if you'll believe my word, Sir--they wouldn't let his old mother kiss his bonny lips before he died. Well, well! Let's have nothing but peace and quietness. All's to be right at last. There's more of us, I believe, that won't die in our beds. But don't say I told you."
"My good old hostess, can you show me the road to Griffith ap Gauvon?"
"Ap Gauvon, is it? Aye, aye: there's one of them: he'll never die in his bed, rest you sure of that. Never you trouble your head about him: I've settled all that: and Edward Nicholas will be hanged at this gallows, if my name's Gillie Godber."