Part 15 (2/2)
replied Twm, ”I never heard of any preaching that is to be there.”
”That's very odd,” rejoined the old man, ”as the whole country has been crowding there to hear the good Rhys Prichard, the great vicar of Llandovery.” ”I have heard he is very popular,” said Twm.
”Popular!” screamed the weazon-faced old man, as if indignant at the coldness of our hero's eulogy, ”he is the s.h.i.+ning light of our times, and hardly less than a prophet; wisely has he called his divine book the _Welshman's Candle_, for it blazes with exceeding brightness, and men find their way by it from the darkness of perdition. When it is known that his health permits him to preach, the country hereabouts is up in swarms, to the distance of two score miles and more. Then, the farmer forsakes his cornfield, the chapman his shop, and every tradesman and artizan quits his calling, to listen to the music of his discourse.
Infirmity alone has kept me from going to hear him to-day; but my wife is no better than an infidel, and would rather listen to a profane fiddler, or a vagrant harper, than the finest preacher that ever breathed out a pious discourse.”
This was too much for any woman to listen quietly to, without saying a word or two in reply, and his spouse a.s.sured Twm that he was a miserable dreamer, whose brains had been turned by the ravings of fanatical preachers; that some months ago he ran three miles, howling, thinking he was pursued by the foul fiend, when it turned out to be only his own shadow; and that when a patch of the mountain furze was set on a blaze to fertilize the land, nothing could convince him that the world was not on fire, and the day of judgment come, till he caught an ague by hiding himself up to the chin in the river for twelve hours.
”Facts are stubborn things,” and as these were most unpleasant ones to be served up at his cost, for the entertainment of a stranger, the old man's reply was angry and indignant, and the war of words seemed likely to degenerate into one of actual blows, when the violent galloping of a horse drew their attention, and in an instant a steed and rider pa.s.sed the door; but suddenly checking his speed he returned, and calling at the cottage door, asking in a tone of authority if a lady had pa.s.sed that way towards Llandovery within the last half hour.
The old man, trembling as he spoke, protested that no lady had pa.s.sed for many hours; on which the bluff horseman told him as he valued his life, that neither he nor his wife should appear on the outside of the cottage door till he gave them leave. The old man a.s.sured him of his entire obedience, when the fellow quietly crossed the road, and effectually concealed himself and horse behind the opposite turf-stack.
This scene had received all attention from Twm, who had recognized in the despotic horseman, his late dearly-remembered friend, Dio the devil. He suspected Dio's intentions and prepared forthwith to take part in some approaching business in which his presence had not been reckoned upon.
He asked the timorous old cottager if he possessed such a thing as a long-handled hedge bill-hook, to which the poor dotard, his teeth chattering the while, replied in the negative. On searching the cottage, with the a.s.sistance of his mistress, to his great vexation he could find no weapon, but a blunt old hatchet, and a rusty reaping hook.
While they were yet seeking, Twm's ear, sharpened to the utmost by the excitement and impending danger, heard another horse approaching, his heart caught fire at the sound, and with almost fierce vehemence he called to the people of the cottage, ”Give me some weapon in the name of G.o.d! to defend you and myself from having our throats cut;” but it only increased their terror and confusion.
As he still spoke, there stopped opposite the cottage, a lady on a beautiful white horse, and the horseman darted forward from behind the turf-rick, and producing pistols demanded her money. The lady protested, in the most piteous and earnest tone, that she had accidentally left her purse behind and must be indebted to a friend at Llandovery, should she fail to meet her husband there, for some small change.
A momentary thrill, mysteriously strange and unaccountable, overcame our hero, as he caught a view of the lady's face, and recognized one that he felt certain he had seen before; and when, or where, he could not recollect; and the enquiring thought was checked in its birth by the consideration of her present danger. ”I'll not be disappointed for nothing,” cried the ruffian, ”Dio the devil is not to be fooled, and my pretty lady of Ystrad Feen, I have depended on a good booty from you to-day, so that unless in two minutes you strip, and give me every article in which you are clothed, a pistol bullet shall pa.s.s through your fair and delicate body.”
The fair horseman begged for consideration, and promised a liberal reward for any mercy shown to her. But the scoundrel laughed scornfully in her face, and c.o.c.ked his pistol, on which she uttered a loud scream and fainted, when he immediately approached to dismount, strip, and rifle her.
Our hero whose blood was boiling with honest indignation, now started up from behind the lady's horse, and struck the highwayman an astounding blow on the temples, with a stout hedge-stake grasped with both hands, and repeated that delicate treatment till it brought the desperado senseless to the ground. After the first terrible blow, confused as he was, he instinctively presented his pistol at random, but Twm struck him heavily on the extended arm, which caused it to fall like a withered oak branch smote by the thunderbolt.
In a few minutes the lady began to recover under the kind and attentive treatment of the old woman, who bathed her face with water. How Twm was rewarded by the deeply grateful expression on her countenance! Truly he had delivered her from peril, but into what a difficulty had he brought himself! He was in love; over head and ears. The fair one appeared to be still in dread of other dangers, but Twm, in the gentlest manner, a.s.sured her of her entire safety, and that he would have the happiness of conducting and protecting her to Llandovery, where he intended to bring the highwayman dead or alive, and deliver him, with an account of the whole affair, to the magistrate.
Poor Twm! The lady praising his courage, informed him that she was the wife of Sir George Devereaux, and that her husband would not allow his services to pa.s.s without pecuniary reward. Poor Twm! in love with another man's wife, and that man with an aristocratic handle to his name.
”For my own part,” continued she, ”as I a.s.sured the merciless highwayman, I am at present without my purse, having left it accidentally at the house of a poor sick person, whom I relieved, and stayed with many hours this morning, by which delay I have missed hearing the sermon preached to-day by the Rev. Rhys Prichard.”
Twm declared he did not in the least feel himself ent.i.tled to any reward; sufficient for him was the approval of so beautiful and amiable a lady; but that he had another gratification in the action he had performed, as it was his fortune to have punished the man who had once stopped him on the highway and robbed him of his little all. Our hero felt quite sure he had seen the lady before, and in endeavouring to remember where, he fell into a silent reverie; from which, however, he was suddenly roused by the loud groaning of his wounded captive.
The fears of the old man had driven him beneath the rickety old bedstead, and no threat nor offer of reward could induce him to leave his retreat, where he lay exclaiming, ”Oh Lord! oh dear! I shall surely have my throat cut.” The lady of Ystrad Feen, however, alighted and lent an active hand in binding the thief, still insensible, with old halters contributed by the fat woman of the cottage, who also gave all possible a.s.sistance; so that with their united aid Twm soon got him across his own horse, like a sack of barley, and secured him by tying him neck and heels under the horse's belly. Our elated hero leaped into the saddle, and rode side by side with the lady of Ystrad Feen, and conversing freely with her, no longer embarra.s.sed with his former bashfulness, till they reached Llandovery.
The good people of the town were just leaving Llandingad church, and were considerably astonished with what they saw, and Twm and his fair companion were soon surrounded by a large and curious crowd. Sir George Devereaux, a ruddy and hearty fox-hunting Baronet, came up and a.s.sisted his lady to alight, Mr. Rhys the curate approached Twm, and each in a few minutes was in possession of the whole story. The baronet eagerly grasped our hero by the hand, and a.s.sured him of his protection and favour to the utmost of his power; declaring at the same time that no possible reward could equal his deserts or repay his services.
All were delighted to hear of the defeat and capture of Dio the Devil, as, with very few exceptions, the farmers of that district had suffered from the highwayman's depredations, and a subscription was immediately raised, to reward the captor; so that our hero was soon in possession of a sum of no less than ten pounds, in addition to five more that the county awarded.
Twm and Mr. Rhys received an invitation to dinner for the following day, at Ystrad Feen, where Sir George promised them good entertainment, and added that they would decide in what manner our hero's gallant service could be best repaid. As for Dio the Devil, when the constables advanced to unloose him, it was discovered that he was dead. ”Dead as a fox within the jaws of Juno!” exclaimed Sir George, as the lifeless robber fell heavily on the ground, amid the crowd of spectators.
CHAPTER XXIV.
TWM remains at Ystrad Feen. The vicar of Llandovery. A famous run with the hounds. An enthusiastic hunter's leap.
Twm took up his abode, for the time, at a tavern recommended by Mr. Rhys, where, being decidedly the hero of the day, he was surrounded by a large company, all anxious to minister to the bodily wants of so brave a fellow, and wishful to hear the details of his desperate encounter with the famous robber, from the lips of Twm himself. Cautioned by the worthy curate, however, his potations were rather limited; and urging his fatigue as an excuse for retiring, he soon left his admirers, and slept on a bed of roses.
<script>