CHAPTER II.  THE BROTHERS

“What is that you dare to say?”

The voice was harsh, the words were spoken with a rough accent, unlike the gentler tones of Wendot and Griffeth.  The child uttered a little cry and shrank back away from the grip of the strong hand, and might have been in some danger of losing her balance and of falling over the balustrade, had not Wendot thrown a protecting arm round her, whilst pushing back with the other hand that of the rude interloper.

“Llewelyn! for shame!” he said in his own tongue.  “Art thou a man, and claimest the blood of princes, and yet canst stoop to frighten an inoffensive child?”

“She spoke of conquest —­ the conquest of our country,” cried Llewelyn fiercely, in the hated English tongue, scowling darkly at the little girl as he spoke.  “Thinkest thou that I will stand patiently by and hear such words?  What right hath she or any one besides to speak of that tyrant and usurper in such tones?”

“He is not a tyrant, he is not a usurper!” cried the little Lady Gertrude, recovering herself quickly, and, whilst still holding Wendot by the hand, turning fearlessly upon the dark-faced lad who had startled and terrified her at the first.  “I know of whom you are speaking —­ it is of our great and noble King Edward.  You do not know him —­ you cannot know how great and good he is.  I will not hear you speak against him.  I love him next best to my own father.  He is kind and good to everybody.  If you would all give your homage to him you would be happy and safe, and he would protect you, and —­”

But Llewelyn’s patience was exhausted; he would listen no more.  With a fierce gesture of hatred that made the child shrink back again he turned upon her, and it seemed for a moment almost as though he would have struck her, despite Wendot’s sturdy protecting arm, had not his own shoulder been suddenly grasped by an iron hand, and he himself confronted by the stern countenance of his father.

“What means this, boy?” asked Res Vychan severely.  “Art thou daring to raise thine arm against a child, a lady, and thy father’s guest?  For shame!  I blush for thee.  Ask pardon instantly of the lady and of her father.  I will have no such dealings in mine house.  Thou shouldst be well assured of that.”

The black-browed boy was crimson with rage and shame, but there was no yielding in the haughty face.  He confronted his father with flashing eyes, and as he did so he met the keen, grave glance of the stranger’s fixed upon him with a calm scrutiny which aroused his fiercest rage.

“I will not ask pardon,” he shouted.  “I will not degrade my tongue by uttering such words.  I will not —­”

The father’s hand descended heavily upon his son’s head, in a blow which would have stunned a lad less hardy and hard-headed.  Res Vychan was not one to be defied with impunity by his own sons, and he had had hard encounters of will before now with Llewelyn.