But at least, if silent and sullen, they did not appear to entertain any plan likely to raise anxiety in Wendot’s mind as to the pledge he had given to the king.  They kept at home, and never spoke of Iscennen, and as the winter passed away and the spring began to awaken the world from her long white sleep, they betook themselves with zest to their pastime of hunting, and went long expeditions that sometimes lasted many days, returning laden with spoil, and apparently in better spirits from the bracing nature of their pursuits.

Griffeth, who had felt the cold somewhat keenly, and had been drooping and languid all the winter, picked up strength and spirit as the days grew longer and warmer, and began to enjoy open-air life once more.

Wendot was much wrapped up in this young brother of his, who had always been dearer to him than any being in the world besides.

Since he had been at death’s door with the fever, Griffeth had never recovered the robustness of health which had hitherto been the characteristic of the Dynevor brothers all their lives.  He was active and energetic when the fit was on him, but he wearied soon of any active sport.  He could no longer bound up the mountain paths with the fleetness and elasticity of a mountain deer, and in the keen air of the higher peaks it was difficult for him to breathe.

Still in the summer days he was almost his former self again, or so Wendot hoped; and although Griffeth’s lack of rude health hindered both from joining the long expeditions planned and carried out by the twins, it never occurred to Wendot to suspect that there was an ulterior motive for these, or to realize how unwelcome his presence would have been had he volunteered it, in lieu of staying behind with Griffeth, and contenting himself with less adventurous sports.

Spring turned to summer, and summer to autumn, and life at Dynevor seemed to move quietly enough.  Griffeth took a fancy to book learning —­ a rare enough accomplishment in those days —­ and a monk from the Abbey of Strata Florida was procured to give him instruction in the obscure science of reading and writing.  Wendot, who had a natural love of study, and who had been taught something of these mysteries by his mother —­ she being for the age she lived in a very cultivated woman —­ shared his brother’s studies, and delighted in the acquirement of learning.

But this new development on the part of the Lord of Dynevor and his brother seemed to divide them still more from the two remaining sons of Res Vychan; and the old bard would solemnly shake his head and predict certain ruin to the house when its master laid aside sword for pen, and looked for counsel to the monk and missal instead of to his good right hand and his faithful band of armed retainers.

Wendot and Griffeth would smile at these dark sayings, and loved their studies none the less because they opened out before them some better understanding of the blessings of peace and culture upon a world harried and exhausted with perpetual, aimless strife; but their more enlightened opinions seemed but to widen the breach between them and their brothers, and soon they began to be almost strangers to each other.