Wendot and Griffeth regretted this without seeing how to mend matters.  They felt sorry for Llewelyn and Howel, deprived of the employments and authority they had enjoyed of late, and would have gladly given them a share of authority in Dynevor; but this they would not accept, drawing more and more away into themselves, and sharing their confidences with no one except Wenwynwyn.

The summer was now on the wane, and the blustering winds of the equinox had begun to moan about the castle walls.  The men were busy getting in the last of the fruits of the earth and storing them up against the winter need, whilst the huntsmen brought in day by day stores of venison and game, which the women salted down for consumption during the long dreary days when snow should shut them within their own walls, and no fresh meat would be obtainable.

It was a busy season, and Wendot had time and mind alike full.  He heeded little the movements of his brothers, whom he thought engrossed in the pleasures of the chase.  He was not even aware that old Wenwynwyn was absent for several days from the castle, for since the estrangement between him and the old man he was often days at a time without encountering him.

Llewelyn and Howel were visibly restless just now.  They did not go far from the castle, nor did they seem interested in the spoil the hunters brought home.  But they spent many long hours in the great gallery where the arms of the retainers were laid up, and their heads were often to be seen close together in deep discussion, although if any person came near to disturb them they would spring asunder, or begin loudly discussing some indifferent theme.

They were in this vast, gloomy place, sitting together in the deep embrasure of one of the narrow windows as the daylight began to fail, when suddenly they beheld Wenwynwyn stalking through the long gallery as if in search of them, and they sprang forward to greet him with unconcealed eagerness.

“Thou hast returned.”

“Ay, my sons, I have returned, and am the bearer of good news.  But this is not the place to speak.  Stones have ears, and traitors abound even in these hoary walls which have echoed to the songs of the bard for more years than man can count.  Ah, woe the day; ah, woe the falling off!  That I should live to see the sons of Dynevor thus fall away —­ the young eaglets leaving their high estate to grovel with the carrion vulture and the coward crow!  Ah! in old days it was not so.  But there are yet those of the degenerate race in whom the spirit of their fathers burns.  Come, my sons —­ come hither with me.  I bring you a message from Iscennen that will gladden your hearts to hear.”

The boys pressed after him up the narrow, winding stair that led to the room the bard called his own.  It was remote from the rest of the castle, and words spoken within its walls could be heard by none outside.  It was a place that had heard much plotting and planning ere now, and what was to be spoken tonight was but the sequel of what had gone before.