“Sweetheart! come so quickly?  How couldst thou?”

“Ay, Vychan, love hath ever wings, and neither I nor Arthyn could keep away, our business at the court once accomplished.  Vychan, husband, thou standest here Lord of Dynevor in thine own right.  Thou hast won back thine ancestral home, the boy’s inheritance.

“Seest thou this deed?  Knowest thou the king’s seal?  Take it, for it secureth all to thee under thy name of Vychan Cherleton.  And if in times to come those who come after know not that it was the son of Res Vychan who thus reclaimed his patrimony, and if our worthy chroniclers set down that Dynevor and its lands passed to the keeping of the English, what matters it?  We know the truth, and those who have loved thee and thy father know who thou art and whence thou hast come.  Let that be sufficient for thee and for me.

“Griffeth, little son, kiss thy father, and bid him welcome to his own halls again —­ the halls of Dynevor.”

Vychan could not speak.  He pressed one passionate kiss upon the lips of his wife, and another upon the brow of his noble boy, who looked every inch a Dynevor, with the true Dynevor features, and the bold, fearless mien so like his father’s.

Then commanding himself by an effort, he opened the king’s parchment and quickly mastered its contents, after which he took his wife’s hand and held out the other to his son.

“My faithful fellows are mustering in the hall to bid me welcome once more to Dynevor.  Come, sweet wife; I must show to them their lady and their future lord.

“Arthyn —­ where is she?  Has she gone on to Iscennen to meet Llewelyn there?”

“Ay, verily:  she was as hungry for him as I for thee; and she hath a similar mandate for him regarding his rights to Carregcennen.

“O Vychan, dearest husband, I can scarce believe it is not all a dream.”

Indeed, to Vychan it seemed almost as though he dreamed, as in the old familiar hall he stood, a little raised from the crowd of armed retainers upon the steps of the wide oak staircase, as he addressed to them a speech eloquent with that thrilling eloquence which is the gift of all who speak from the heart, and speak to hearts beating in deep and true response.  Vychan thanked all those who had so bravely fought for him, explained to all assembled there his new position and his new name, bid them not think him less a Welshman and a Dynevor because he bore his wife’s arms and called himself the servant of the English king, and held up before their eyes the mandate of that English king confirming to him the lands and halls of Dynevor.

A wild, ringing cheer broke from all who heard him as he thus proved to their own satisfaction that the royal Edward was their best friend, and as the new Lord of Dynevor held up his child for them to see, and to own as future lord in the time-honoured fashion, such a shout went up from the throats of all as made the vaulted roof ring again.  Blades were unsheathed and waved in wild enthusiasm, and Gertrude’s dark eyes glistened through a mist of proud and happy tears.