trickled down Winifred’s face, I saw them trickling by the moonlight, as she gazed upon the writhing form of her afflicted husband. I arose from my seat. ‘I am the cause of all this,’ said I, ‘by my folly and imprudence, and it is thus I have returned your kindness and hospitality; I will depart from you and wander my way.’ I was retiring, but Peter sprang up and detained me. ‘Go not,’ said he, ‘you were not in fault; if there be any fault in the case it was mine; if I suffer, I am but paying the penalty of my own iniquity’; he then paused, and appeared to be considering: at length he said, ‘Many things which thou hast seen and heard connected with me require explanation; thou wishest to know my tale, I will tell it thee, but not now, not to-night; I am too much shaken.’

Two evenings later, when we were again seated beneath the oak, Peter took the hand of his wife in his own, and then, in tones broken and almost inarticulate, commenced telling me his tale - the tale of the Pechod Ysprydd Glan.