During the residence of Gadarn at the court of King Hudibras, that wily northern chief had led the king to understand that one of his lieutenants had at last discovered his daughter Branwen in the hands of a band of robbers, from whom he had rescued her, and that he expected her arrival daily.

 

“But what made the poor child run away?” asked the king at one of his interviews with his friend. “We were all very fond of her, and she of us, I have good reason to believe.”

 

“I have been told,” replied the chief, “that it was the fear of Gunrig.”

 

“Gunrig! Why, the man was to wed my daughter. She had no need to fear him.”

 

“That may be so, but I know—though it is not easy to remember how I came to know it—that Gunrig had been insolent enough to make up to her, after he was defeated by Bladud, and she was so afraid of him that she ran away, and thus fell into the hands of robbers.”

 

While the chief was speaking, Hudibras clenched his hands and glared fiercely.

 

“Dared he to think of another girl when he was engaged to my daughter!” he said between his teeth. “It is well that Gunrig is dead, for assuredly I would have killed him.”

 

“It is well indeed,” returned Gadarn, “for if your killing had not been sufficient, I would have made it more effectual. But he is out of the way now, so we may dismiss him.”

 

“True—and when may we expect Branwen back again, poor child?” asked the king.

 

“In a day or two at latest. From what was told me by the runner who was sent on in advance, it is possible that she may be here to-morrow, in time for the sports.”

 

The wily chief had settled it in his own mind that Branwen should arrive exactly at the time when there was to be a presentation of chiefs; which ceremony was to take place just before the commencement of the sports. This arrangement he had come to in concert with a little old woman in a grey shawl, who paid him a private visit daily.

 

“Do you know, Gadarn, who this youth Cormac is, whom Bladud raves so much about?”

 

The northern chief was seized at that moment with one of those violent fits of sneezing to which of late he had become unpleasantly subject.

 

“Oh! ye—ye—y–ha! yes;—excuse me, king, but since I went to that Hot Swamp, something seems to have gone wrong wi’—wi’—ha! my nose.”

 

“Something will go worse wrong with it, chief, if you go on like that. I thought the last one must have split it. Well, what know you about Cormac?”

分享到：