_John De Lancaster and Devereux visit the Minstrel Ap Rees._
It was to the romantic little tenement, which John De Lancaster in his
bounty had bestowed upon Ap Rees, he now proceeded with his companion
Devereux, pondering by the way upon the wretched situation of his
helpless father, and devising means how to overcome the difficulties,
that he foresaw would assail him in his project for leaving England. He
could as yet see no way through the labyrinth of obstacles, that from
all quarters would be opposed to his departure; and of these the sorrows
of Amelia, though probably the least obtrusive, were by no means the
least to be apprehended, or the easiest to surmount.
The information he could gain from Devereux did not in all points
satisfy his curiosity; for Sir David Ap Owen had said nothing to him of
the menaces he employed for obtaining the bond, and with Philip he had
had but one interview, which disclosed still less of what John wanted to
be explained than the letter, which he had been reading.
As they went on their way discoursing, the cottage of Ap Rees in all its
rural loveliness caught the eyes of Devereux, and caused him to break
forth in rapturous admiration of it--We are going thither, said our
hero. That is the habitation of the minstrel Ap Rees, who from his
childhood has been domesticated in the Ap Owen family, and is, as you
will soon discover, a person of no ordinary talents; and although now
old and blind, and (which is worse than both) broken-hearted by
misfortunes, yet is he second to none that our country has to boast of,
either as harmonist or bard.
Alas! said Devereux, old and blind and full of sorrows, with feelings
yet alive to every pang they give him, what accumulated misery must his
be! Heavy enough, I should conceive, must be his loss, who cannot see
the beauties of this lovely spot, nor gratify his senses with the
scenery, that nature in the wantonness of her luxuriance spreads around
him. But doubtless it is to the bounty of the heir of the Ap Owens, that
he owes these comforts, this asylum for old age to rest in, till
Providence shall graciously be pleased to terminate his sorrows, and
close those eyes in death, that are already merged in darkness and
despair.
’Tis natural, John replied, that you should so conjecture: but no Ap
Owen gave him that asylum.
To whom then does he owe it?
No answer was given to this question; and now the notes of the harp,
accompanied by the voice, caused them to stop and listen at the wicket
of the little plat of grass, that for a few yards ran sloping down from
the cottage. The harmony was of the most pathetic, sad and solemn cast,
delicately touched by the hand of the master, but of the words they
could distinguish few, expect that by a passage more strongly given out
than the rest, they concluded it to be the lamentation of a father at
the funeral of his child.
He ceased and all was silent in the house--’Tis exquisite, said
Devereux; but pray don’t ask him to repeat it. I should not like to see
him, and to hear him at the same time--John walked up to the house-door,
opened it gently, and entered the room, followed by Devereux.
The old man had replaced himself in his elbow chair; his son Robert had
put away his harp, and in a corner of the room apart sate a young woman,
who held her white apron to her eyes, and appeared to be weeping.
As soon as Robert announced Mr. John De Lancaster Ap Rees rose from his
seat, and with his claspt hands pressed upon his bosom, bowed his head
and exclaimed--The Providence of Heaven be with you, my most honoured
benefactor! Are you come to visit your poor beadsman? Oh, that I could
see you! With the benevolence of an angel in your heart I am sure you
must have the divinity of an angel in your countenance.
Robin, said the youth, do not address me in those terms. Call me your
friend; for such I really am. The gratification I receive in giving
comfort to a man like you, if indeed you are comforted, is full
repayment; I deserve no praise. Now tell me sincerely; what is there
besides that I can do to put you at your ease?
Nothing is wanting, he replied: Man can do no more for man than you have
done for me. I have my son yet left; thanks to your bounteous goodness
for the blessing! she in the corner, Sally Gwynne by name, a kinswoman
of my late wife, is a good girl and waits upon me kindly: she was the
beloved friend of my poor Nancy, and has been much affected by my
mournful dirge: I did not know it, else I would have stopped. But sure I
hear the footsteps of another in the room.
Your ear is correct, said De Lancaster. It is Mr. Devereux, a friend of
mine. He listened to your dirge with great attention. I would not have
you to repeat it, but let him know the purport. Tell that young woman to
withdraw--And now I am about to put a melancholy task upon you, but it
much concerns me, that this gentleman, newly arrived from Lisbon, should
hear you briefly, truly and distinctly relate the manner of your
daughter’s death.
Where is the gentleman?
He stands before you.
Sir, I call Heaven to witness that my child was murdered. Her vital
functions were destroyed and poisoned by drugs of an inflammatory and
deadly property, which, rendering her insane, drove her to suicide, and
so brought on a death of double horror. This is no longer circumstance,
but proof: The inspection of the corpse, the deposition of the
surgeons, and, above all, the confession of the accomplice, bring it
home to the criminal, and would convict him of murder, could he be
brought to trial.
What prevents it? Devereux demanded with voice and look so
horrow-struck, as seemed to indicate suspicion of the issue.
His flight prevents it: his accusing conscience, which haunts him with
the dreadful recollection, that my poor Innocent, my virtuous child
withstood his gross desires, till to effect his brutal purposes he
villainously contrived to deprive her of her senses, and to the crime of
murder added that of violation.
Name the villain, Devereux exclaimed.
The minstrel rose from his seat, and, laying his hand upon his heart, in
a firm tone replied--David Ap Owen--my dead patron’s heir; and Heaven
so judge me as I speak the truth!
Enough! said Devereux. I set off to-morrow.