So a year passed away, and the sturdy stronghold of Caer Caradoc still remained closed while Lady Rosamond stayed at Bryn Afon, faithful to her self-imposed charge of her fair young friend, whom she cheered with an unfailing flow of spirits and a wild enthusiasm in the king's cause, which latter feeling Primrose indeed shared to the full. And already the infant heir of Caradoc would gallantly wield his sword in his king's defence, and slay many an imaginary Cromwell in the dark corners of the corridors, in which he roamed at will through the long hours of those anxious days. And when Sir Ivor wrote word to his wife how in London even the ladies were taking spade in hand to help in digging the entrenchments around the city, the boy's brave mother and Primrose could scarcely be restrained from setting off then and there to work with them, regretting nothing so greatly as, that in the remote solitude of Wales no opportunity was like to occur for women to show their heroism. But Lady Shanno was called upon to show her own after another fashion sooner than she anticipated, for at Newbery, in September of the year 1643, the gallant Black Horseman fell at his master's side, shot through the heart, and scarce had Primrose hushed her first outburst of grief at the loss of so beloved and faithful a friend than her tears were caused to flow with yet greater bitterness by the departure of her lover, who, at her own urgent entreaty, as well as from his own sense of duty and responsibility, left his cure once more for a season in the hands of the aged Master Rhys, and following the call of his chaplaincy, joined the earl on the battlefield, in fulfilment of Lady Bryn Afon's sacred trust, which, on the death of the brave Rhiwallon, now devolved upon himself alone.