age a decided preference for the "king's language." And in this she was by no means discouraged by her old friend and preceptor, Master Rhys, who, having had an English mother and an English curé during the early years of his ministry, felt a very English heart within him, in consequence of which the strife between himself and his reverend cousin of Castell Leon was at times of a somewhat animated nature, and Little Miss Primrose would often sit by and marvel at the torrent of learned words which each would pour forth in defence of his particular view of the matter. Meanwhile, while affairs religious and political stirred the depths of the quiet valley and kept it from stagnation, the old castle on the hill grew more and more desolate. The earl remained away, and little was ever heard of him. Since the day of his long converse with Jack in the woods he had never again visited Bryn Afon, and the winds howled round the old hill-top on winter nights, and the rain beat against the grey walls which crowned the crest of the hill, and ever and again the old gipsy wandered through the valley, each year a little more grey-headed and wild-eyed, chanting her rude rhymes, and arousing the boatman's wrath afresh by her ill-omened forebodings as well as by her presumption in outliving the allotted age of man. Twice that same red star shone out again from one of the mullioned windows facing the river, but only for a few nights in succession, at intervals of three or four years, and whether lighted by ghostly or human hand Jack knew not, nor deigned to ask his brethren. Little Miss Primrose had hailed with joy the reappearance of her star, but Jack now felt no wish ever to see it again, for the last time it had shone out in the darkness he had happened to meet the old gipsy, lurking near the entrance to the castle on the farther side of the hill, and she had told him that every night since the red light had been burning there had been shriekings and wailings in the castle, like those of a murdered man, and the white shadow of a woman, walking to and fro in the avenue, moaning, and wringing her hands. Jack had shaken the woman from him, but her words had nevertheless haunted him, and he had been unable to sleep that night for thinking of the young earl and the mysterious fortunes of the Bryn Afons. And when, a few nights afterwards, the light had ceased to burn, he felt a great relief, and prayed that he might never see it more. CHAPTER VI. WITHIN THE CASTLE. "... My grief lies all within; And these external manners of Lament Are merely shadows to the unseen grief, That swells with silence in the tortur'd soul; There lies the substance." --SHAKESPEARE. "In vain I trusted that the flowing bowl Would banish sorrow and enlarge the soul. To the late revel and protracted jest, Wild dreams succeeded and disorder'd rest." --PRIOR.