"Oh, ho! You know his name, then? Well, and that's all _I_ do--pretty nigh. He lives with a woman who fostered him after his own mother died in travail with him, they do say, who has a little house, beyond that lump of a mountain, above all the others, we see by daylight; he has been in England, and is a strange one for music. He owes (owns, possesses,) a beautiful harp--_beautiful_! The Lord knows, some do say, that's all he owes in the world, so (except) his coracle and the salmon he takes, and what young people do give him at weddings and biddings, where he goes to play: and what's that to keep a wife? Poor Davy _Telynwr_! Yet, by my soul, we all say we'd rather see her his than this foreigner gentleman's, who has almost broke her heart, they say, by coming between her and her own dear one." "He's _not_ come yet," muttered the other, sullenly; adding, sharply and bitterly, "Mighty good friends you all are, to wish her married to a beggar, a vagabond harper, rather than to a gentleman." "Why--to be sure, sir--but vows be vows--love's love--and to tell truth, sir," (the Welsh blood of the Cardy peasant was now up,) "if any foreign, half Welsh, half wild Indian, sort of gentleman had sent his fine letters, asking my sweetheart's friends to turn _me_ off, in my courting days, and prepare my wench to be his lady, instead of my wife--I'd have--I'd have"-- "_What_ would you have done?" asked the other, laughing heartily. "Cursed him to St Elian!" roared the other; then, dropping his voice into a solemn tone, "put him into his well.[21] _I'd_ have plagued him, I warrant. But for _my_ part," added the man archly, "I don't believe there's any _squire_ lover in the case--nor that your honour ever said there is." The agent here vanished, as if in haste, abruptly, down the steep path. During this conversation, Winifred had reached the river. While she stands expectant, not in happiness, but in tears, it is time to say a few words of the lover so expected.