Respected sir, Ap Rees replied, my natural wish would be to edify in silence, whilst my superior (such I am conscious Mr. Williams is) exhibited that excellence, which has no rival; in me at least that rival is not found. But, Sir, there stands beside me one--would I could see him!--an exalted being, endowed by nature with such blessed properties, that, but to guess at what he wishes done and not to do it, would be in me, who live upon his bounty, and may be said almost to breathe his air, a sin of such ingratitude as yet no name is found for, and I hope no instance ever will occur to put invention to that lamentable test. Your grandson, Heaven preserve him, willed me to string my tuneless harp afresh, and second Mr. Williams in a strain, melodiously adapted to the words which he will chaunt. To this of course the assent was universal. The sightless brethren put their harps in time: Ap Rees enriched the strain with his harmonious chords, whilst Williams led and sung, as here ensues-- “Fearless of danger, I prepare to roam O’er seas, whose angry billows rage and foam; An amulet there is, that guards my breast, Whose power can charm the loudest storm to rest. It is the image of my darling maid, An image by no mortal hand pourtray’d; Love, the great master, grav’d it on my heart, And, ere time mars it, life and I must part. Is it for loss of me that I descry That tearful cherub in my fair-one’s eye? Believe it, Love, we part to meet again, And purchase years of bliss with hours of pain. Full well I know what title he must prove, Whose hope aspires to gain an angel’s love; Therefore I go, though fond affection pleads, Where duty warns me, and where honour leads. Farewell to all that’s good and all that’s dear! Vice hath no pow’r that Virtue ought to fear: Link’d to my home, whatever course I take, The chain may lengthen, but can never break.” If our hero John was, as I suspect, the author of these lines, it is plain he was more in love with his mistress, than his muse was with her poet: But young men are very apt to scratch, when the itch of scribbling is upon them. CHAPTER III. _Our Hero takes his Departure from Kray Castle._ Amelia, who had counted every hour during a sleepless melancholy night, rose with the break of day, and light of foot, though with a heavy heart, flitted along the gallery in the dusk, and gently tapping at the chamber door, where John and she had mutually agreed to pass a parting hour, was instantly admitted by her lover, accoutered for his journey.