CHAP. I.
CHAP. II.
CHAP. III.
CHAP. IV.
CHAP. V.
CHAP. VI.
CHAP. VII.
CHAP. VIII.
CHAP. IX.
CHAP. X.
CHAP. XI.
CHAP. XII.
It having been suggested to the Author of the following Tale, that itsprincipal event may perhaps be thought somewhat too romantic andimprobable, she begs to observe, that it is founded upon a fact wellknown, and not so long past as not to be in the recollection of manypersons now alive, and particularly those in the higher circles.
At the foot of one of the most romantic mountains in North Wales, abouta mile from the coast of Carnarvonshire, stands the little village ofLlanwyllan: there, amongst trees which seemed coeval with the dwelling,was a very large farm-house, the residence of Farmer Powis. Its highchimneys, and neatly white-washed walls, rendered it a pleasing objectto those who travelled on the high-road, about a mile off, which led tothe next market-town, if high-road that might be called which merelyserved to facilitate the journies of the neighbouring farmers' wives tomarket and back again, or those of the curate, who served the churchesin the immediate vicinity. The hand of native taste had removed a fewbranches from the immense trees which shaded this rural dwelling, and bythat means afforded to the inhabitants a view of the road, the spire ofthe village church, and two or three natural rills of water, which,falling from the adjacent hills, increased the beauty of the scene. Atthis dwelling a traveller arrived on the evening of a day which had beenintensely hot, in the summer of 18—: the dust which covered his shoes,and almost concealed the colour of his coat, declared him a pedestrian;probably, therefore, of inferior rank; yet, under the shade whichfatigue had thrown over his features, might be discerned a fine andinteresting countenance; and when at the door of the farm-house, wherePowis sat inhaling the mixed fumes of his evening pipe, and thefragrance of a fine honeysuckle which entwined around the porch, heinquired the nearest way to——, the tones of his voice, and thefinen