CHAPTER II.

_THE LAST WARNING_.

Long previous to the time to which the tradition of Giraldus relates, the place occupied by Llyn Savathan formed a beautiful and picturesque valley, through which the waters of the Llewenny meandered and flowed gently along in their progress towards the Wye. On the left bank of the Llynfi, and within half a mile of its channel, there stood the church of Llangasty, which was dedicated to Saint Gasty, an eminent British saint who flourished in the fifth century, and was murdered on the Van Mountain, in the parish of Merthyr Cynog. On the other side of the Llynfi, and nearly opposite the church, there stood a magnificent palace, belonging to and occupied by a tyrannical prince, who neither feared God nor regarded man, who scorned religion, and loathed everything which was pure and good and beautiful; a prince who, by the magnitude of his extortions and the relentlessness with which he pursued his unfortunate vassals, became the object of hate and intense aversion to all who had dealings or came in contact with him. Moreover, as he grew older, his extortions became more burdensome, while his tyranny increased in its fury, notwithstanding the warnings he received from those who desired the perpetuation of his reign. To all those warnings he turned a deaf ear, while he punished with the utmost rigour those who sought to thwart him in his infamous practices.

It was a cold December morning, when Father Olyver, of Llangasty, repaired to the palace in order to condole with the prince on the death of a son. On entering the reception-room, and finding the prince alone, he thus addressed him—

“My heart grieves and is sad, my prince, at the loss you have sustained. Another prop of your house has been taken away, and oh, reflect, I pray, on your present mode of life; consider your ways and be wise.”

“Cease thy babbling, Father Olyver,” replied the prince. “ D— it, man, all must die. The death of another son, thou senseless priest, only diminishes my responsibility as a father, and now I shall have more to leave to the survivors.”

“Pray, don’t speak thus, my lord, of your child. The fruit of your loins should ever be regarded with affection.”

“I loved the boy when living, Father Olyver. But now, man, he has ceased to live; the spirit, the soul, has gone; a clod of earth only remains.”

“Be it so, my lord. Yet I must own that I look on his untimely end as a terrible warning to you. The event tells you to set your house in order, for in such an hour as ye think not the Son of man cometh.”

“All right, Father Olyver. I suppose, when He comes, I must go like the rest, in spite of the saints and mother Church.”

“But are you prepared, my prince, when the voice calls?”

“Of course I am, father. Let his majesty come whenever he pleases, I’ll accompany him.”

“Are you ready, my dear prince, to appear, without fear, before your God when He calls you hence?”

“There are beautiful maidens, too, father, before whom I must and delight to appear, after my evening’s carousals! Ah! ah! ah! I’ll be bound that even you, Father Olyver, with your sanctimonious jib, are not indifferent to the smiles of a pretty wench, and you won’t turn away when you happen to have a glimpse of a fine ankle. Human nature is human nature all the world over. I warrant priests of mother Church don’t always keep it in subjection. Oh! Oh!”

“This is not the time, nor is it a fitting occasion, my lord, to indulge in such language,” replied the priest. “For one day, at least, especially in the presence of the dead, I beseech you to cease speaking thus.”

“Why should I, man, refrain from telling the truth even now? Bedad, I’ve hit the right nail on the head this time at any rate.”

“For the present, however, I shall regard your charge of me and my orders in silence. I have come here to perform the last rites of the Church over the dead. The day to me is one of unusual solemnity. I loved your son as if he had been my own child. He was a good and pious youth, notwithstanding the evil influences by which he was surrounded. But he is gone, and the place that knew him shall know him no more. And now, my lord, what hour have you fixed for carrying his remains to that silent bourne from whence no traveller ever comes back?”

“We propose to bury at five; and after the funeral I have, Father Olyver, a grand banquet in my palace, and we anticipate a merry meeting.”

“And cannot you, my lord, give up folly and pleasure for a single day? Can’t you devote one evening to pursuits which harmonize with the solemnity of the day? You have received from time to time, and year after year, the most terrible warnings, yet you heed them not. You hear the sound of the trumpet, to which you have paid no attention. If you continue to live as you have lived, my dear prince—if you resolve, come what will, to steel your heart, and defy the Almighty,—the day is not far distant when the wrath of an angry God will descend upon you and yours, and on that day—rather on that dark and dismal night—the sword of His justice will descend, and the innocent and the guilty shall perish together. I now leave you, my prince, but in a few hours we shall meet again at the grave of departed virtue, and something tells me that when we then part it will be a parting for ever.”

At the time appointed the funeral cortège arrived at Llangasty. The young prince was buried with extraordinary pomp. When the service was concluded, Father Olyver went up and pressed the hand of the prince, and bidding him good-bye, whispered in his ear, “Remember, my lord, the warning voice: it has spoken once, twice, ay, thrice; the next time it will speak in thunder and lightning, when the earth shall move and reel like a drunken man. So now, farewell. I fear we shall never meet again.”

The good priest then turned away from prince and people. He re-entered the church for evening song, while the prince and the mourners returned to the palace to make merry and be glad. Before they arrived home, the day had disappeared, and the night had come. Darkness had settled down upon the earth. When they entered the palace, they little dreamt of being on the very brink of a precipice over which they would be hurled by the fiat of the Eternal.