Peter removed his hands from his
face. "The old pain, the old pain," said he; "I was talking with this
young man, and he would fain know what brought me here, he would fain
hear my tale, Winifred--my sin: O pechod Ysprydd Glan! O pechod Ysprydd
Glan!" and the poor man fell into a more fearful agony than before.
Tears trickled down Winifred's face, I saw them trickling by the
moonlight, as she gazed upon the writhing form of her afflicted husband.
I arose from my seat; "I am the cause of all this," said I, "by my folly
and imprudence, and it is thus I have returned your kindness and
hospitality, I will depart from you and wander my way." I was retiring,
but Peter sprang up and detained me. "Go not," said he, "you were not in
fault; if there be any fault in the case, it was mine; if I suffer, I am
but paying the penalty of my own iniquity;" he then paused, and appeared
to be considering: at length he said, "Many things which thou hast seen
and heard connected with me require explanation; thou wishest to know my
tale, I will tell it thee, but not now, not to-night; I am too much
shaken."

Two evenings later, when we were again seated beneath the oak, Peter took
the hand of his wife in his own, and then, in tones broken and almost
inarticulate, commenced telling me his tale--the tale of the Pechod
Ysprydd Glan.

CHAPTER LXXV.

Taking a Cup--Getting to Heaven--After Breakfast--Wooden
Gallery--Mechanical Habit--Reserved and Gloomy--Last Words--A Long
Time--From the Clouds--Ray of Hope--Momentary Chill--Pleasing
Anticipation.

"I was born in the heart of North Wales, the son of a respectable farmer,
and am the youngest of seven brothers.

"My father was a member of the Church of England, and was what is
generally called a serious man. He went to church regularly, and read
the Bible every Sunday evening; in his moments of leisure he was fond of
holding religious discourse both with his family and his neighbours.

"One autumn afternoon, on a week day, my father sat with one of his
neighbours taking a cup of ale by the oak table in our stone kitchen. I
sat near them, and listened to their discourse. I was at that time seven
years of age. They were talking of religious matters. 'It is a hard
matter to get to heaven,' said my father. 'Exceedingly so,' said the
other. 'However, I don't despond, none need despair of getting to
heaven, save those who have committed the sin against the Holy Ghost.'

"'Ah!'