westward down the vale to what
appeared to be a collection of houses, near a singular-looking monticle,
and said, "That is Sycharth."

We walked together till we came to a road which branched off on the right
to a little bridge.

"That is your way," said he, and pointing to a large building beyond the
bridge, towering up above a number of cottages, he said, "that is the
factory of Sycharth;" he then left me, following the high road, whilst I
proceeded towards the bridge, which I crossed, and coming to the cottages
entered one on the right hand of a remarkably neat appearance.

In a comfortable kitchen by a hearth on which blazed a cheerful billet
sat a man and woman. Both arose when I entered: the man was tall, about
fifty years of age, and athletically built; he was dressed in a white
coat, corduroy breeches, shoes, and grey worsted stockings. The woman
seemed many years older than the man; she was tall also, and strongly
built, and dressed in the ancient female costume, namely, a kind of
round, half Spanish hat, long blue woollen kirtle or gown, a crimson
petticoat, and white apron, and broad, stout shoes with buckles.

"Welcome, stranger," said the man, after looking me a moment or two full
in the face.

"Croesaw, dyn dieithr--welcome, foreign man," said the woman, surveying
me with a look of great curiosity.

"Won't you sit down?" said the man, handing me a chair.

I sat down, and the man and woman resumed their seats.

"I suppose you come on business connected with the factory?" said the
man.

"No," said I, "my business is connected with Owen Glendower."

"With Owen Glendower?" said the man, staring.

"Yes," said I, "I came to see his place."

"You will not see much of his house now," said the man--"it is down; only
a few bricks remain."

"But I shall see the place where his house stood," said I, "which is all
I expected to see."

"Yes, you can see that."

"What does the dyn dieithr say?" said the woman in Welsh with an
inquiring look.

"That he is come to see the place of Owen Glendower."

"Ah!" said the woman with a smile.

"Is that good lady your wife?" said I.

"She is."

"She looks much older than yourself."

"And no wonder. She is twenty-one years older."

"How old are you?"

"Fifty-three."

"Dear me," said I, "what a difference in your ages. How came you to
marry?"

"She was a widow and I had lost my wife. We were lone in the world, so
we thought we would marry."

"