Do you live happily together?"

"Very."

"Then you did quite right to marry. What is your name?"

"David Robert."

"And that of your wife?"

"Gwen Robert."

"Does she speak English?"

"She speaks some, but not much."

"Is the place where Owen lived far from here?"

"It is not. It is the round hill a little way above the factory."

"Is the path to it easy to find?"

"I will go with you," said the man. "I work at the factory, but I need
not go there for an hour at least."

He put on his hat and bidding me follow him went out. He led me over a
gush of water which passing under the factory turns the wheel; thence
over a field or two towards a house at the foot of the mountain where he
said the steward of Sir Watkin lived, of whom it would be as well to
apply for permission to ascend the hill, as it was Sir Watkin's ground.
The steward was not at home; his wife was, however, and she, when we told
her we wished to go to the top of Owain Glendower's Hill, gave us
permission with a smile. We thanked her and proceeded to mount the hill
or monticle once the residence of the great Welsh chieftain, whom his own
deeds and the pen of Shakespear have rendered immortal.

Owen Glendower's hill or mount at Sycharth, unlike the one bearing his
name on the banks of the Dee, is not an artificial hill, but the work of
nature, save and except that to a certain extent it has been modified by
the hand of man. It is somewhat conical and consists of two steps or
gradations, where two fosses scooped out of the hill go round it, one
above the other, the lower one embracing considerably the most space.
Both these fosses are about six feet deep, and at one time doubtless were
bricked, as stout large, red bricks are yet to be seen, here and there,
in their sides. The top of the mount is just twenty-five feet across.
When I visited it it was covered with grass, but had once been subjected
to the plough as various furrows indicated. The monticle stands not far
from the western extremity of the valley, nearly midway between two hills
which confront each other north and south, the one to the south being the
hill which I had descended, and the other a beautiful wooded height which
is called in the parlance of the country Llwyn Sycharth or the grove of
Sycharth, from which comes the little gush of water which I had crossed,
and which now turns the wheel of the factory and once turned that of Owen
Glendower's mill, and filled his two