and chimneys of Penrhyn, but the windows of the little chapel
were a blaze of light. Inside it some twenty noblemen were assembled,
the last relics of the Catholic religion among the mountains of North
Wales. The altar was decked out for mass, the long tapers lighted, the
fragrant incense floated on the air, while, in the full splendour of his
robes, stood Father Guy.

"He was speaking eloquently and earnestly, just as a man, wearing a
heavy horseman's cloak, glided in through the doorway of the chapel.

"His audience were so wrapped up in the words they heard, and in the
powerful appeal to their feelings so carried away by his eloquence, that
he only remarked and recognised the intruder, who was no other than Sir
Roger Mostyn.

"`Yes, my sons,' concluded the old priest, `prompted by the Master of
Iniquity, they would deny us the worship of our God, they would destroy
religion by the introduction of schismatic doctrines. They would make
the tenets of an ancient and holy Church subservient to the will of an
earthly king, putting off and on its principles at pleasure, like to a
raiment. I say unto you, that death is a meet reward for these usurpers
of our Church--that he who aids not in the holy work set on foot this
night belongs not unto us. Go forth, my sons, uphold the banner of the
Church: let its enemies perish from the face of the earth, and, as a
sign unto you that the God of our fathers is with you, turn, and behold
whom he has delivered into your hand.'

"The long, white, transparent fingers pointed towards the doorway, where
Sir Roger Mostyn stood.

"It was a strange scene that chapel blazing with light, as, dropping his
cloak, Sir Roger strode into its centre, dressed in the uniform of his
own regiment of Yeomanry.

"`Away with him,' cried the priest, and a score of blades leaped from
their scabbards.

"`Silence, gentlemen,' said the baronet, no way dismayed, his voice
sounding clear and sonorous above the tumult, `the place is surrounded.
I have but to raise my voice, and the soldiers enter. Disperse while
there is yet time.'

"The conspirators looked into each other's faces with blank amazement.
Some moved towards the door of the chapel and, returning, told that men
wearing the Royal uniform were outside.

"`It shall not be said that we, the last remnants of the faithful in
this land, put our hands to the plough and turned back,' exclaimed
Robert Pugh of Penrhyn. `Philip Wynn, fall in our