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Llyn was about the only man in the country who had been able to hold his own against "the Tavis," but hold it he had with perhaps a trifle to spare. Indeed, of late years he had let slip many an opportunity for reprisals, and thrice had made overtures of peace which had been violently rejected.
Used to, but most people nowaday, specially drummers, wanted automobiles, and old Colonel Tavis, who owned the place, wouldn't let an automobile come in his yard. Perhaps Major Bresee might let him have his horse and buggy.
"If you fear my poor voice now, what will it be when all Wales is ringing with this last foul deed?" Tad breathed hard, then caught her wrists suddenly, crushing them in his fierceness: "Listen, Gwenith. After all I'm no Tavis I'm Gruffydd, and I love you." She shrank away with wide, fearful eyes, her breath coming in little painful gasps. "What what do you mean, Tad?" "I love you, Gwen." "And ?"
Well, well, boys, the old Wolf's cornered at last, cornered at last, and Garm, Levin, Rhys the Cadwallader's going to live and laugh, aye, he's going to live and laugh while a Tavis roasts in hell." Garm started with a low growl, while Cedric kicked savagely at a hound that lay beside the logs. "Aye, Ced, kick the old dog, but it won't stop the Cadwallader's laugh."
"Well, I'm no Tavis I'm Gruffydd." Slowly the meaning which he himself hardly understood dawned on her. "You'll save them, Tad?" "Na, na. A fair fight is what you said. 'Tis all I can do." "And you will?" "I love you," he persisted stubbornly. She closed her eyes tightly and leaned back against the wooden shutter, her hands still held close in his grasp.
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