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Whistler, Charles W. (Charles Watts), 1856-1913

"A Prince of Cornwall A Story of Glastonbury and the West in the Days of Ina of Wessex"


There seemed to be a swell setting into it.
So I crept yet farther up the path, crouching behind a point of
rock, and thence I saw a dark line on the snow that seemed to
promise a road, and that must surely lead to some house or village.
I went forward to it with all caution, and with my head over my
shoulder, as they say, but I saw no man. This track led east and
west, and was well trodden by cattle, but there were few footprints
of men on it, so far as I could see. So I turned into it, going
ever away from the ship, and hurrying. I had a thought that I heard
shouts behind me, but there was more wind here on the heights than
I had felt on the sea, or it was rising, and it sung strangely
round the bare points of rock that jutted up everywhere. Maybe it
was but that.
Inland I could see no sign of house or hut where I might find food
at least, but the cloud wrack had drifted across the moon, and I
could not see far now. It was a desolate coast, all unlike our own.
Then I came to a place where the track crossed stony ground and was
lost in gathered snow. When I was across that I had lost the road
altogether, and had only the line of the cliffs to guide me to what
shelter I could not tell. And now a few flakes of snow fluttered
round me, and I held on hopelessly, thinking that surely I should
come to some place that would give me a lee of rock that I could
creep under.


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