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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"


Govan shook his head.
"I cannot tell. Men who bide alone as I bide have strange bodings
in their solitude. I have known the like come over me before, and
it has ever been a true warning."
Now it was my turn to be silent, for all this was beyond me. I had
heard of hermits before, but had never seen one. If all were like
this old man, too much has not been said of their holiness and
nearness to unseen things.
So for a little while we sat and looked into the fire, each on a
three-legged stool, opposite one another. Then at last he asked,
almost shyly, and as if he deemed himself overbold, how it was that
I had come to be on the cliffs. That meant in the end that he heard
all my story, of course, but my Welsh halted somewhat for want of
use, and it was troublesome to tell it. However, he heard me with
something more than patience, and when I ended he said:
"Now I know how it is that a Saxon speaks the tongue of Cornwall
here in Dyfed. You have had a noble fostering, Thane, for even here
we lamented for the loss of Owen the prince. We have seen him in
Pembroke in past years. You will be most welcome there with this
news, for Howel, our prince, loved him well. They are akin,
moreover. It will be well that you should go to him for help."
He rose up and went to the seaward door again, and I followed him
out.


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