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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"

And when I
went out as the vision bade me, I could see nought but this rock
newly fallen, and was downcast. And so, from the cliff rolled a
little stone and smote it, and it rang, and I knew the gift. To my
hearing it has a sweeter voice than the bell made with hands."
Then he showed me his well, roofed in with flat stones because the
birds would wash in it, and so close to the sea salt that it seemed
altogether wonderful that the water was fresh and sweet. And then I
saw that the cell did indeed stretch from side to side of the
narrow cleft down which I had come, so that each end of the
building was of living rock.
"I built it with my own hands, my son," he said. "I cannot tell how
long ago that was, for time is nought to me, but it was many years.
Once I wore arms and had another name, but that also I care not to
recall."
Then there came footsteps from above us, and looking up I saw a man
in a rough fisher's dress coming in haste down the long flight of
rock-hewn steps that led from the cliff top down the cleft to the
door that I had found last night, and soon we heard him calling to
the hermit.
Govan left me, and went through the cell to speak with him, but was
back very shortly.
"Howel the prince is coming hither," he said. "The man you saw has
seen him on the way, and came to warn me to be at hand for him.


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