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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"

I want to take one if I can. He shall tell me all he knows of
this place."
For I had made up my mind that one who would come here freely must
needs be of those who had brought Owen.
Then from the narrow portal of the glen passed quickly, looking
neither to the right nor left, a tall man, followed by two others,
and they seemed not to see us, but went straight toward the menhir
along that path I thought I had traced, and Howel and I stared at
them, speechless and motionless, for the like of them we had never
seen.
As for Evan, he reeled against the rock, and stared after them,
clutching it with both hands, so that his spear fell rattling along
the rocks.
"The Druids!" he gasped. "We are dead men."
At the sharp rattle the leader of the three men turned, and I knew
him. He was clad in a wonderful gold and white robe that swept the
ground, priest-like, but not that of any Christian, and his hair
was bound with a golden fillet with which oak leaves were twisted,
and in his ears were large earrings. On his bare right arm was a
coiled golden bracelet, and a heavy golden torque was round his
neck, and a great golden brooch knit up the folds of his flowing
white cloak on his right shoulder. But for all this strange dress I
knew him, and he was Morfed the priest, and I heard Howel mutter
the name also.


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