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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 had seen that wonder once, and this minded me of it.
But what Morfed saw told him that midday had come and was passing;
and all that meant to him, beyond that the time for some rite had
been forgotten, I cannot tell. There came from his lips a cry that
was of terror and of sorrow as I thought, and the adder lifted its
head from its lapping and coiled itself menacingly.
He did not heed the creature, but threw abroad his hands sunwards,
and began to speak hurriedly in that tongue which I could not
follow; and as his words went on the faces of his men grew haggard,
and one of them wept openly. The younger threw the golden vessel he
had in his hand into the pool, and turned on me a look of the most
terrible hate, and his hand stole under his robes as if he sought
the knife I had seen him draw when they first came.
Now Howel and Evan were beside me, wondering, but spear in hand,
and I was glad. There was more than enmity in the look of these
men, and one to three has little chance. Whatever strange fears my
friends had felt passed with the sight of danger.
But while Morfed spoke his followers were still, listening to him
intently, until at last he seemed to dismiss them; and then they
turned from him with a strange deep reverence, and folded their
hands on their breasts, and came past where we stood, not looking
at us, but with their eyes on the ground as if they were going
back, up the water course whence they came.


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