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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 do not care if
I never set eyes on that place again, and indeed I hope we need
not. Now we have to find Owen as quickly as we may."
"What of the two men?"
"One turned on us, and we slew him perforce. The other Evan has
tied up safely, though it took us all our time to catch him. I left
Evan trying to make him speak."
I wondered in what way he was trying, but the path grew steeper and
steeper, and the plash of water falling among the stones made it
hard to hear. We went on and on, ever upward, until the walls of
the narrow glen widened, and at last we were on a barren hillside,
across which the little stream found its way in a belt of green
grass and fern and bog from farther heights yet, and there I looked
for Evan. The path reappeared here again, and it went slanting
across the hill and over its shoulder, hardly more than a sheep
track as it was. And here lay the body of the slain man.
"Over the hill crest," Howel said, noting my look around. "The man
ran across this track. Did you hear what Morfed said to them?"
"No, I heard him call, of course, but his tongue is unknown to me."
"It was the ancient British, I think. I heard a word or two here
and there, but few of those we use yet. I heard more that are
written in our oldest writings, and few enough of them. But what he
said to his men was plain enough, happily.


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