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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"

Has the menhir fallen?"
"Ay, with the cross graven on it," I answered; and my words checked
a laugh that was on Evan's lips.
"I knew it. I heard the crash," the man said. "That is an end
therefore."
But Howel told the whole story as he had seen it take place, from
the time when Morfed flew at me, to the time when the waters were
still again; and as he heard, the man clenched his hands and bowed
his head and went on quickly, as if that would prevent his hearing.
After that he said nothing.
Then the path took us round the shoulder of a hill, and before us
was a rocky platform on the sunward slope which went steeply down
to another brook far below us. Far and wide from that platform one
could see over the heads of three streams, and across three hill
peaks that were right before us, and at the back of the level place
was a great cromlech made of one vast flat stone reared on three
others that were set in a triangle to uphold it. Seven good feet
from the ground its top was, and each of the three supporting
stones was some twelve feet long, so that it was like a house for
space within, and the two foremost stones were apart as a doorway.
And again beyond the cromlech was a hut, shaped like a beehive of
straw, built of many stones most wonderfully, both walls and roof.
There were things about this hut that seemed to tell that it was in
use, and even as our footsteps rang on the rocky platform, out of
its low doorway crept an ancient woman and stared at us wildly.


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