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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 saw the look of the prince change as he marked the
many swathings that told of Owen's sore hurts.
"Nay, but trouble not," Owen said, seeing this. "I am cut about a
bit, for certain, but not so badly that I may not be about again
soon. The old lady overhead has a shrewd tongue, but she is a
marvellous good leech. I have not fared so badly here, and I knew
Oswald would not rest until he found me."
"Now we must take you hence," I said. "Our men wait, and we can no
doubt get them here."
He smiled, being tired with the joy of seeing us and the speaking,
and I went out to Evan. The old woman still sat on the cromlech,
and when she saw me her voice rose afresh with more hard words,
which I would not notice.
"Evan," I said, "how shall we take the prince hence?"
"The litter they brought him on stands behind the hut yonder," he
answered; "for this man tells me so. Also he says that we are not
half a mile from our men, and that we can see one from just above
here."
So I sent him to bring them, telling him how the horses were gone,
so that we had no need to go back into the valley. To tell the
truth, I was as much relieved in my mind that we need not do so as
it was plain that he was. Then when he was gone I went back to
Owen, and he asked me if we had seen Morfed. I did not tell him
more than that we had done so, but that he was not here, one of his
two men having guided us, for the tale we must tell him by and by
might be better untold as yet.


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