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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"

Morfed was not near at the time, having gone on. I heard him
singing somewhere beyond the water."
"I have found it, father," I said. "It was on the edge of the pool,
in long grass, and it helped us somewhat, for we knew you were
near. Now say if it is well to move you yet. We can bide here with
the men if not."
He laughed a little.
"I think so, but that is a question for the leech. Ask the dame.
Maybe she will answer if you speak her fair."
Howel went to do that, saying that maybe she would listen to a
Briton, for most of her wrath was concerning my Saxon arms. So
presently I heard her shrill voice growing calmer as Howel coaxed
her, and then there was a sound as if she climbed from her perch,
and Howel came back to us.
"We may take you, she says. Hither come the men in all haste also,
and we may get away from this place at once. These hills are
uncanny on Midsummer Eve, and I am glad that we have long daylight
before us."
Then said Owen:
"Oswald, I have not withal, but I would fain reward the bard and
the old woman for their care of me. I think that even at
Glastonbury there are none who would have healed these hurts of
mine more easily than she."
I had my own thoughts about the bard, but I said that I would see
to this, and went to him. The men were close at hand, and I saw
that they led our horses with them.


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