Part 42

They found a naked child upon the sands Of dark Dundagel by the Cornish sea.

I could see the ruined castle, on its twin cliffs, below the hotel-castle cliff and between me and the sea; and the very meagreness of what remains seemed to increase the interest and mystery by stimulating the imagination, forcing it to create its own pictures. I "reconstructed" the castle, building it of the same stone they use now at Tintagel, and have used for the last thousand years or so; a dark stone, singularly rich with colour--pansy and wallflower colour, with splashes of green flung on to dead gray, like bright autumn leaves stirred into a heap of other leaves dim and dead. And the mortar for my masonry was the moonlight which flooded the sea and those wide downs whose divisions into fields turned them into enormous maps.

I worked myself up into such a romantic mood that I almost cried in the joy and pain of living, and expected to look back upon myself with the "utmost spurn" when I should come back to real life after a good sleep in the morning. But I didn't,--perhaps because, instead of encouraging the good sleep, I lay and listened to the wild song of the Cornish wind.

I waked early, feeling exactly the same, if not more so, and could hardly wait to get down into the ruins of the old castle. I splashed about in a cold bath, dressed as quickly as a well-groomed girl can, and then--I committed what might seem an indiscreet act if the last of the Pendragons and I did not stand toward each other in the place of guardian and ward. "Nothing is, but thinking makes it so." And Sir Lionel certainly does think we're in those positions; therefore it was all right for me to knock at his door, and ask through the keyhole if he would very, very much mind taking me to the castle?

He was dressed, and opened the door instantly. It was the one thing he would have liked to propose, said he, only he had been afraid of disturbing me so early. Wasn't that kind of him? I remembered the glove, and the thought of it was more delicious than a breakfast of Cornish cream and honey; although, of course, lurking in the background of my mind was the horrid idea that he might have accidentally picked the thing up to use as a bookmark. And another idea, gloomier even, though not so horrid, was that, even if he does like me well enough to keep things of mine, he must soon grow to hate me when he knows who I am.

He suggested coffee, but I wouldn't have it, because I was afraid Mrs. Senter might appear and want to go to the castle too. I had visions of her, hearing our voices in the corridor, and dashing out of bed to fling on her clothes; but even if she did overhear the whole conversation, I don't think she's the kind who looks her best before breakfast, if she has dressed in a hurry; and anyway, we were spared the apparition.

It was a fine scramble getting to the ruins, and when Sir Lionel had opened a door (with a key you get from a cottage close by the sea) it was quite as if he were my host, entertaining me in his ancestral home. I told him that it felt twice as interesting to be there with a true Pendragon, than with a mere king or anybody like that, and he seemed pleased.

"I hope I am a 'true' Pendragon," he said, rather thoughtfully. "One must try to be--always." He looked at me very, very kindly, as if he would have liked to say something more; but he didn't speak, and turned away his eyes to look far over the sea. It was only for a little while, though, that he was absent-minded. Sitting there on the rough, wind-blown grass which is the floor of the castle now, he told me things about the place and its history. How Dundagel meant the "Safe Castle," and how the "Arthurian believers" say it was built by the Britons in earliest Roman days; how David Bruce of Wales was entertained by the Earl of Cornwall on the very spot where we were sitting, and how the great hall, once famous, was destroyed as long ago as when Chaucer was a baby. And as he talked, the rising wind wailed and sobbed like old, old witches crying over the evil fallen on Arthur and his castle. Such an old, wise-sounding wind it was, old enough to have been blowing when Arthur was a baby, drowning the lullabies sung by his mother Igerna, "that greatest beauty in Britain."

We forgot breakfast, and stopped in the ruins a long time, until suddenly we both realized that we were desperately hungry. But instead of going up to our own hotel, we walked into the quaint village (whose real name is Trevena, though nobody calls it that) and had something to eat at a hotel where Sir Lionel used to stop occasionally when he was a boy. Afterward, we went to see the village schoolmaster, whom he knew; such a nice man, who paints pictures as well as teaches the children--and I felt guilty at being introduced as Sir Lionel's "ward." I think my conscience is like a bruised peach, pinched by many fingers to see if it's ripe, I have that guilty feeling so often! When we spoke of the schoolmaster's versatility, he laughed and said it was "nothing to his predecessor's," who used to cut the children's hair, clip horses, measure land, act as parish clerk as well as teacher, pull teeth, and beat such transgressors as had to be punished in a way less serious than prison. Doesn't that take one back to long ago? But so does everything in Tintagel--and all over Cornwall, Sir Lionel says. They have such nice old-fashioned words here! Isn't "jingle" good? It's some kind of a conveyance, exactly the opposite of a motor-car, I fancy, from the description. And I like the word "huer," too. It means a man who gives the hue and cry when the pilchards are coming in, and all the fishermen must run to the sea.

I should like to know everything about Cornwall, from the smugglers, and the famous wrestlers, to the witches--the last of whom lives near Boscastle still. But the little that travellers in motors can learn about places steeped in history, is like trying to know all about a beautiful great tree by one leaf of flying gold which falls into the automobile as it sweeps by, along the road. Still, the little one does learn is unforgettable, impressed upon the mind in a different way from the mere learning. And I suppose few people know everything about every place, even in their own countries. If they did, I'm sure they'd be prigs, and no one would want to know them!

When we got back to our hotel castle on the cliff, the Tyndals' motor was at the door, a huge, gorgeous chariot, and nothing would do but we must "try the car." Mrs. Senter had promised to go, and was putting on her hat.

The Tyndals are difficult people to resist, because if you try to make excuses they pin you down in one way or another, so that you must either do what they want or hurt their feelings; and though Sir Lionel is supposed to have been so strict in Bengal, he is quite soft-hearted in England. I think he hates going about in motors that aren't his, because he enjoys being the man at the helm, which is perhaps characteristic of him; however, the Tyndals swept all of us, except Mrs. Norton, away to Delabole to see the slate quarries, and to have the adventure of sliding down a fearfully steep incline in a tiny trolley-car--if that's the right word for it. I half expected Charon to meet me with his ferry-boat at the bottom. It wouldn't have seemed much stranger than other things in Cornwall.

All that happened yesterday. To-day we have been to Trebarwith Strand and Port Isaac, and have walked to the loneliest church I ever saw, with the gravestones in the burying ground propped by buttresses, that the wind mayn't throw them down. It is Tintagel church, though it's a good long way from the village, and the vicarage is of the fourteenth century.

Oh, and I heard a splendid legend about the ruined castle from the vicar, who is its warden! It seems, when it was built by the old princes of West Wales--very beautiful as well as strong, with walls "painted of many colours," it was placed under a powerful spell by Merlin, that it might become invisible twice in every year. How I should like to be at Tintagel at the right time, and see if the ruins would disappear from before my eyes. I believe they would; and the enchantment would take the form of a sea mist.

To-morrow we are to leave Cornwall for Bideford.

I had got as far as that, when Mrs. Senter knocked at my door, and asked if she might come in for a few minutes; so I had to say yes, and "smile full well in counterfeited glee." But I hated to be interrupted, as there was just time before dressing for dinner to finish my letter to you. Now it is after dinner, and before I go to bed, I'll tell you what has happened.

How conceited I was to suppose it possible that Sir Lionel thought me an important person! I am sure the glove episode must have been a mere accident. Serves me right!

Mrs. Senter came to tell me that they'd all been talking about the way to Bideford, and Sir Lionel said the road was so hilly, he wished we hadn't quite as many passengers in the car. Then the Tyndals asked if they might take me, because they'd made up their minds to go to Bideford too, and Sir Lionel answered that it would be a splendid way out of the difficulty if I were willing. The only trouble was, he didn't like to propose such a thing for fear of hurting my feelings; and the conversation ended, according to Mrs. Senter, by the Tyndals planning to suggest the idea to me as if it were their own, then letting the matter rest on my decision.

Mrs. Senter went on to explain that Sir Lionel didn't know she was repeating to me what had passed, but that she thought I would prefer to know. "I'm sure I should if I were in your place," she purred sweetly. "When the Tyndals invite you, of course you must do exactly as you please; but don't you think for Mrs. Norton's sake, as she's such a coward, it would be best to keep the car as light as possible, since Sir Lionel fears the roads are really bad?"

"Oh, certainly," said I, trying so hard not to blush that I must have been purple. "I shall be delighted to go with Mr. and Mrs. Tyndal, in their lovely car, and it's very nice of them to ask me."

"You won't tell Sir Lionel I interfered, will you?" she begged. "I should be quite afraid of him if he were angry."

"You needn't worry. He shan't hear anything from me," said I.

"And you do think I was right to let you know?" she implored.

"Of course," I assured her. But I was feeling hurt all the way up to my topmost hair and down to my tipmost toe. Not that I mind going with the Tyndals, but that Sir Lionel should pick me out as the bit of superfluous ballast to cast to the winds! That was what made me feel cold and old, and alone in the world. I conscientiously told myself that I was the youngest of the party, and the right one to sacrifice; but nothing was much comfort until the thought jumped into my head that maybe Mrs. Senter had fibbed. I went to dinner buoyed up by that hope, but it died young; for the Tyndals did invite me, in Sir Lionel's hearing; and when I said that I should be charmed--he smiled calmly. So far from making objections, I thought he looked quite pleased.

Poor me! I fancied in the castle ruins that he actually liked my society. But I forgot that I'd invited him to go with me. I shan't forget again. And hang the glove!

Your poor, foolish, conceited, humiliated

Audrie.

TELEGRAM FROM DICK BURDEN TO HIS AUNT