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And the fable says that for a long day St. Leven sat on the sands of the Porth which now bears his name, and talked with the Singer; and, that in consequence, to this day the descendants of the people of Lyonnesse praise God in cheerfuller hymns than the rest of the world uses so much so that a company of minstrels visiting them not long ago were surprised in the midst of a drinking-chorus to find the audience tittering, and to learn afterward that they had chanted the most popular local burying-tunes!
Geologists dispute whether the Lyonnesse disappeared by sudden catastrophe or gradual subsidence, but they agree in condemning the fables of Florence and William of Worcester, that so late as November, 1099, the sea broke in and covered the whole tract between Cornwall and the Scillies, overwhelming on its way no less than a hundred and forty churches!
"There is a charming little creature there, a little fire-eater Cigarette, they call her who is in love with him, I fancy. Such a picturesque child! swears like a trooper, too," continued he who was now Duke of Lyonnesse. "By the way, is Berkeley gone?" "Left yesterday." "What for? where to?" "I was not interested to inquire." "Ah! you never liked him!
Lyonnesse flung off the detaining hand of the guard, and swung round so that his agonized eyes gazed close into the adjutant's immovable face, which before that gaze lost its coldness and its rigor, and changed to a great pity for this stranger who had found the friend of his youth in the man who stood condemned to perish there. "An hour's reprieve; for mercy's sake, grant that!"
The dignity of the old Lyonnesse blood asserted its ascendency. "M. Baroni, make your statement. Later on Mr. Cecil can avenge it." Cecil never moved; once his eyes went to Rockingham with a look of yearning, grateful, unendurable pain; but it was repressed instantly; a perfect passiveness was on him. The Jew smiled.
Mounted on his little fourteen-hand Waler, in pith solar topee, grey Norfolk jacket, light cords, and brown blucher boots, and grasping in his hand his deadly seventy-inch spear, he goes forth to slay the wild boar, with all the feelings of romance and knightliness which some people think vanished from the world when Excalibur sank in the Lake of Lyonnesse.
The Household will win safe enough, unless Forest King goes and breaks his back over Brixworth eh, Beauty?" said the Seraph, who believed devoutly in his comrade, with all the loving loyalty characteristic of the House of Lyonnesse, that to monarchs and to friends had often cost it very dear.
"Well, he won't have him; Seraph don't intend to have the horse ever ridden or hunted at all." "Nonsense!" "By Jove, he means it! nobody's to cross the King's back; he wants weight-carriers himself, you know, and precious strong ones too. The King's put in stud at Lyonnesse. Poor Bertie! Nobody ever managed a close finish as he did at the Grand National last but two don't you remember?"
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