But the lady heeded not.
"And you are the fisherman poet, are you not, sir?" she said, turning to the bard.
The old man was standing as erect as a statue, his bonnet in his hand, his hair streaming over his neck, and his face somewhat set and stern. He really looked noble. Mrs. Fielding must have felt he did, or she would never have added that little word "sir" in addressing him.
"I've heard of you so often, in really good society too. You write those beautiful verses in a cave, do you not? Why they are in every good magazine. Do you know I should like to see your cave. So romantic! Might I, Mr.——A——."
"Arundel. My cave is a very humble place, Mrs. Fielding; but if you will come with me you shall see it. The road is rough though."
"Oh, I'm very strong!"
Away along by the top of the cliffs he led her for quite a quarter of a mile. Here some bushes grew, and among them was a half-hidden staircase leading downwards into the very bosom of the rocks. The steps had been cut a hundred years ago perhaps by smugglers. No one ever yet found out the mystery of Talbot's cave.
The lady condescended to take the bard's hand, and he led her down. It was almost dark at the bottom, but once in the strange cave it was light enough. Here were two windows, or rather ports, and one of these the bard threw open. Right down beneath was the deep sea, with clear water over shining yellow sand, so clear you could see the beautiful medusæ or jelly fish floating about like splendidly-jewelled parasols. Between the ports was the poet's rough deal table. Here was a bench of deal, and a tall-backed deal chair. The floor was laid with wood, and a great ship-lamp swung from the roof.
The irregular walls were the rough rocks, but much to Mrs. Fielding's amazement, these walls were adorned with water-colour and oil-colour paintings, that to her seemed priceless.
I had almost forgotten to say that there was a fireplace in this cave, and evidence enough too that Eean often had tea here.