“Nay, then, I talk of it because you are not a timid old woman, but a reckless young man who seems bent on committing suicide. Yonder is a grassy spot which I think will suit you well.”
He pointed to a level patch of sward on the neck of land that connects the outlying and rugged promontory which forms the extreme Land’s End with the cliffs of the mainland. Here they spread their meal, and from this point they could see the cliffs and bays of the iron-bound shore extending on the one hand towards Cape Cornwall, and on the other towards that most romantic part of the coast known by the somewhat curious name of Tolpedenpenwith, where rocks and caverns are found in such fantastic fashion that the spot has become justly celebrated for picturesque grandeur. At their feet, far below, the great waves (caused by the swell, for there was no wind) boomed in solemn majesty, encircling the cliffs with a lace-work of foam, while on the horizon the Scilly Islands could be seen shimmering faintly. A bright sun shone on the unruffled sea, and hundreds of ships and boats lay becalmed on its breast.
“’Tis a splendid scene!” said Oliver, sitting down beside his friend.
“It is indeed, and reminds me of the sea of glass before the great white throne that we read of in Revelation. It is difficult to imagine or to believe that the peaceful water before us, lying between this spot and the Scilly Islands yonder, was once a land full of verdure and life—yet such tradition tells us was the case.”
“You mean, I suppose, the fabled land of Lionesse?” said Oliver.
“Yes; you have heard the story of its destruction, I suppose?”
“Not I,” said Oliver, “so if you have a mind to tell it me while I satisfy the cravings of an unusually sharp appetite I’ll consider you a most obliging fellow. Pass me the knuckle of ham—thanks—and the bread; now go ahead.”
“’Tis a romantic story,” said Tregarthen.
“All the better,” replied Oliver.
“And terrible,” added Tregarthen.