“Cradocus was vexed at being thus robbed of his prey, and getting into a fearful passion, took his sword from its sheath, and there and then,—oh, horror of horrors! cut off the head of the virgin. For his guilty act, vengeance from on high soon overtook him. On the spot where he committed the crime, he fell down a dead man, and the earth opening, swallowed his impious corpse. [260] There is, however, a tradition, that Cradocus’s master, the devil, carried off his body to the dismal regions of despair.
“Now about the well. I’ve told you, that it was on the hillside above here where Cradocus committed the foul deed. It appears that when the head was severed from the body it commenced to roll down the steep hill by which we descended, and stopped when it reached the altar, before which a number of devout people were kneeling. The very moment the head stopped there came up this fountain, the waters of which possess the same miraculous power as did those waters of the pool of Bethesda referred to in the Gospel of St. John.
“It appears Saint Beuno was the officiating priest at the altar when this sad event took place. Recognising the head as that of his beloved niece, he took it up, and ran with it to where the mangled body lay, to which he rejoined it. To the astonishment of all present, the head at once united itself to the body, the place of separation being only marked by a white ring or line, which extended round the neck. From that hour she was called Saint Winifred, and was always after regarded as a holy person, a special vessel chosen by Christ to do His work. After this event she lived fifteen years, and gained universal fame by her deeds of love and charity. Well, though more than twelve hundred years have come and gone since then, this fountain is as powerful to-day as it was then in healing and in curing diseases. Hundreds, aye, thousands, have blessed the day on which they bathed in this Iachâd Ffynnon—healing fountain. Now, my story is done.”
Myself. And a most interesting tale it is, Mr. Eli, for which I thank you very much. There is one more circumstance I wish to be informed of in order to have a complete history of the sainted lady.
“To what do you refer?” asked Mr. Eli.
Myself. I presume the lady died here.
“Oh yes; she died in her father’s mansion.”
Myself. In that case, I presume, her sepulchre is in your churchyard?
“Not so, my friend,” replied Mr. Eli.
Myself. Then she was not buried here?