“Look nearer,” said Matelinn.
“Nearer I see only the sea with barks that skim the water like gulls.”
“Nearer yet,” continued the soldier.
“Nearer yet is the heather in bloom and the golden gorse.”
“But below you?”
“Below me!” cried Mao in a fright, “instead of the ladder to get down I see flames coming to devour me.”
And he saw truly, for Matelinn had taken away the ladder and set fire to the heaped-up piles of furze, so that the old mill was in the midst of a furnace.
In vain Mao begged the giant not to leave him to perish, in so cruel a manner; he turned his back and went off along the downs, whistling.
Then the young man, feeling himself near to stifle, repeated the invocation:
“Come, dead beggar, come quick to aid!