person of Merlin the Wizard. For a few seconds
they stood face to face, frowning on each other in awful silence. Then
Merlin raised his arm, and immediately the thunders and confused
mutterings increased, until the earth began to undulate and rend as if
the foundations of the world were destroyed. Great fissures appeared,
and the rocks welled up like the waves of the sea. With a cry of agony
the pursuers turned to fly. But it was too late. Already the earth was
rent into fragments; it upheaved convulsively for a few seconds; then
sank beneath the level of the deep, and the ocean rushed wildly over the
land, leaving nothing behind to mark the spot where land had been, save
the peaked and barren rocks you see before you, with the surge beating
continually around them."

"A most extraordinary tale, truly," said Oliver. "Do you believe it has
any foundation?"

"I believe not the supernatural parts of it, of course," replied
Tregarthen; "but there is _something_ in the fact that the land of
Cornwall has unquestionably given up part of its soil to the sea. You
are aware, I suppose, that St. Michael's Mount, the most beautiful and
prominent object in Mounts Bay, has been described as `a hoare rock in a
wood,' about six miles from the sea, although it now stands in the bay;
and this idea of a sunken land is borne out by the unquestionable fact
that if we dig down a few feet into the sand of the shore near Penzance,
we shall come on a black vegetable mould, full of woodland _detritus_,
such as branches, leaves of coppice wood, and nuts, together with
carbonised roots and trunks of forest trees of larger growth; and these
have been found as far out as the lowest tide would permit men to dig!
In addition to this, portions of land have been overwhelmed by the sea
near Penzance, in the memory of men now alive."

"Hum!" said Oliver, stretching out his huge limbs like a giant basking
in the sunshine, "I dare say you are correct in your suppositions, but I
do not profess to be an antiquary, so that I won't dispute the subject
with you. At the same time, I may observe that it does seem to me as if
there were a screw loose somewhere in the historical part of your
narrative, for methinks I have read, heard, or dreamt, that King Arthur
was Mordred's uncle, not his cousin, and that Mordred was slain, and
that the king was the victor, at the fatal field of Camelford, although
the victory was purchased dearly--Arthur having been m