lliton, but there was
evidently a far older castle here belonging to the Pengersicks, and a
cluster of ancient legends gathered around the place. Cornish
imagination usually stopped short at folk-lore and gave nothing to
literature; in folk-lore it was certainly rich. One of the stories is
of a former inhabitant of the castle who had doings with a king's
daughter abroad, and when she followed him to his Cornish home, he
threw both the lady and her child into the sea. The boy was rescued by
a passing vessel (of course to return later); the woman changed into a
white hare, who one day ran in front of the man's horse, startling it
so that it rushed with its rider into the waves, and both were
drowned. White hares play a striking part in Cornish traditions.
Another story says that the castle was purchased by one of the
Millitons, who, having murdered a man, shut himself up here in terror
and remorse. A further legend speaks of another Milliton who lived
here with a wife whom he hated, and whom he often tried to get rid of,
but her wits proved equal to his. At last, feigning reconciliation,
he invited her to sup with him, and then suddenly told her that the
wine she had drunk was poisoned. "Then we die together," she answered,
"for I had my doubts and I mixed the contents of the goblets." A
terrible tempest came on, and wild shrieks came from the chamber; the
servants, hastening to the room in alarm, found their master and
mistress lying dead on the floor, while looking through the window
they could see their spirits being carried off in triumph by a winged
demon. It is singular how legends of this nature should attach
themselves to certain localities and persons; but the occupants of
Pengersick appear to have had differences with the clergy in old
times, and the priests generally contrived to blacken the characters
of those who became obnoxious to them. It was a terrible power, the
making or marring of future reputation.

[Illustration: PRUSSIA COVE.

_Photo by Gibson & Sons._]

On the coast the beautiful Praa sands stretch for a mile towards
Prussia Cove, with Praa Green at their head; the sands in its season
are glorified with wild convolvulus, and the gently lapping waves
often have little enough to tell us of their disastrous fury in time
of storm. But enough has been said on the dismal subject of wrecks.
Human remains, supposed to date from the Old Stone Age, have been
found at this spot; they, if they could speak,