hey listened, wrapped in the story, a cry broke
on the night above the murmur of the beaches--a voice from the cliff
below them, calling "Repent! Repent!"

They leaped to their feet at once, and hurried down the stairway. But
the beach was empty; and though they hunted for an hour, they found no
one. Yet the next night and every night after the same voice called
"Repent! Repent!" They hurled down stones upon it and threatened
it with vengeance; but it was not to be scared. And by and by the
Stranger missed a face from his circle, then another. At length came a
night when he counted but half of his company.

He said no word of the missing ones; but early next morning, when the
folk had set out to their labors in the fields, he took a staff and
walked along the shore toward the Mount. A little beyond Parc-an-als,
where a spring gushes from the face of the cliff, he came upon a man
who stood under it catching the trickle in a stone basin, and halted
a few paces off to watch him. The man's hair and beard were long and
unkempt, his legs bare, and he wore a tattered tunic which reached
below the knees and was caught about his waist with a thong girdle.
For some minutes he did not perceive the Singer; but turned at length,
and the two eyed each other awhile.

Then the Singer advanced smiling, while the other frowned.

"Thou hast followed me," he said.

"I have followed and found thee," the other answered.

"Thy name?"

"Leven," said the man. "I come out of Ireland."

"The Nazarite travels far; but this spot He overlooked on his travels,
and the people had need. I brought them help; but they desert me
now--for thee doubtless?"

The Saint bent his head. The Singer laughed.

"He is strong, but the old gods bear no malice. I go to-night to join
their sleep, but I have loved this folk in a fashion. I pitied their
woes and brought them solace: I taught them to forget--and in the
forgetting maybe they have learned much that thou wilt have to
unteach. Yet deal gently with them. They are children, and too often
you holy men come with bands of iron. Shall we sit and talk awhile
together, for their sakes?"

And the fable says that for a long day St. Leven sat on the sands of
the Porth which now bears his name, and talked with the Singer; and,
that in consequence, to this day the descendants of the people of
Lyonnesse praise God in cheerfuller hymns than the rest of the world
uses--so much so that a company of minstrels visi