cut in the
face of the rock on which it stood, and a flight of steps descended
from this doorway to the shingles, washed by the waves which rolled
eternally from the farthest Atlantic. Not far to the south, the rock
formed a narrow promontory of inconsiderable height, but running out
some distance into the sea. The rough granite afforded good footing,
and with a little exertion, it was not difficult to reach the
extremity, where there was a small cave. Randolph smoothed the
ruggedness of the way, and this recess, which they called Merlin's
Cave, became the favourite resort of himself and Helen. From it, they
looked straightforward past Mousehole and the Logan Rock to the
meeting of sea and sky, while a turn to the right, showed them St.
Michael's Mount and the beautiful woods over Penzance. Here, in the
warm season, they often sat for many hours together, reading the
legends of Cornubia, and of Armorica across the waters. Here, in the
winter, when the wind blew heavily from the west, they came to admire
the huge swell of the ocean thundering idly on the granite beneath
their feet. It might be thought that such a life would produce a
dreamy and feeble turn of mind, ill-calculated to withstand the
buffets of the world. And it will be found, in fact, that this result
did in some degree follow. But the lessons and conversation of
Polydore Riches, and the cold cynicism of Mr. Trevethlan, furnished a
partial antidote to its enervating tendency. It made the brother and
sister highly enthusiastic, but it did not entirely substitute romance
for reality. They knew very little of the world, yet the castles which
they built in the air, were of brick and mortar, not of crystal and
vapour. The plan which Randolph disclosed to his dying father, had
been often discussed between himself and Helen. An old edition of
Blackstone's Commentaries, and one, equally out of date of Burn's
Justice, which he found in the library, attested by their wear and
tear, the diligence of the young student, who little thought of the
depth to which he must dive, to find the sands of the legal Pactolus.
To go to London, to take some suburban lodging, to dwell in frugal
retirement, was the scheme arranged by Randolph and Helen _Morton_.
Mr. Griffith and Polydore would be their only confidants; the former
would introduce Randolph to the family lawyer, of course in his
feigned name, who would procure his admission at an Inn of Court; five
years--that was the bi