slowly with the steady rise and fall of the dock.
“Certainly, the Cassiterides is Cornwall, and that point of land just ahead is the spot where the Tyrian wrecked his ship, so the legend goes.”
Madden's eyes followed Caradoc's gesture. “I've read that story, but I never thought of seeing the place.”
“Cornwall is entrancing if you care for antiquities,” went on Smith in the polished style of a collegiate. “Four or five miles up that cape are the Boskednan Circles and the Dawns-un, old Druidic stone temples. Just across the peninsula is St. Ives, where the virgin Hya appeared miraculously. It is really regrettable, Madden, that you are leaving England before you tour Cornwall. A wonderful little island, England. A land to live for—or to die for, God willing.”
Caradoc stared toward the coast, frowning, with the old familiar look of pain coming into his eyes. His hearer and his extemporaneous lecture plainly slipped out of his mind.
“You've been along here before,” suggested Madden with a hope of diverting Smith's mind.
“Oh, yes,” replied the Englishman gloomily.
