Now it was my turn to be silent, for all this was beyond me.  I had heard of hermits before, but had never seen one.  If all were like this old man, too much has not been said of their holiness and nearness to unseen things.

So for a little while we sat and looked into the fire, each on a three-legged stool, opposite one another.  Then at last he asked, almost shyly, and as if he deemed himself overbold, how it was that I had come to be on the cliffs.  That meant in the end that he heard all my story, of course, but my Welsh halted somewhat for want of use, and it was troublesome to tell it.  However, he heard me with something more than patience, and when I ended he said: 

“Now I know how it is that a Saxon speaks the tongue of Cornwall here in Dyfed.  You have had a noble fostering, Thane, for even here we lamented for the loss of Owen the prince.  We have seen him in Pembroke in past years.  You will be most welcome there with this news, for Howel, our prince, loved him well.  They are akin, moreover.  It will be well that you should go to him for help.”

He rose up and went to the seaward door again, and I followed him out.  The sea was but just below us, for the tide was full, and the breakers were yet thundering at the foot of the cliffs on either hand.  But I did not note that at first, for the thing which held my eyes at once was a ship which was wallowing and plunging past us eastward, under close reefed sail, and I knew her for the vessel in which I had crossed.  Thorgils had left the cove, and was making for Tenby while he might.  I should have to seek him there.

“How far is it to the Danes’ town, Father Govan?” I asked.  “Yonder goes my friend’s ship.”

“Half a day’s ride, my son, and with peril for you all the way.  Our poor folk would take you for a Dane in those arms, and you have no horse.  Needs must that you seek Howel, and he will give you a guard willingly.”

Then he turned toward a great rock that lay on the beach, as if it had fallen from the cliffs that towered above us.

“Here is the bell that you heard last night,” he said.

He took a rounded stone that lay on the rock and struck it, and I knew that the clear bell note that it gave out was indeed that which had been my saving.

“Once I had a bell in the cote on the roof yonder,” he said, “but the Danes caught sight of it when they first passed this way, and took it from me.  Then as I sorrowed that the lonely shepherds and fishers might no more hear its call, I seemed to see a vision of an angel who bade me see what had been sent me instead.  And when I went out as the vision bade me, I could see nought but this rock newly fallen, and was downcast.  And so, from the cliff rolled a little stone and smote it, and it rang, and I knew the gift.  To my hearing it has a sweeter voice than the bell made with hands.”

Then he showed me his well, roofed in with flat stones because the birds would wash in it, and so close to the sea salt that it seemed altogether wonderful that the water was fresh and sweet.  And then I saw that the cell did indeed stretch from side to side of the narrow cleft down which I had come, so that each end of the building was of living rock.