For the
convenience of devotees, iron rings, at short intervals, were driven into
the wall; holding desperately to these, the pious pilgrim, at some peril,
might compass the circuit; saying an oraison to Saint Bernard, and some ten
_Aves_. Sebastian, who was charmed with the wild beauty of the scene, in a
country ordinarily so placid, had been seized with a fit of emulation: not
in any mood of devotion, but for the sake of a wider prospect. Tregellan
had protested: and the Saint, resenting the purely aesthetic motive of the
feat, had seemed to intervene. For, half-way round, growing giddy may be,
the artist had made a false step, lost his hold. Tregellan, with a little
cry of horror, saw him disappear amidst crumbling mortar and uprooted
ferns. It was with a sensible relief, for the fall had the illusion of
great depth, that, making his way rapidly down a winding path, he found him
lying on a grass terrace, amidst _debris_ twenty feet lower, cursing his
folly, and holding a lamentably sprained ankle, but for the rest uninjured!
Tregellan had made off in haste to Ploumariel in search of assistance; and
within the hour he had returned with two stalwart Bretons and M. le Docteur
Mitouard.
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