As the misfortunes of the unhappy prince attracted much sympathy, Howel sent for a man named Cerialtan, Melor’s foster-father, and promised him an extensive grant of lands if he would make away quietly with the young prince. Cerialtan consented, and confided his purpose to his wife. She was horrified, and resolved on saving the boy. During her husband’s temporary absence, she fled with her nephew to the wife of Count Conmor at Carhaix in Brittany, who was Melor’s aunt. When Howel heard of this he was incensed, and urged Cerialtan to get the boy back into his power. Accordingly this worthless fellow took his son Justan with him, a lad who had been Melor’s playmate, and to whom the young prince was much attached. The treacherous foster-father persuaded Melor that no harm was intended, and he and Justan were given the same bed as Melor in which to sleep. During the night Cerialtan rose and cut the young prince’s throat, then roused his son, and they escaped together over the walls of Carhaix. But in so doing Justan missed his hold and fell, and was killed. On reaching the residence of Howel, Cerialtan produced the head of Melor, which he had cut off, in token that he had accomplished his undertaking. Howel grimly promised to show the man the lands he had promised him, but first put out his eyes. In Brittany it is held that Melor was buried at Lan Meur, near Morlaix, but no tomb exists there, nor does there seem to have ever been one. The whole story is legendary, yet certainly is framed about some threads of historic truth. But whether the murder was committed in Brittany or in Cornwall is uncertain. That Melor’s father was assassinated in Cornwall I shall show later on to be probable. Mylor Church as well as Linkinhorne are dedicated to this boy martyr; Thornecombe Church in Dorset is also named after him, and it was held that his body had been transferred to Amesbury, where, during the Middle Ages, his relics attracted pilgrims. From Callington a pleasing excursion may be made to the Cheesewring; and there is a very comfortable little inn there, where one can tarry and be well fed and cared for. The height is a thousand feet, and the view thence over the fertile rolling land of Devon and East Cornwall is magnificent, contrasting strikingly with the desolation of the moors to the north. Here is Craddock Moor, taking its name in all probability from that Caradoc who ruled for Arthur in Gallewick, or Gelliwig. [Illustration: THE CHEESEWRING] The whole of the neighbourhood has been searched for metal, and the Phœnix Mines employed many hundreds of hands till the blight fell on Cornish tin mining, and they were shut down.