With Major Bree for their skipper, and a brace of sturdy boatmen, Angus, Christabel, and Jessie Bridgeman spent several mild October mornings on the sea--now towards Cambeak, anon towards Trebarwith. Tintagel from the beach was infinitely grander than Tintagel in its landward aspect. "Here," as Norden says, was "that rocky and winding way up the steep sea-cliff, under which the sea-waves wallow, and so assail the foundation of the isle, as may astonish an unstable brain to consider the peril, for the least slip of the foot leads the whole body into the devouring sea." To climb these perilous paths, to spring from rock to rock upon the slippery beach, landing on some long green slimy slab over which the sea washes, was Christabel's delight--and Mr. Hamleigh showed no lack of agility or daring. His health had improved marvellously in that invigorating air. Christabel, noteful of every change of hue in the beloved face, saw how much more healthy a tinge cheek and brow had taken since Mr. Hamleigh came to Mount Royal. He had no longer the exhausted look or the languid air of a man who had untimely squandered his stock of life and health. His eye had brightened--with no hectic light, but with the clear sunshine of a mind at ease. He was altered in every way for the better. And now the autumn evenings were putting on a wintry air--the lights were twinkling early in the Alpine street of Boscastle. The little harbour was dark at five o'clock. Mr. Hamleigh had been nearly two months at Mount Royal, and he told himself that it was time for leave-taking. Fain would he have stayed on--stayed until that blissful morning when Christabel and he might kneel, side by side, before the altar in Minster Church, and be made one for ever--one in life and death--in a union as perfect as that which was symbolized by the plant that grew out of Tristan's tomb and went down into the grave of his mistress. Unhappily, Mrs. Tregonell had made up her mind that her niece should not be married until she was twenty years of age--and Christabel's twentieth birthday would not arrive till the following Midsummer. To a lover's impatience so long an interval seemed an eternity; but Mrs. Tregonell had been very gracious in her consent to his betrothal, so he could not disobey her. "Christabel has seen so little of the world," said the dowager. "I should like to give her one season in London before she marries--just to rub off a little of the rusticity." "She is perfect--I would not have her changed for worlds," protested Angus. "Nor I. But she ought to know a little more of society before she has to enter it as your wife. I don't think a London season will spoil her--and it will please me to chaperon her--though I have no doubt I shall seem rather an old-fashioned chaperon."