{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_24976/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_24976","id":"gutenberg_24976","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/24976","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Novels","Cornwall (England : County) -- Fiction","Methodist Church (Great Britain) -- Fiction"],"text":"Produced by Al Haines\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Frontispiece: \"She lifted her skinny arm above her head.\"]\n\n\n\n\n\n\nROGER TREWINION\n\n\nBy\n\nJOSEPH HOCKING\n\n\n  _Author of \"All Men are Liars\" \"The Scarlet Woman\"_\n  _\"A Flame of Fire\" etc. etc._\n\n\n\n\n_ILLUSTRATIONS BY GUNNING KING_\n\n\n\n\nLONDON\n\nWARD LOCK & CO LIMITED\n\n1905\n\n\n\n\n_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._\n\n  ALL MEN ARE LIARS\n  FIELDS OF FAIR RENOWN\n  ISHMAEL PENGELLY\n  THE STORY OF ANDREW FAIRFAX\n  JABEZ EASTERBROOK\n  THE MONK OF MAR-SARA\n  ZILLAH: A Romance\n  WEAPONS OF MYSTERY\n  MISTRESS NANCY MOLESWORTH\n  THE BIRTHRIGHT: A ROMANCE\n  AND SHALL TRELAWNEY DIE?\n  THE SCARLET WOMAN\n  THE PURPLE ROBE\n  THE MADNESS OF DAVID DARING\n  LEST WE FORGET\n  O'ER MOOR AND FEN\n  GREATER LOVE\n  ESAU\n  FOLLOW THE GLEAM\n  A FLAME OF FIRE\n  THE COMING OF THE KING\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n  CHAP.\n\n         PROLOGUE\n      I  THE PROPHETIC WARNING\n     II  THE WITCH'S WARNING\n    III  THE MARCH OF EVENTS\n     IV  THE WRECK ON THE \"DEVIL'S TOOTH\"\n      V  THE SHAPING OF EVENTS\n     VI  LINK TO LINK\n    VII  THE WITCHES' CAVE\n   VIII  THE BEGINNING OF THE END\n     IX  OMENS OF DARKNESS\n      X  THE GATHERING DARKNESS\n     XI  THE CALL TO RENOUNCE\n    XII  NIGHT\n   XIII  A WANDERER\n    XIV  \"A HOME ON THE ROLLING DEEP\"\n     XV  THE VOICE OF THE SOUL\n    XVI  AFTER LONG YEARS\n   XVII  REVENGE!\n  XVIII  HELL!\n    XIX  TOWARDS RUTH'S GRAVE\n     XX  \"VISIT HER TOMB\"\n    XXI  THE VAULT UNDER THE COMMUNION\n   XXII  THE VOICE OF THE DEAD\n  XXIII  THE SHADOW OF EVIL'S REWARD\n   XXIV  CAIN\n    XXV  THE VOICE OF A FRIEND\n   XXVI  THE VOICE OF GOD\n  XXVII  WITHIN THE OLD HOME\n XXVIII  TREWINION'S CURSE\n   XXIX  MOTHER AND SON\n    XXX  THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT\n   XXXI  TO THE RESCUE\n  XXXII  TWO HEARTS\n XXXIII  THE DAWNING OF THE MORNING\n         EPILOGUE\n\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n\"She lifted her skinny arm above her head.\"   . . . . . . _Frontispiece_\n\n\"'Hurl him over!' said the devil within me.\"\n\n\"'What have 'ee got there?' he gasped.\"\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\nWhen visiting my native county some time since, I was struck with the\nmodern, \"up-to-date,\" aspect of men and things.  In this respect\nCornwall has much changed even during the twenty years since I left it.\nThe quiet, old-world feeling which I can remember has gone, and instead\nthere is a spirit of eagerness, almost amounting to rush.  I\ndiscovered, too, that the old stories, dear to me, are forgotten.  All\nthe old superstitions have passed away.  I remember asking a man\nwhether there were any witches or ghosts in his vicinity.  \"Look,\" he\nsaid, in reply, pointing at a telegraph post, \"they things 'ave\ndestroyed boath witches and ghoasts.\"  And yet, less than four decades\nago, when I was a child, ghosts, witches, charms, omens, and the like\nwere firmly believed in.  Perhaps the most vivid remembrance I have of\nmy childhood's days, are those connected with the weird stories of the\nsupernatural which my mother used to tell us, as I with my brothers and\nsisters sat around a roaring fire on winter evenings.  I called to\nmind, too, the haunted places, which I feared to pass after dark; but\non inquiring of the new generation concerning these same places, I\nfound an utter ignorance of their old-time reputation.  Old Tommy Dain,\nthe famous wizard, is forgotten, while Betsey Flew, she who could\nblight corn, cause milk to turn sour, and ill-wish all but the eldest\nson of a family, has no part in the life of the present generation.\nAnd yet I remember wearing, for months, a charm which old Betsey had\nprepared for me, with what result I cannot tell, save that I never had\nthe disease from which the charm was to save me.  As for curing warts,\ncrooked legs, weak backs, and other ailments by the means used in the\ngood old days--well, they are utterly forgotten.  In short, Cornwall,\nwhich even in my boyish days was the very Mecca of Folklore and\nsuperstition, has been completely changed.  The spirit of \"modernity\"\nis everywhere, and thus the old West Country has gone, and a new West\nCountry has taken its place.\n\nWhether this has been an unmixed blessing, or not, I have grave doubts;\nanyhow, the Cornwall I love to think about is the Cornwall of my\nboyhood, when apparitions from the spirit-land were common, when omens\nand charms were firmly believed in, and when the village parson had\npower to \"lay a ghost,\" by reading the burial service a second time\nover a grave, and taking great care to turn the prayer-book\n\"up-side-down.\"\n\nMuch of the story which is here offered to the public was written some\nyears ago, when the memory of the old time was more vivid than it is\nnow; and although it has been re-written, I trust I have retained in\nits pages something of the atmosphere of mystery and romance for which\nmy native county was once so famous.  Indeed, the prologue, while not\nabsolutely true to fact, is true in spirit.  The story is not mine at\nall, but was told me long years ago by those who were old when I was\nbut a boy, and who had no doubt of the truth of what they related.  I\nam afraid I have not pieced their somewhat confused narratives together\nvery well, although one told me by an old dame with wild eyes, and a\nstrong love for a \"bit ov bacca,\" which is reproduced in the chapter\nentitled \"The Vault under the Communion,\" haunts me even yet.\n\nJOSEPH HOCKING.\n\nTREVANION,\n  WOODFORD GREEN,\n    _The New Year_, 1905.\n\n\n\n\nPROLOGUE\n\nI\n\nThe following story came to my knowledge under somewhat curious\ncircumstances:--\n\nI had gone to Cornwall, my native county, to spend my summer vacation,\nand there met with an old college chum, who asked me to accompany him\non a walking tour.\n\n\"Where?\" I asked.\n\n\"Let us do the Cornish coast,\" he replied, \"it is the finest and most\nrugged coast in England.  The scenery around is magnificent; there are\nnumberless old legends told about many of the places we shall see; and\nI know that legends have always had a great attraction for you.\"\n\nI must confess to a weakness for anything romantic, and was attracted\nby the proposal.  Accordingly, we journeyed by train and coach to the\nmost northern watering-place on the eastern coast of Cornwall, viz.,\nBude, and commenced our journey southward.\n\nAs this personal reminiscence is only written to tell how I came by the\nremarkable history which follows, I shall say nothing of our journey\nthat has not a direct bearing on that history.\n\nWe had been walking some days, I need not say how many, when we saw,\nstanding on a rough headland, and yet some little distance from the\nsea, an old house.  It caught my attention the moment I first glanced\nat it.  Grey and lonely, it looked the residence of some misanthrope or\nhermit, and its tower and battlements gave it the appearance of some\nfeudal castle.\n\n\"That's a strange looking old place, Will,\" I said to my companion.\n\n\"It is, indeed,\" he replied.  \"It looks in good repair, too.  I wonder\nif it's inhabited?\"\n\n\"The best way to know is to go and see,\" I replied, and accordingly we\nbent our steps thither.\n\nAs we drew nearer we saw a hollow, which looked as though it had been\nscooped out by some giant's spade.  In it were built two or three\ncottages, and by the fact of there being some tumbled-down houses near,\nwe came to the conclusion that at one time a little village must have\nstood there.\n\n\"What in the world have people to do or live for here?\" said Will.  \"We\nare five miles from any place that can be called a town, and there's\nscarcely a house near.  Everything is as weird and lonely as the\nwilderness of Judea.\"\n\n\"I expect they live on the fish they catch, and the produce of their\nlittle farms,\" I said; \"but come, there's a man yonder, we'll question\nhim.\"\n\nAccordingly we hailed him and he waited, evidently with some degree of\ncuriosity, until we came up.\n\n\"What's the name of this place?\" asked Will.\n\n\"Trewinion,\" was the reply.\n\n\"Trewinion?  Is it in the parish of Trewinion?\"\n\n\"Iss.\"\n\n\"Is there a parish church anywhere near?\"\n\n\"Iss.\"\n\n\"Where?\"\n\n\"There,\" pointing southward.\n\nWe saw a little grey tower about half a mile away, evidently a part of\nthe building after which we had been inquiring.\n\n\"Are there any houses there?\" we asked.\n\n\"Five.\"\n\n\"Whose are they?\"\n\n\"Passon Teague's, Muster Yelland's, Bill Treloar's, Tom Williams's, and\nJack Jory's.\"\n\n\"And what's the name of yonder place?\" asked Will, pointing to the old\nhouse we had seen on the great headland.\n\nThe man looked at us curiously, and then replied:\n\n\"Trewinion Manor.\"\n\n\"It looks old,\" I said.  \"Is it?\"\n\n\"Ould's Mathusla,\" was the brief reply.\n\n\"Who lives there?\"\n\n\"Th' oull Sir Nick.\"\n\n\"Sir Nick\" is the term usually applied by the Cornish people to his\nSatanic Majesty.  Scenting a story I eagerly inquired what he meant.\n\n\"Well, he d' live there,\" was the reply.\n\n\"And what does he do?\"\n\nThe man shook his head gravely.  \"Nobody knows but hisself,\" was the\nreply.\n\n\"But does the devil live there alone?\" asked Will.\n\nThe man looked at us again, as though he wondered who we were.\n\n\"Who be you?\" he said.\n\n\"We are simply out for a holiday,\" I replied, \"and, as we were walking\nalong, we saw that old place, and wondering what it was, and to whom it\nbelonged, we thought we'd ask.\"\n\n\"Then you be'ant no friend or 'lation to un up there?\" he said.\n\n\"None.\"\n\n\"Nor you wa'ant say nothin' to un ef I tell 'ee?\"\n\n\"Not a word.\"\n\n\"Well, then, ould Squire Trewinion do live there.\"\n\n\"Alone?\"\n\nThe man shook his head.\n\n\"Two ould servants,\" he said, solemnly.\n\n\"Is there anything strange about him?\" I asked.\n\n\"Shud think ther es,\" he replied.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"What!  Why he've sold hisself to tho'ull Sir Nick, who do stick to un\nlike a limpet to a rock.\"\n\nAs this mediaeval belief has scarcely died away among the Cornish\npeople, I attached no importance to it, but asked in a jocular way for\nwhat he had sold himself.\n\n\"Nobody knows,\" the man replied, \"but he hev sould hisself, and now he\ndo never come out to shaw hisself nor nothin'.  He wa'ant speak to\nnobody, and is as ugly as sin.\"\n\n\"Are these Trewinions important people?\" asked Will.\n\n\"'Portant!\" said the man, \"sh'd think they be; why oal the land round\ndo belong to un, and I've heerd my faather say as 'ow in th' ould days\nit was the grandest plaace in oal Cornwall; but now--m--m--m!\"\n\n\"Now, what?\" I asked.\n\n\"Hunted!\"\n\n\"Hunted!  Haunted, I suppose you mean.  By what?\"\n\n\"Ghoasts and evil sperrits, as well as with th' oull Sir Nick.\"\n\n\"Do you ever go up there?\"\n\n\"No; I kip away in the daytime, and as fur goin' ther after dark, I\nwouldn't for a crock of gould.\"\n\nWe asked the man many more questions, but could get nothing much\nfurther from him.  All I could gather was that the Trewinions had been\na great people, but had fallen on evil days as the result of their own\nsinning, and that the present representative of the family was a\nrecluse, living alone in the old Manor House, and that many curious\nstories were told about him.\n\n\"Well,\" said Will to me, \"I think we've heard enough; let us get away\nfrom this outlandish place.\"\n\n\"Not until I've inquired at the place itself,\" I replied.\n\n\"You are mad,\" said he.  \"Evidently this old man is some strange\ncreature, who prefers living alone, and will no doubt think it a piece\nof impudence on our part if we call.  Perhaps he will set the dogs\nafter us.\"\n\n\"Nevertheless, I'm going,\" I replied.  \"If you like to remain behind,\nyou may do so; but I want to know the truth of this.  I suspect a good\nstory.\"\n\n\"Oh, well, if you will be foolish, I'll go,\" said Will, \"but remember\nwe have to walk twelve miles before we get to our resting-place\nto-night.\"\n\nI did not reply, but went away in the direction of Trewinion Manor,\nwhile Will, grumbling, came on behind.\n\nAs we ascended the hill the view became wondrously grand.  At least\nfifteen miles of coast were to be seen, with great rugged cliffs,\nhundreds of feet high, while huge rocks stood out in the sea as if\ninviting the fury of the waves as they broke upon them.  In winter it\nmust be almost terrible to live there, but now it was beautiful beyond\ncompare.  We found, too, that the old house was somewhat sheltered, on\nthe one hand by the great headland which rose higher as it neared the\nsea, and on the other by a thick, lofty wall.  Besides this, a hill\nwhich rose up landward broke the force of the wind, so that it was not\nso exposed as I had at first thought.\n\nThere was no way of entering the grounds save by a door that was\nlocked.  It was thick and heavy, made of oak, and iron studded.\n\n\"Evidently those within are determined to keep out intruders,\" I said,\nas I saw the grim forbidding wall.\n\n\"I should think so,\" replied Will.  \"Now let's go on, for it's only\nwaste of time to stay here.\"\n\nMy love for the mysterious, however, was too strong to allow Will's\nwords to have due effect, and seeing a breach in the wall I climbed it.\nI found that this enclosure had so far sheltered the grounds of the\nhouse that a quantity of vegetation of various kinds had grown there,\nand although the place was now in a very neglected condition, it must\nin past years have provided for a great household.  The house looked\nextremely lonely, and no soul was to be seen.  I confess I was taken a\nlittle aback at this.  To gain admittance did not seem either as\npleasant or as easy as at first sight.  I did not like to shout.  The\nsilence of the place, only broken by the sobbing of the waves, hundreds\nof feet below, forbade it, while to knock at the old iron-studded door\nwas equally unseemly.\n\nYet I did not like to go away.  My curiosity continued to increase, so\nI came down from the wall and began to examine the door.  To my delight\nI saw fastened to a great gray rock, on which the door was partly hung,\na piece of iron at the end of a chain.\n\nEvidently this was in some way a means of communication with the house.\nI seized, and pulled it.\n\nNo sooner had I done so than I heard the clanging of a bell away up in\nthe old house.\n\n\"There,\" I said to Will, who had kept on protesting, \"perhaps that is\nlike the bells in the old monasteries; it will frighten away all evil\nspirits.\"\n\nWill grumbled about my having \"plenty of cheek,\" while I waited,\nsomewhat anxiously, I confess, for an answer.\n\nPresently I heard a murmur of voices within, and then the withdrawing\nof bolts.  After a few seconds the door turned on its rusty hinges and\nrevealed two men both about fifty years of age.\n\n\"What do you want?\" asked one sternly.\n\n\"I want to see Squire Trewinion,\" I replied boldly.  I felt it would be\nof no use hesitating, and although I had no earthly business there I\ndetermined to get admittance.\n\n\"Why do you wish to see him?\" was the next question.\n\n\"I will answer that to Mr. Trewinion himself,\" I said.\n\n\"Your names, then?\"\n\n\"They are unknown to you,\" I replied, \"and my telling them could serve\nno purpose.  Lead the way to your master.\"\n\nThey looked at us suspiciously; but seeing two young men, well dressed\nand with plenty of assurance, they seemed inclined to let us in.\nConsequently a minute after we stood within the walls that surrounded\nthis place of evil repute, the door being carefully locked behind us.\n\nThe two men, evidently servants, led the way up an unused road, by\nwhich we reached the tower entrance.  Neither spoke a word.\n\nOn coming close to Trewinion Manor we found that it was built of\ngranite, and had evidently been standing for hundreds of years.  The\nstones of the doorways were curiously carved, and even the exterior of\nthe place looked as though it contained a hundred secrets.  It was\nlarge, too, and must at some time have been the home of people of\nwealth.\n\nThe view was wonderful.  In front of us stretched the mighty Atlantic,\nwhose murmuring song told of the peaceful waves that now splashed on\nthe shore.  I had seen the Atlantic in a tempest, however, and so could\neasily fancy what a sight there must be when the waters beneath were\nlashed into fury by great storm clouds.\n\nArrived at the door, our guides stopped.\n\n\"We can show you no further without permission,\" said the spokesman.\n\"I will tell the master you are here, and see if he will receive you.\"\n\nAccordingly he went away, while the other stood at some little distance\nwatching us.\n\n\"I've caught your mystery fever,\" said Will.  \"I'm longing to get\ninside now; but what excuse are you going to make for intruding?\"\n\n\"I've settled that,\" I replied.  \"Our visit is an ordinary one, and I\nshall tell no lies.\"\n\nI had scarcely spoken when the man returned, telling us to follow him,\nas his master would see us.\n\nA minute later we stood within the silent walls of Trewinion Manor.\n\n\n\nII\n\nThere was a cold vault-like atmosphere within the place, and as we went\nalong the dark corridors, every footstep sounding on the granite floor\nand echoing through the great empty house, I felt like shuddering.\n\nOutside the sun was shining and the west wind blowing, making\neverything bright and glad; but within all was cold and forbidding.\n\nStill we followed the man curiously, and I must confess I felt my heart\nbeat loudly against my ribs as he knocked at a dark, forbidding looking\ndoor.  I do not think I am usually nervous, but on this occasion I was\ngetting excited.\n\nThe knock was followed by a response.\n\n\"Come in,\" said a voice.\n\nThe old servant opened the door, and ushered us into a room that was on\nevery side lined with books.  There were thousands of volumes on the\nshelves.  Some I saw were old and scarce, and exceedingly valuable.\nOthers again were new and well bound.  I gave them but little attention\nat the time, however, for my mind was drawn towards the lonely occupant\nof the room, the master of the house.\n\nHe looked about sixty years of age, but was large-boned, tall, and\nvigorous.  His hair was iron grey, but had evidently been black.  His\neyes were black, and his great rugged forehead was fringed with bushy\neyebrows, which gave him a somewhat fierce appearance.  His nose was\nlarge, his mouth was large, and his chin, too, was large, square, and\ndetermined.  He was no ordinary man.  There was the stamp of unusual\npower upon him.  He was no trifler, and yet beneath his look of\ndetermination and energy something was lacking.  He seemed as though\nhis determination needed to be roused, his energy to be stimulated.\nYet I could see nothing in his appearance which justified the opinions\nwe had heard expressed about him, nor could I discover anything which\nsuggested a misanthrope.\n\nHe placed chairs for us both, and then politely asked what he could do\nto serve us.  He had a strong, deep, somewhat musical voice, and had I\nnot been otherwise informed, I should have regarded him as one who\noften entertained visitors, so free from restraint did he seem.\n\n\"I hope you will excuse us for calling,\" I said, \"but my story must\nexplain my rudeness.  I follow literature as a profession, and have for\nsome months been engaged on a work dealing with the legends and\nsuperstitious beliefs of Cornwall.  I am, however, enjoying my vacation\nnow, and my friend and I are on a walking tour along the coast.  Seeing\nthis old grey mansion, and thinking there might be some story in\nconnexion with its early days, I have taken the liberty of calling.\"\n\nHe looked at me curiously, as though he suspected me of some sinister\nmotive, and his black eyes glittered.\n\n\"Have you heard anything which would lead you to think this house had a\nstory? or have you come here out of pure speculation?\" he said,\nbrusquely.\n\n\"I suspected there must be legends about a house as old as this,\" I\nreplied, \"and a man we met some distance from here told us\nthat--that----\"\n\n\"You need not go further,\" he said, grimly, \"I know all the stories\nthat are afloat among the people who live within a few miles of the\nplace.  You have heard that I have sold myself to the devil, and that\nthe house is haunted by evil spirits?\"\n\nI did not reply.\n\n\"You are bold fellows to come here,\" he continued, \"for I am reported\nto have wonderful powers, being able to call to my aid the might of the\nking of darkness.  But I do not know your names and so cannot talk\nfreely with you.\"\n\nI told him our names.\n\n\"I know you both by reputation,\" he said.  \"You,\" turning to Will, \"are\na barrister, and bidding fair to donning silk, while you,\" turning to\nme, \"are making your name known as a novelist.\"\n\n\"I have read your books,\" he continued; \"and--well\"--he stopped and\nmused a minute, and then, pointing to the bookshelves, continued--\"I\nget nearly everything.  Science, religion, history, travel, poetry,\nromance, I see them all.  That's how I know your names and professions.\nI send one of my servants to Plymouth every month, and thus I get all I\nneed.\"\n\nWe soon fell to talking about books, and I found that intellectually\nthis Squire Trewinion was a man of more than ordinary power.  We had\nnot conversed long however, before I saw a great change come over him.\nHe seemed possessed by some nervous dread, and was evidently anxious to\ndrop the subject of books.\n\nSeeing this, I turned the conversation to the old house in which we\nstood, and asked him the year of its erection.\n\n\"It dates from the time of Charles II,\" he said, \"and is, perhaps, the\nbest built house in the whole county.  And it had need to be so, for\nthe storms which sometimes beat upon us are terrific.\"\n\n\"Are there any stories or legends about it?\" I said, laughingly.\n\nHe looked at me as though he would read my heart's inmost secrets, and\nthen burst out:\n\n\"Yes, there are stories, there are legends, there are mysteries, and\nthey are true.\"\n\nI thought at first that he was joking, but he continued:\n\n\"Yes, there is truth in the wildest story afloat, not perhaps in the\nexact way that the ignorant clowns think; but, sir----\"\n\nHe stopped again for a second, as if making up his mind upon some\npoint.  Evidently, his lonely mode of living caused him to act\ndifferently from the conventional society man.\n\n\"We Trewinions are an old race, sir, and some of my ancestors have been\nvery violent,\" he continued.\n\n\"That is not to be wondered at,\" I replied.  \"Life here, a century ago,\nmust have been far different from the life of to-day, while earlier\nstill, when smugglers sought the caves around, and pirates sailed the\nseas, it must have been almost impossible for anyone to live in such a\nneighbourhood as this without leading a strange life.\"\n\n\"You are interested in mysterious stories and legends, are you not?\" he\nsaid.\n\nI told him that I had almost a passion for the supernatural, the\nmysterious, and the occult.\n\nHe looked at me again, long and steadily.\n\n\"I have read some things you have written,\" he said at length.  \"You\ndabbled a little in the mysterious in them; but I have in my possession\na history----\"\n\nAgain he stopped, and I begged him to go on, for I felt he had\nsomething of importance to tell me.\n\n\"You said you were writing a book on the superstitions and legends of\nCornwall,\" he said, \"and were anxious to collect anything that might be\nof interest.\"\n\nI told him that this was so.\n\nAt this he went to the window and looked out over the blue expanse of\nthe sea, after which he turned towards me, and looked steadily into my\nface.\n\n\"I have a strange impulse on me,\" he said.\n\nI made no answer to his words, but frankly met his gaze.\n\n\"You are an utter stranger to me in one way,\" he went on, \"but both\nyour personal appearance and your writings suggest that you and I have\nmuch in common.  Besides, great God! although I live the life of a\nhermit, I long at times for the companionship of a kindred soul.\"\n\nI was still silent, deeming that this was the best means of obtaining\nhis confidence.\n\n\"It seems like pure madness,\" he said at length, \"but, look here, would\nyou care to look at a manuscript, which not only contains suggestions\nof one-time superstitions and customs, but something of the history of\nan old Cornish family?\"\n\n\"I should be more than delighted to see it,\" was my reply.\n\nFor a moment he muttered as if to himself, then, like a man taking a\ngreat resolution, he turned to a large safe and unlocked it.  His hand\ntrembled as he did so, as though he were afraid.\n\n\"I have only read the manuscript once,\" he said, \"and I have not seen\nit for twenty years.  I tremble as I look for it now.  You will know\nwhy when you have read it.\"\n\nHe took from the safe a large parcel, wrapped in paper, on which were\nwritten the following words:\n\n\n\"THE CONFESSIONS\n\nOF\n\nROGER TREWINION,\n\nOF\n\nTREWINION MANOR,\n\nCORNWALL.\n\n\"May the Lord have mercy upon me a miserable sinner.\"\n\n\n\"Roger Trewinion was my grandfather,\" said he, as he saw me looking at\nthe name.  \"My father was called Roger--I am called Roger--the last of\nmy race.  If--ah--if--but I daren't think of that.\"\n\n\"And may I read these confessions?\" I asked eagerly, for I longed to\nget away alone and commence them.\n\n\"Yes, I am going to let you.  How I dare trust you with them I don't\nknow, except that I've read one or two of your books, and, well I am a\nman of strong impulses.  It is characteristic of my race.  Besides, I\nfeel like trusting you.\n\n\"After you've read it,\" he continued, \"you will know why I live here as\nI do; you will understand something of the web of mystery that is woven\nabout this place.  You will see the curse that rests upon my life.\"\n\n\"Curse?\" I said questioningly.\n\n\"When you have finished with it,\" he went on, without heeding my words,\n\"bring the old manuscript back, and I will lock it up again.  Much as I\nwish it had never been written, or rather, the deeds it recalls had\nnever been done, I would not like to lose it now, for it possesses a\nstrange fascination for me.\"\n\nWe stayed an hour longer at Trewinion Manor, not liking to decline the\nhospitality which was proffered us.  But I was anxious to be alone.\nThe story of the grandfather of the present owner of this strange place\nwas of paramount interest to me, and so, after many promises, many\nquestions and many requests, I hastened away with my precious burden\nunder my arm.\n\nI remember nothing of the journey along the coast that day, except that\nI was constantly hurrying Will along so that we might more quickly\nreach the watering-place where our luggage had been sent, and where we\nhad engaged rooms.\n\nArrived there I went immediately to the apartment allotted to me, where\nI left \"the Confessions.\"  After a hasty meal, I ordered candles and\nreturned to my room to read, while Will went out to see the town.\n\nI read on all the night, nor did I cease until I had finished the\nmanuscript which Roger Trewinion had placed in my hands.\n\nIt is not now my purpose to tell you my impressions concerning it.  The\nfact that the story therein told follows this chapter bears witness to\nthe interest I found in it.  Whether it will prove equally interesting\nto the reader is not for me to say.\n\nI have now told how I came by these confessions of Roger Trewinion, so\nI need write little more concerning them.\n\nLet it be understood, however, that my only share in the story is that\nof editor and reviser.  Much of it had to be re-written and much of the\ndialect transposed into ordinary English.  Still, the history stands\npractically as I found it, and, wherever I have re-written or revised,\nI have endeavoured to retain the spirit in which Roger Trewinion\noriginally wrote.\n\nOf the belief and deeds of the writer, I may have a few words to say by\nand bye; but my only duty at present is to lay before you the history\nhe wrote at a time when strange deeds were done in this western county,\nand when its people were influenced and bound by strange and sometimes\ncruel superstitions.\n\n\n\nTHE END OF PROLOGUE.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nTHE PROPHETIC WARNING\n\n\"_And the boys grew, and Esau was a cunning hunter, a man of the field;\nand Jacob was a plain man, dwelling in tents.  And Isaac loved Esau;\nbut Rebekah loved Jacob._\"\n\n\nWhat I, Roger Trewinion, am about to write is true.  I tell what I have\nseen, and heard, and have been.\n\nI was born in the year of our Lord, 1750.  I am now sixty years of age.\n\nMy family is an ancient one; not that I boast of it, for families\nreckon as little when the terrible realities of life press heavily upon\nus.  Still, in mentioning the fact that my family is ancient and\nhonourable, I do not do so without a purpose.  Events will show that it\nmatters not much what name we bear if the man within us be not strong\nto resist temptation.\n\nOur family included, besides myself, one son and two daughters.  The\nson, my brother, was called Wilfred, my two sisters, Katherine and\nElizabeth.  I am the elder son, and am called Roger after my father.\nWilfred was born two years after me.  Katherine and Elizabeth were\nrespectively four and six years younger than myself.\n\nPeople always said I was a true son of my father.  From my childhood I\nwas big, strong, and daring.  I must add, too, that I was passionate\nand revengeful.  My brother was neither so tall nor so daring as I; but\nhe was, nevertheless, exceedingly strong and wiry, and although, being\nthe older, I was the stronger of the two, I often had difficulty in\nproving myself the master.  Especially was this seen when we used to\nwrestle on the soft, spongy grass that grows on the headland.  I could\nlift him from the ground and throw him over my head, such was my\nadvantage in weight and strength.  Yet so cunning was he, and so agile,\nthat he would cling around me, and twine his limbs around mine, so that\nI had to be very careful or I should have been disgraced by being\nthrown.\n\nOur dispositions, too, were different.  I was noisy, boisterous,\npassionate and outspoken.  Wilfred was quiet and thoughtful.  I often\ndid deeds without thinking; but not so Wilfred; he weighed and\nconsidered both his words and actions.  Consequently I was ever getting\ninto scrapes, but Wilfred seldom or never.\n\nI was my father's favourite.  I was a sturdy young dog, he said, just\nlike the rest of the Trewinion race, and would be an honour to my name.\nWilfred, on the other hand, received but little notice from my father,\nbut was the darling of my mother's heart.  My father saw little or no\nfault in me and saw plenty in Wilfred.  My mother saw only perfection\nin Wilfred and only imperfections in me.  This, I am afraid, raised a\nbarrier between my mother and my father, for which I was then, and am\nnow, truly sorry.\n\nIn spite of these differences I loved Wilfred very much.  Was he not my\nbrother? were we not born in the same room? did not the same mother\nsuckle us? and did we not both bear the name of Trewinion?  Wilfred,\nhowever, did not love me so much.  I think it was because he was a\nlittle jealous of me.  The jealousy came about in this way.\n\nMaidens love strength and daring; and as I was able to do for my\nsisters many thing which Wilfred was unable to do--such as scaling the\ncliffs for rare plants, getting precious stones, and so forth--I was\nmore beloved by them than Wilfred was.  Thus, as he saw Katherine and\nElizabeth ever clinging to me, and avoiding him, he would look darkly\nat me, and go with his sorrows to our mother, who, in her kindness of\nheart, would give him comfort and sometimes indulgences which I do not\nthink were always good for him.\n\nStill, we were fairly good friends, and sometimes after I had fought a\nboy for teasing him, we would be quite happy together.\n\nI am writing these things now because I think they have a bearing on\nsome of the events that happened in my after life.\n\nWe were educated at the vicarage of Trewinion by the vicar, the Rev.\nThomas Polperrow.  The living of Trewinion was only worth about L100\nper annum, and so Mr. Polperrow was glad to augment his salary by\ntaking pupils.  There were eight boys besides ourselves, who came from\nplaces some three or four miles around; so we were able to have right\nmerry times together.\n\nI was not a very good scholar.  I found it difficult to apply myself to\nany task; Wilfred, on the other hand, was the best pupil the vicar had.\nAt twelve years of age he was quite a Latin scholar and was great at\nEuclid, and mathematics generally.  This was exactly as it ought to be,\nmy father said, for Wilfred was to be a clergyman, and when Mr.\nPolperrow died could be installed into the living.  But although\nWilfred had the advantage as far as scholarship went, I had the\nadvantage of him in other ways.  To save my life I could not conjugate\na Latin verb; but I knew every creek and cove on our rockbound coast;\nand had gone into every cave that honeycombed the cliffs.  This was\nconsidered exceedingly daring on my part, by those who believed, as\nmany did, that these caves were the nocturnal homes of witches and dark\nspirits of the dead.  It was true that I did not go after dark, for the\nsobbing waters of the sea wailed and made terrible noises as they swept\ninto the caves at night time, and it was then that I used to hear\nstrange cries as I stood on the top of the cliffs and listened.\n\nI had no doubt then, nor do I doubt now, that spirits from the\ninvisible world do appear in such places, and what I have to relate\nwill fully bear out my belief.  Mr. Polperrow, the vicar, has proved on\nmany occasions that the belief in spirits appearing on earth is\nscriptural.\n\nI had reached the age of fifteen when my father came to me as I rambled\nabout the great headland on which our house is built.\n\n\"This is your birthday, Roger,\" he said.\n\n\"Yes, father,\" I replied.  \"Thank you for the new pony.  I have just\nridden over to Rosecarrow to see Tom Tremain.  He goes like the wind.\"\n\n\"Ay, I saw you ride away.  You have a firm seat, Roger.  I am glad to\nsee you ride so well.\"\n\n\"Well, I ought to ride well, father, for you taught me,\" I replied.\n\n\"Let's see, you are fifteen to-day, Roger, are you not?\"\n\n\"Yes, fifteen to-day.\"\n\n\"What a big lad you are.  What weight are you?\"\n\n\"Nearly eight score pounds, father,\" I replied.\n\n\"So much, eh?  Well, well, the Trewinions are a big race.  I weighed as\nmuch when I was your age.\"\n\n\"And see what a big man you are now.\"\n\nMy father did not reply for a minute; then he said slowly--\n\n\"Roger, my boy, when I was fifteen my father took me into the library\nand read to me something which closely affected my welfare.  There is\nno knowing how long I may live, and I think that what was read to me\nthen should be read to you now, for it applies to all the Trewinion\nheirs.  Come with me.\"\n\nI followed my father into the house, and we entered the library\ntogether.\n\n\"Ours is a curious race, Roger,\" my father began.  \"Our name began\nstrangely.  God grant that it may not end with you.\"\n\n\"I hope it may not, father.\"\n\n\"Cherish the hope, my lad, for the last son of the Trewinions will die\na terrible death, haunted by evil spirits.\"\n\nI shuddered.\n\n\"The Trewinion race sprang from the Trevanions,\" he went on.  \"The\nmother of our people was a Trevanion, and she, while but a child in\nyears--for she was scarcely seventeen--married a nameless nobody, who,\nfearing the wrath of her brothers, ran away like a coward as soon as\ntheir wedding was found out.  When it was known that she was going to\nbe a mother, Lord Trevanion built a house and sent her here with a\nnurse, blessed with the gift of second sight.  When the child was\nborn--a son--the nurse, who was held in great respect by the family,\nsent for Lord Trevanion, who came, wondering at her message.  Then she\ntold him that many things had been revealed to her on the night of the\nchild's birth, which she thought he ought to know.\n\n\"On being asked what she meant, she replied that messengers from the\nspirit land had revealed to her that the boy was to be called Roger\nTrewinion, and that he was to have certain lands in that neighbourhood,\nthen owned by Lord Trevanion.\n\n\"So much was he moved by the nurse's story that this manor house was\nbuilt, and the lands now belonging to it were handed over to this\nchild.  And thus, Roger, your name and mine began to be, and thus we\nown the lands belonging to Trewinion Manor.\"\n\n\"And what became of the mother of this child, father?\" I asked eagerly.\n\n\"She lived many years with her son; lived with him, indeed, until she\ndied.\"\n\n\"And he?\"\n\n\"He married a lady belonging to the Penwardle family, one of the best\nfamilies in the county.\"\n\n\"And so our race has lived here ever since?\"\n\n\"Ever since.  They dare not leave it.  If, for six months at a time,\nthe master of the family, or the son and heir, live away from this\nplace, built at the command of Heaven, he brings a curse on the race of\nTrewinion which shall last unto the third generation.\"\n\nI felt very grave, for this was strange news to me.  In my young,\ncareless life I had not troubled to ask the history of my family.\n\n\"There are many things I have to say on another occasion,\" said my\nfather, \"but most of them can wait.  One thing, however, I must tell\nyou.  The nurse who was with the first Trewinion at his birth lived\nuntil he was blessed with a son, then, according to the records of the\nhouse of Trevanion, she uttered these words:\"\n\nMy father here took a piece of paper from a strong box and began to\nread:\n\n  Trewinion's land so rich and free,\n  Stretching out against the sea,\n  So Trewinion's name shall stand,\n  Like the rocks which on the sand\n  Defy the angry breakers' power,\n  While Trewinion's heir is pure.\n  And so Trewinion's heir and pride\n  A power shall be in the country side.\n  And his enemies one and all\n  Shall for ever droop and fall.\n\n\n\"This refers to us, father, does it not?\" I said.\n\n\"It refers to me and to you; and if God gives you children it refers to\nyour eldest son and to his eldest son.  But I have not read all yet,\nRoger, my son.  Pay good heed to what follows next.\n\n  But let Trewinion's heir observe\n  Never from the right to swerve,\n  If from God's pure laws he stray\n  Trewinion's power shall die away;\n  His glory given to another;\n  And he be crushed by younger brother.\n  Then his son, though born the first,\n  By the people shall be cursed.\n\n  And for generations three\n  Trewinion's name shall cursed be,\n  Trewinion's heir must never hate,\n  Never from this law abate.\n  Trewinion's son must e'er forgive\n  Or 'twill be a curse to live.\n  If he take unlawful ways,\n  Dark, indeed, shall be his days.\n  His loved one taken by his brother,\n  His power given to another,\n  Who will surely seal his doom,\n  Unless he claim the powers of wrong.\n  The course cannot be turned aside\n  While evil feeling doth abide.\n        --------\n  Let these words be ever read,\n  Ere Trewinion's lord be dead,\n  To the true and lawful heir,\n  And so Trewinion's blessings share.\n\n\n\"It seems very curious, father,\" I said, when he had finished.  \"It is\npoor poetry, and has little or no meaning.\"\n\n\"I will say nothing about the poetry,\" replied my father; \"no doubt it\nseems to you poor, silly doggerel; but I have no doubt of this, Roger,\nyour interest and mine lie in abiding by what it says.\"\n\n\"But it seems so vague, father,\" I urged.\n\n\"Not so vague, Roger.  Your grandfather took to unlawful ways.  He kept\na smuggling vessel, which in some cases ought to have carried a black\nflag, and the maiden he loved was given to another, who died of a\nbroken heart.  For twenty years my father's life was a curse.  His mind\nwas filled with the most horrible fancies.  Dark dreams haunted his\npillow, and then, although he married my mother, he was until the day\nof his death harassed by difficulties and crushed by oppressors.\"\n\n\"And did he die happy, father?\"\n\nMy father looked very strange as I asked this question, and for a\nmoment did not reply.  Then he said, slowly:\n\n\"Roger, my boy, I was with him at the last, and never shall I forget\nthe scene.  It was as if a terrible dread rested upon him; and he\nseemed to feel an awful presence in the room.\n\n\"'Can I do anything for you, father?' I asked.\n\n\"'Send for the parson, Roger,' said he, 'and let him give me rest, or\nthe curse that rests on me will rest on you.'\n\n\"It was midnight, and no one would dare to go, so I rode away alone to\nthe vicarage.  It was an awful ride.  The powers of darkness seemed to\nknow my object, for the elements were against me and I heard terrible\nhowling along the sea coast; but I feared lest the curse of the\nTrewinions should fall upon me.  The vicar was afraid to come when I\ntold him about my father; but I threatened to drag him thither by the\nhair of the head if he refused.  At length I got him to ride in front\nof me, and we came to my father.\n\n\"Ah, Roger, his cries were fearful!  'Take away Trewinion's curse!' he\nscreamed, and he looked as though he saw angry spirits around him.\n\n\"The parson prayed, and, in the name of One above, commanded all evil\nto depart; but for a long time no ease came.  Then there was a noise\noutside--three raps against the window, as though a bird had flown up\nagainst it.  The moment after the light in the room changed.\n\n\"'Do you forgive everyone?' said the vicar.\n\n\"'No,' said my father, 'I can never forgive the man who stole from me\nthe woman I loved.'\n\n\"'But,' said the vicar.  'Trewinion's curse cannot be removed while\nunforgiveness is in your heart.'\n\n\"My father looked at the blue light on the table, and then said, 'I'll\ntry and say the Lord's Prayer.'  He went steadily until he came to the\nwords, 'Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass\nagainst us.'\"\n\n\"'I can't say the words,' he groaned.\n\n\"'Say them with all your heart and the curse will be taken away,' said\nthe vicar.\n\n\"My father tried again and succeeded, and no sooner had he done so than\nthe light changed and a holy calm rested upon us all.\n\n\"'It's gone,' said my father.  'May God bless you, Roger, and do you\nnever forget the Trewinion's warning.'\n\n\"By this he meant the lines we have been reading.\n\n\"'I will never forget, father,' I said, and soon after he died happily.\"\n\n\nMy father left me then, placing in my hands the old nurse's lines.  For\na long time I mused over what he had said, and wondered about my\ngrandfather's death-bed scene.  Was it as my father had said?  Was it\nTrewinion's curse that rested upon him?  I began to think of what the\nvicar, my schoolmaster, had told us only the day before--that every sin\nbrought a curse, brought misery, brought remorse, and while sin or\nunforgiveness was cherished in our hearts we could not realise\nhappiness or forgiveness.  Was this the case with my grandfather, or\nwas my father's belief right?\n\nThe interview made a deep impression upon me, however, and a great awe\nrested on me for days.  I felt that as the heir of the Trewinions I was\nsurrounded by terrible powers, and I did not know whether they were\ngood or evil.  So my young mind was fed, and so my imagination was\nstimulated.\n\nWhat was to be my future?  What had the powers which took such an\ninterest in my race in store for me?  Looking back over the years that\nare gone I ask, Were the things told me superstitious fancies, or is\nthe Trewinion curse a reality?  Remembering what has happened between\nthen and now, I dare not answer the question.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nTHE WITCH'S WARNING\n\n  _Ban._   The earth hath bubbles, as the water has, and these are\n           of them.  Whither are they vanished?\n  _Macbeth._  Into the air; and what seemed corporal, melted,\n              As a breath of wind.  Would they had stayed!\n  _Ban._   Were there such things here as we do speak about?\n           Or have we eaten up the root\n           That makes the reason prisoner?\n                   _Macbeth_, Act. I, Scene 3.\n\n\nLet it not be supposed that Wilfred and I ever had any quarrels, at any\nrate before my fifteenth birthday.  I do not remember even one.  This,\nhowever, was not my fault.  Ofttimes when I was displeased I said\nthings which, if said to many brothers, would have provoked a quarrel;\nbut Wilfred apparently took no heed of my angry words; save to give me\na peculiar look, which sometimes almost made me shudder.  But he never\nlost his temper in return, or indulged in violent speech.  This was\npeculiarly trying to me, for I was passionate, and longed to give vent\nto my feelings; but he would shrug his shoulders at my rage and, with a\nstrange smile, walk away.\n\nConsequently, although my brother never spoke angrily to me, there were\nno confidences between us.  We never told each other our thoughts, as\nmost brothers do, and we were never companions in any escapades or\nadventures.  Thus I did not speak to him about the curse of the\nTrewinions, nor of what my father had communicated to me about the\nhistory of our house.  Yet Wilfred seemed to know far more than I did\nabout everything appertaining to our people.\n\nAt first I wondered about this, but after a while I began to realise\nhow much my mother and Wilfred were to each other, and how often they\nwalked together.  Besides, I often saw him in the library conning over\nbooks that to me contained no interest whatever.\n\nAbout three years after the interview with my father, that is to say,\nwhen I was eighteen years of age and Wilfred sixteen, I had gone out on\nthe headland, and, in a dreamy way, was watching the sea birds as they\nsoared around and around, ever and anon making a dive into the water.\nUp to this time I had remained a pupil of the Rev. Thomas Polperrow,\nbut had been told by my father that my school days were over.  He\nwould, he said, have sent me either to Cambridge or Oxford but for the\nfact that the Trewinion heir was forbidden by the laws of the family to\nleave the house for six months together.  In my case it did not matter\nso much, as Mr. Polperrow had given me all the advantages of his\nUniversity education; and as I was not to be a man of letters like my\nbrother Wilfred, I had all the learning that was necessary for filling\nthe position of Squire of Trewinion Manor.\n\nI was thinking of these things when my brother Wilfred came to me on to\nthe headland.\n\n\"It's fine to be you, Roger,\" he said.\n\n\"Why, Wilfred?\"\n\n\"Because your cares are over.  Your life will be one long holiday, you\nwill have everything you need, and will be the most important man in\nthe country side.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I said, \"and you, Wilfred, will be a great scholar.  You will be\na clergyman and write books.  Your name will live long after I am dead\nand forgotten.\"\n\n\"It is false,\" he said.  \"My prospects are of the dreariest nature.\nYou will give me the living of Trewinion when Mr. Polperrow dies, and I\nshall drone out my life on your bounty.  Ah!  The thought makes me mad.\"\n\n\"No, don't say that, Wilfred,\" I replied, \"you will inherit the\nvicarage as your right, while you know that everything I can give you I\nshall.  Besides, I cannot help being the eldest.\"\n\n\"No, no, you can help nothing, Roger; but there, although I shall be\n'Wilfred, the penniless' I shall go to Oxford, and perhaps something\nwill turn up there for me.\"\n\n\"And even if nothing does turn up, Wilfred, and you have to bury your\ntalents down here, we shall still be brothers, and we shall still have\neach other.\"\n\nI said this because my heart was very tender towards him.  I felt sad\nthat I should have so much and he so little; but he only looked\ncuriously at me, and a strange light played in his eyes.\n\nHe left me for a minute, and, walking to the very edge of the cliff,\nstood watching the waves; then he came back to me again and I thought\nhis sadness was gone.\n\n\"What a long time since we've wrestled, Roger,\" he said; \"let's have a\nhitch now.\"\n\nWrestling was then, as it is to-day, the favourite sport of Cornish\nyouths; so I gladly took off my coat, and we began our fun.  I soon\nsaw, however, that Wilfred did not regard it as fun.  He strained every\nmuscle of his body in order to throw me, until I had to put forth my\nwhole strength.  Although I was stronger and heavier than he I had not\nmuch advantage.  He was so supple and knew so many clever tricks that\nhe was constantly in fair way of obtaining the mastery.\n\nThe grass on which we stood was as soft as a sponge, so no harm could\nbefall either of us should we be thrown.  At any rate, such was my\nthought.  So becoming a little exasperated at Wilfred's clever\nstrategems, I became somewhat rough, and taking him from a vantage\npoint I had gained I threw him down with great force.\n\nI do not think that I hurt him very much, but as chance would have it\nhe fell on a rock that was concealed by the spongy turf, and when he\nrose he was pale and trembling.\n\n\"You do well,\" he said at length, \"to show your strength in such a way.\nFirst you seek to throw me unfairly, and then you choose a rock by\nwhich I could be hurt.\"\n\n\"Nay, Wilfred,\" I said, \"I did not throw you unfairly; nor did I know\nthere was a rock there.  They are so much hidden by the turf that it\nwould take a wizard to tell where they are.  But I'm sorry you are\nhurt; let me help you home.\"\n\nHe looked at me strangely again.\n\n\"Help me home?\" he said; \"no, I can go without help; and I tell you\nthis, Roger, big as you are I'm as strong as you.\"\n\nThis pricked my pride.  \"As strong as I, Wilfred, why I could throw you\nover my head.\"\n\n\"Yes, you say that now because my arm has been hurt on this rock; but\nyou wouldn't dare to wrestle again if I were well.\"\n\nThis put me into a passion.  \"Not dare!\" I cried.  \"If I daren't it\nwould be because I should be afraid of hurting your poor, thin body.\nName any day you like and I'll take you.\"\n\n\"No,\" he said, \"I've had enough of you.  Never mind, my turn will come.\"\n\nI again challenged him, and said all the things I could to vex him; but\nhe would not reply, and giving me another of his strange looks he went\ntowards the house.\n\nHe had not been gone long before my temper began to cool down, and\nloving my brother very much I began to blame myself a great deal.  I\ncondemned myself for not letting him throw me.  I was a coward and a\nbrute, I thought within myself, to hurt my younger brother, and acting\non the impulse of the moment I hurried towards the house in order to\nask his forgiveness.\n\nI had gone about half the distance when I met an old woman who was\nalmost bent double with old age and rheumatism.  We recognised each\nother in a minute.  The old woman was Deborah Teague, the terror and\nyet the blessing of the whole neighbourhood.  To her friends there\ncould be no greater comfort than Deborah.  She was acquainted with\nmedicine that cured almost every disease save that of old age.  She\nknew all the healing qualities of every herb that grew in the\nneighbourhood.  Deborah was doctor and nurse to all the people round\nabout.  Fever, colds, ague, rheumatics, scarlatina, jaundice, bile;\nDeborah could cure them all, and a dozen diseases besides.  But this\nwas not all.  What she could not cure by her medicine she could by her\ncharms, for with these she was abundantly supplied.  Ringworms, warts,\ngout, adder's stings, whooping cough, measles, she could charm every\none of them, and what was more, no one who was a friend of Deborah's\nwent away uncured, if a cure were possible.\n\nConsequently she was much thought of when her helpful qualities were\ntaken into consideration, but, as I said, she was feared as well as\nloved, for Deborah made her enemies tremble.  Not only did she possess\nthe power to heal, but also the power to curse.  Her eye was like that\nof the fabled serpent, called the basilisk, and in her anger she ever\nstruck terror.  She could stop horses from drawing, and keep cows from\nyielding their milk.  For her to \"ill wish\" anyone was a sure sign that\nruin would befall them.  Nor was this all.  Everyone throughout the\nwhole countryside believed that Deborah had been seen walking along the\nbeach towards the haunted cove, and it was reported again and again\nthat she held intercourse with the powers of darkness.  It was also\nbelieved that other women, possessing similar power to hers, likewise\nmet there, and conversed about unlawful things.\n\nShe also had the power of telling fortunes and reading the future, and\nthus nearly all the lads and girls in the district came to her at one\ntime or another for advice and help.\n\nI had always been taught to be careful not to offend Deborah Teague,\nfor she had once nursed me through a serious illness, and looked on me\nas a favourite.\n\nNo sooner had we come close together than she lifted her hand as if to\ntell me to stop; then when I obeyed her gesture, she looked me straight\nin the eyes.\n\n\"Cain and Abel,\" she said, mysteriously.\n\n\"No, Mrs. Teague,\" I replied, catching her meaning, \"nothing of the\nsort.\"\n\n\"Yer brother es gone to his mawther,\" she muttered.  \"I axed un what\nwas the matter, and he said you'd took advantage and hurt un.\"\n\nI accordingly told Mrs. Teague what had taken place.\n\nNo sooner had I spoken than she seized my hand, and with her bony\nfingers began to draw the skin together over my joints, peering\ncuriously all the while.\n\n\"Maaster Roger'll av to be keerful,\" she said.\n\n\"What do you mean?\" I said.\n\n\"Maaster Roger'll av to be keerful,\" she repeated, in a half wheedling,\nhalf chuckling voice.  \"Maaster Roger es the ouldest and the biggest,\nand the strongest; but Maaster Wilfred ev got the eyes to zee.\"\n\n\"Oh, don't trouble, Mrs. Teague,\" I said; \"I'm going to Wilfred now, to\ntell him I'm sorry I've hurt him.\"\n\n\"And mark my words, Maaster Roger,\" she said, \"when you go, oal you zay\nwill be took no noatice ov, but yer mawther and Maaster Wilfred 'll\nlook black.\"\n\n\"How do you know, Mrs. Teague?\" I said.\n\n\"Know!\" she repeated, \"what do'ant I know?  Tell me that!\"\n\nI looked at her and was silent.\n\n\"I'll tell ee,\" she cried, and then stopped.  \"We musn't talk here,\"\nshe continued.  \"Will'ee come to th'oull Debrah's house to-night,\nMaaster Roger, and I'll tell ee something for yer good?  No, not\nto-night; but to-morrow night at nine o'clock.\"\n\nI promised her I would do so, and Deborah hobbled away.  As soon as she\nhad gone I went straight home with a heavy heart.  Although I was a\nfull-grown man I dreaded my mother's anger, and Deborah's words rang in\nmy ears.  Besides, I feared that Wilfred might be prejudiced against me\nand not see things in their true light.\n\nNo sooner had I entered the dining-hall than I saw my mother bathing\nWilfred's head, my father looking on gravely meanwhile.  Even my\nfather's presence could not quell my mother's anger against me.\n\n\"You the elder brother!\" she cried.  \"You, the heir to the Trewinions!\nThe name will be disgraced if you are master of the Manor.  You, a\ngreat strong monster, to punish a younger brother who is not full\ngrown!\"\n\nI tried to explain, but she would not allow me to do so, while Wilfred\nlooked at me with that strange expression which always appeared on his\nface when he was not well pleased.\n\nShortly after, I went away with my father to whom I told my story.\n\n\"Roger,\" he said, when I had finished, \"you must be very careful, my\nlad.  You will be either a blessing or a curse to your family.  Future\ngenerations will either bless your memory or they will remember your\nname with loathing.\"\n\n\"Why,\" I said, \"does so much depend on me?\"\n\n\"Everything depends on you, Roger.  You are the first-born son, and if\nyou turn out bad, everything will turn out bad.  So, my boy, whatever\nyou are, or whatever you do, be truthful, be pure, and be forgiving.\"\n\n\"God helping me, I will, father,\" I replied.\n\nSome time after we all gathered together in the library, where we\nusually sat in the evening.  My father made it a rule to send the\nservants to bed early when we had no company, so although it was only\neight o'clock and scarcely dark he had taken down the old family Bible\nin order that we might hear the Scriptures and join in prayer before\nretiring.  My mother sat by Wilfred, her hand locked in his, while I\nsat near to my father, as was the usual custom, and we waited for the\nservants to come to prayers.\n\nInstead of all coming together, only one came, and announced that\nDeborah Teague had something to tell us.\n\nFather, in spite of all the complaints against Deborah, regarded her\nwith much favour, and told the servant to show her in.\n\nThe old woman came in mumbling as usual.  She waited for no greeting,\nand took no notice of my mother's harsh look.\n\n\"Maaster Trewinion,\" she said, lifting the forefinger of her skinny\nright hand, \"expect!\"\n\nShe stood up nearly straight as she spoke, and I thought of the Jewess\nprophetess whose name she bore.\n\n\"Expect!\" she repeated.  \"Expect a stranger and expect a storm.\"\n\n\"What do you mean, Deborah?\" asked my father kindly.\n\n\"Just that,\" she replied.  \"I ha'ant a vollied the fortins of this eer\nous for nothin', and I say expect.\"\n\n\"A stranger and a storm,\" repeated my father.  \"The storm would be\nnothing to wonder at, the weather is so changeable, but the\nstranger----\"\n\n\"Es a woman,\" said the old crone, \"and a young woman.  I cud tell--but\nI wa'ant.\"\n\n\"Could tell what?\"\n\n\"Clouds, and storms, and darkness!\"\n\n\"Come, tell us.\"\n\n\"No, Maaster Trewinion, I be'ant zackly sure, but this I zay, git yer\nbooats ready to help the perishin', and it may be as ow the stranger\nand the storm'll be together, like.\"\n\nThe old woman went away at this, while father, always heedful of what\nDeborah might tell him, asked me to order some men to get the strongest\nand best boats in readiness.\n\nAs I went down to the village which lies in the hollow near our house,\nI remembered the curious looks that passed between my mother and\nWilfred while Deborah had been talking, and then I thought of my\npromise to meet Deborah at nine o'clock the next night.  I wondered\nwhether I ought to do so or not, and as the night gathered around I\nalmost shuddered at the thought of meeting her alone.  Had she, I asked\nmyself, intercourse with evil spirits?  Had she given herself to the\ndevil for knowledge and evil power, as it was reported she had done?\n\nI reached the village at length and went in search of the men my father\nhad mentioned.  There was a harbour near, and as at the time of which I\nwrite a good number of people lived in the village, most of whom\nmanaged to do a great deal of fishing throughout the year, a number of\nboats had been built.\n\nAfter telling the men to make preparations for a storm, I was about to\ngo back to the Manor House, when the question of Deborah Teague came\ninto my mind again.  What had she to tell me?  And ought I to listen to\nwhat she had to say?\n\nI could not for a long time make up my mind.  On the one hand was a\ngreat curiosity as to what she had to tell me, besides an anxiety to\nplease the old woman; on the other I felt sure she gained her knowledge\nby unlawful means.\n\nI decided at length.  I would go to the vicar that very night.  It was\nnot late yet, only half-past eight, and daylight had barely gone.\nSurely the Rev. Thomas Polperrow would settle the matter for me.  If\nher power were evil he could guard me against it; if it were good, then\nall was well.\n\nIt was a beautiful night.  The moon was nearly full, although it was\nencircled by a large misty ring, which betokened a change in the\nweather; but the sea was calm and bright, and shone like glass.  All\nalong the coast I could see the misty outlines of the cliffs, while\nhere and there a giant rock jutted into the water.\n\nWhat was that?  A wail!\n\nWas it the night cry of a sea bird telling of the foretold storm?  Or\nwas it----stop!\n\nA figure all in white stood near me!\n\nI could not move.  I was riveted to the place.  Surely it was a\nvisitant from the spirit land!\n\nSlowly it moved away.  It went to the edge of the cliffs and\ndisappeared from my sight.\n\nI was not so much surprised at this, for there was more than one spot\nalong the coast where those acquainted with the place could disappear\nas if by magic.  Still, my nerves were shaken.  Perhaps some evil was\nportended.  I would rather have returned home, but I felt drawn to go\nto the vicar.  He could explain.  He could tell me what I wanted to\nknow.\n\nDoes anything happen in one's life without a meaning?  Is the Great\nSpirit of God in every event, ever trying to warn us from evil and draw\nus towards good?  If so, these things of which I am now writing must be\nin some way connected with the after events of my life.  But I shall\nnot try to connect them now.  All I purpose to do is to write just what\nhappened, so that my children and my children's children may learn\nlessons from my history.\n\nI hurried on to the vicarage, therefore, and was soon admitted to the\nstudy, I anxious to ask Mr. Polperrow's advice, he evidently wondering\nwhat I had to say to him.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nTHE MARCH OF EVENTS\n\n\"Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.\"--_Ex._ xxii. 18.\n\n\"Then said Saul unto his servants, Seek me a woman that hath a familiar\nspirit, that I may go to her and inquire of her.  And his servants said\nunto him, Behold there is a woman with a familiar spirit at Endor.\"--1\n_Sam._ xxviii. 7.\n\n\n\"Well, Roger, and what do you wish to see me about?\" asked Mr.\nPolperrow as soon as we were comfortably seated.\n\n\"I am somewhat in a dilemma,\" I replied.  \"The truth is, I want to do\nsomething which I am not sure is right, and so I have come to you about\nit.\"\n\n\"You have done right, Roger.  I hope you will always be as mindful of\nyour old friend.  But what's the matter?\"\n\n\"Do you think there are any witches living to-day?\"\n\n\"Witches!  Witches, why certainly, my boy; and yet I don't know\nexactly----\"\n\nAnd the vicar broke off abruptly, as though he were exceedingly\ndoubtful about the matter.\n\n\"What do you mean, Mr. Polperrow?\"\n\n\"I mean this, Roger.  There are a great many women who have been\ncondemned as witches when they have simply had the gift of second\nsight.  During the reign of the Stuarts, hundreds were put to death as\nwitches and wizards, and yet I am not sure, but they were innocent\npeople.  Don't mistake me, my boy; I'm not going against the\nScriptures.  I know that witches get their power from the devil--that\nis, real witches; but I verily believe that a lot of women who suffered\nin the time of James I were good women, who, through their goodness,\nobtained knowledge unknown to the generality of people.\"\n\n\"And ghosts, what about them?\"\n\n\"Roger, I would rather not talk about them now.\"  The vicar's voice was\nlow and husky.\n\nI thereupon told him about my encounter with Deborah Teague and what\nshe had said, after which I asked him if I should go and see her.\n\nMr. Polperrow was some time before he answered.  \"I am not sure,\" he\nsaid, at length, \"that old Deborah deserves all that has been said\nabout her.  She is a sensible old dame, and has searched out the\nhealing qualities of many of the plants growing around, and thus has\ngained her reputation as a doctor; besides this, she has a curious way\nof making the silly folk here do as she tells them; but beyond this I\nbelieve a great deal of the talk is so much nonsense.\"\n\n\"Then you think it would be no harm going to see her?\"\n\n\"Roger, my boy,\" said the vicar, \"the world in which we live is full of\nmystery, full of shadows.  We cannot understand the occult forces that\neverywhere exist, we cannot read the mystic writing which is everywhere\nappearing on the lives of men.  Before I went to college I was a firm\nbeliever in many things which I have since discredited.  Once I\nbelieved in supernatural events, but since I have seen what can be\nproduced by purely natural and explainable means, I have begun to\ndoubt, and yet I cannot deny some things which the most superstitious\nand ignorant believe.\"\n\n\"Then what would you advise?\"\n\n\"I would go and see this old woman; perhaps she knows things, not by\nany supernatural means, but by keeping her eyes open.\"\n\n\"But if she should possess evil power, Mr. Polperrow?\"\n\n\"Read your Bible and say your prayers before you go, and in your heart\ndefy all that's wrong.\"\n\nI went away from the vicarage with a strange feeling that my life was\nsurrounded by mystery, and that unseen forces were hemming me in.\n\nWhat are we, after all, but the creatures of circumstance?  Forces over\nwhich we have no control make us what we are.  I was born the elder son\nand Wilfred the younger.  I was born with a strong, healthy body, and\nan impulsive, passionate nature.  Wilfred was more delicate, more\nthoughtful.  What had we to do with the choosing of all this?  Could I\nhelp doing the things that I did?  Could I resist the life-forces which\nmoved me, even as a mighty wave moves a ship that sails thereupon?  Are\nwe, then, the architects of our own fate, or is our destiny fixed?  Is\nit man who moulds the circumstances, or circumstances that mould the\nman?  Who shall answer these questions?  Looking back over my life I\ncannot, and yet in some way I am conscious that there has been a\nbeneficent hand helping me, and making me strong, even stronger than\ncircumstances.\n\nAs I went home I thought the moon became dimmer, while sad, moaning\nsounds were mixed with the musical splash of the waters, as they played\nupon the hard sea sand.  I slept well that night.  No thought of the\nfigure in white haunted my pillow, no thought of my visit to the\nvillage witch hindered my sleep.  I was young, I was innocent, my blood\ncoursed joyfully through my veins, and the future looked bright, and so\nI feared not.\n\nThe next day the sky was overcast.  The sea looked smooth as glass,\nsave that now and then it gave a mighty heave, as if some terrific\nmonster beneath sought to lift a weight from his tired shoulders.\nSometimes we heard a moan sweeping across the waters; but we were\nfamiliar with the sound, living as we did close to the broad Atlantic.\n\nAs evening came on the sky grew darker, while my mind became full of\nthe visit I was to make to old Deborah Teague.  I made only a light\nmeal, and as soon as I was able to do so, went alone to her cottage.\n\nIt was a little tumble-down shanty, standing beneath a hillock, and was\nas lonely a place as it was possible to be.  Eighteen years of age\nthough I was, my heart beat faster as I thought of Deborah living alone\nin a house that had the reputation of being haunted.  What was I doing?\nIn spite of what the vicar had said, was it not wrong for me to hold\nconverse with the strange old woman?\n\nBut I would not go back; and so making straight for the little window,\nthrough which I could see a candle dimly burning, I was soon face to\nface with her.\n\n\"Maaster Roger was 'fraid,\" said the old woman, half questioningly,\nhalf wheedlingly.\n\n\"No,\" I said, \"I don't think so.\"\n\n\"The Trewinions was never 'fraid ov th' livin', my deer,\" said the old\nwoman, \"but the dead, ah, the dead.\"\n\n\"They can do me no harm, so why should I be afraid?\"\n\n\"Ah, why! ah! ha!\" she giggled.  \"But Maaster Roger es weth wawn that\ncan do lots ov things.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, lots, Deborah,\" I said; \"you can cure more diseases than any\ndoctor in Truro.\"\n\n\"And more than that, Maaster Roger; but don't you be 'fraid, my deer, I\nwa'ant hurt you.\"\n\n\"No, I don't think you will; but why have you brought me here to-night?\"\n\n\"Because I want to tell ee summin, my deer.  Ah, Maaster Roger, tes\nterrible fur theer to be favourites in a house.\"\n\nI was silent.\n\n\"They say how maaster is maaster; tedn't allays so, my deer.  Missus es\nmaaster sometimes.  They say I'm a witch, my deer, do'ant um?  I read\nthe Bible, Maaster Roger.  Iss, an ould woman like me, and theer I've\nseed that Isaac loved Esau best, and 'Becca, she loved Jacob best.\nWell, who got off best, my deer, hi?  Iss, my deer, and they was twins,\nthey both had wawn mawther.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"I main that Maaster Roger'll have to be keerful, my deer.  Ah, theer's\njillusy in curious plaaces.\"\n\n\"I don't at all understand what you mean.\"\n\n\"No, but you will, my deer.  Do'ee mind what I zed to 'ee 'esterday\narternoon, dedn't I tell 'ee as 'ow you'd git nothin' but black looks\nfor all yer explainin'?\"\n\n\"Yes, I remember.\"\n\n\"Well, ded 'ee un.   Was ould Debrah right or wrong?\"\n\n\"You were right, Deborah; but then, I was in the wrong.  I should not\nhave hurt him so.\"\n\nThe old woman chuckled as I spoke, as though I were trying to hoax her.\n\n\"And ef you wadn't in the wrong, they'd make ee in the wrong between\n'em.\"\n\n\"Deborah,\" I said, \"you must be in the wrong.  You talk as though my\nmother were my enemy.\"\n\n\"Mawther!\" she repeated, \"who zed she was yer mawther?\"\n\nFor a minute I did not know what to say.  Was she not my mother?  Of\ncourse she was.  I had ever been taught to call her mother, and my\nfather had ever called her his wife.\n\n\"Do you know what you are talking about?\" I said, excitedly.\n\n\"Knaw!\" she repeated.  \"Knaw!  Iss, and I cud tell 'ee lots ov things,\nMaaster Roger, my deer.\"\n\n\"But what do you mean by hinting that my mother--that is--that--that\nshe isn't my mother at all?\"\n\n\"Why es it that she've bin allays agin 'ee, hi?  Why have she allays\ntried to shaw that you was in the wrong and yer brother in the right?\nWhy es it that your eyes es black and yer hair brown and curly, while\nyer brother and sisters ev got blue eyes and yella hair, tell me that,\nwill 'ee, my deer?\"\n\nThis had never struck me before; certainly there was no likeness\nbetween my brothers and sisters and myself.\n\n\"B--but,\" I stammered.\n\n\"No buts, my deer, I be'ant goin' to tell 'ee nothin' more, though ould\nDebrah do knaw lots ov things.  There's no time, now, you've got other\nthings to do, and a terrible lot to go through as soon as you git away.\nHark, do 'ee 'ear that?\"\n\nIt was the sound of the breakers upon the rugged rocks and hard sea\nsand, while the wind blew and moaned dismally.\n\n\"Dedn't ould Debrah tell 'ee ov a storm?  Well, tes come, and, Roger,\nyer dark days es comin' on.\"\n\n\"But what did you mean by telling me to come here to hear what I have?\nI am sure of nothing.\"\n\n\"Main!  I main this.  Maaster Roger'll have to bee keerful of the woman\nhe do call mawther.  Watch her every day and watch Maaster Wilfred,\ntoo.  Hark, do 'ee 'ear that?\"\n\nI heard nothing but the roar of the rising storm.\n\n\"I can hear nothing but the wind,\" I said.\n\n\"But I can, I can,\" she said.  \"I can hear the screech ov the\nsufferin'; oa tes wisht, terrible wisht, Maaster Roger, but tes yer\nfate, my deer.  I'll tell 'ee more another time, but you must go now,\ngo and help em, you father wants 'ee go, and be keerful of they I've\ntould 'ee about.\"\n\nShe pushed me out as I spoke, all the time looking around as though she\nsaw sights unseen by me.\n\n\"You'll want oal yer strength and oal yer courage, my deer, oa tes\nterrible.  May Roger be protected; but oa, if 'ee saves her 'ee 'll\nhave to suffer.\"\n\nWondering at her words, I rushed out into the wild night, and had\nscarcely done so before I saw a dark form rise from under the window in\nthe cottage, and hurry away right in the teeth of the wind.  I started\nand followed, but whoever he might be, he was more fleet than I.  The\nnight was dark because of the storm, but the figure looked like that of\nmy brother Wilfred.\n\nFull of conflicting thoughts, I hurried home, where I found my father\ndressed as if to go out.\n\n\"What's the matter, father?\" I asked.\n\n\"There's a vessel round the point, Roger, and she's signalled for help.\"\n\n\"Let me go with you.  Is it a large one?\"\n\n\"No, and I am afraid that my friend's child is in her.\"\n\n\"What child?\"\n\n\"Did you see that horseman this morning, Roger?\"\n\n\"Yes, father.\"\n\n\"He came to tell me that an old friend was dead, and that in his last\nhours he had expressed a wish that I should take care of his child.\"\n\n\"Yes, father; what then?\"\n\n\"She started to come here by boat, and should have arrived in our\nlittle landing-place by this.  Hark! that's another signal for help.\nCome, Roger; where's Wilfred.\"\n\n\"Wilfred cannot help on such a night as this, especially as his brother\nhurt him so yesterday,\" said my mother, who had just come into the room.\n\n\"Come, let us go alone, then, Roger,\" said my father.\n\nWe hurried down to the little harbour, where a dozen hardy Cornishmen\nwere preparing to launch a boat on the angry sea.\n\n\"Not gone yet, men?\" said my father.\n\n\"No, Maaster Trewinion, and ted'n no good.  We should be knocked to\npieces in two minutes,\" said one.\n\n\"But we're goin' to have a try,\" said another.\n\nIt was, indeed, a dangerous undertaking.  The seas were now rising up\nlike great hills and again falling into deep valleys.  It seemed\nimpossible for a boat to live.\n\n\"We ca'ant do no good,\" said the first speaker.\n\n\"But they've signalled for help,\" said the second, \"and I ca'ant stand\nthat!\"\n\nAs he spoke we heard a sound like a crack of a musket, which faintly\nreached us above the roar of wind and wave.\n\n\"We'll man the biggest boat somehow,\" said my father.  \"Come here,\neveryone; who will go with Roger and me?\"\n\nTo the honour of the brave Cornish boys, a crew was ready in a minute.\n\nWe jumped into the boat and soon were out in the boiling surf.\n\n\"Hold your oars firmly,\" cried my father, \"now, then, pull while you\nmay, the storm is rising every minute.\"\n\nBravely those noble lads strained and tugged; but it was terrible work.\nWe were tossed about as though the boat in which we sat were a chip or\na bit of cork.\n\nFor a minute no word was spoken.  Every man breathed hard, and laboured\nwith all his strength, while my father watched, grasping the rudder in\nhis hand.  Time after time I thought we should have been thrown into\nthe sea, but luckily we caught no side winds.\n\nPresently we heard my father's deep voice:\n\n\"I see her,\" he cried.  \"My God, she's going straight upon the 'Devil's\nTooth.'\"\n\nThe \"Devil's Tooth\" was one of the most dangerous rocks on the coast.\nIt was called \"devil's tooth\" because it was thought to possess evil\npower, and because it had been the means of wrecking many vessels as\nthey tried to get into our harbour.\n\nHe had scarcely spoken when we heard a most awful crash.  It was far\nlouder than the roar of the storm, and immediately afterwards we\nfancied we caught the cry of people in distress.\n\n\"There, it's on!  Pull!\" cried my father, \"we may reach them yet.  God\nhelp and preserve us all.\"\n\nEvery man pulled with all his might towards the great rock with the\nterrible name.\n\n\"The great God will help us,\" said one solemnly.\n\n\"Amen,\" cried the rest; \"but this is terrible.\"\n\nMeanwhile, inch by inch, we drew nearer to the doomed vessel.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nTHE WRECK ON THE \"DEVIL'S TOOTH.\"\n\nAt the best of times the rock called the \"Devil's Tooth\" was by no\nmeans beautiful.  It stood with five points towering into the air like\nthe prongs of a great tooth, and at its feet were scores of smaller\nrocks, mostly hidden by the water.\n\nStrange stories have been told about it.  Some have said that on stormy\nnights emissaries of Satan sit there, and lure vessels on to\ndestruction; but at the time I had no thought for such stories.  The\nterrible crash of the vessel was still echoing in my ears, and, in my\nfancy, I heard above the howling of the storm the shrieks of the\nperishing.\n\nWe could not see much.  The moon was full, but had been hidden by the\nclouds.  Only by the light of the storm, which was nearly darkness,\ncould we perceive anything.  I know that my words are almost\nparadoxical, but I can express my meaning in no better way.  Still, our\neyes were accustomed to the darkness of a storm, and thus both my\nfather and I had some idea of what we were doing.\n\nSlowly we made our way.  Carefully my father sought to evade\nunnecessary danger.\n\nIt was terrible work.  Now we were lifted on the pinnacle of a wave,\nand again we sank deep in dark gulfs, until I thought we should never\nrise again.  But every man was strong and hardy, every man had braved a\ndozen storms, and so we struggled on.\n\nBut for my father's thorough knowledge of the coast we must have\nperished.  With his knowledge there was hope.  Suddenly we found\nourselves in comparatively smooth water and out of the beat of the\nwind.  We had shot into the \"lew\" (sheltered) side of the rock, and\nwere able for a moment to rest.\n\n\"She is just around the point,\" said my father.\n\n\"Iss, Maaster Trewinion,\" was the reply.\n\n\"The question is, How can we get to them?\" said my father.  \"If we try\nto get our boat around there it means death for all of us.  The only\nmeans of saving the poor souls, if they are not all gone already, is\nfor us to scale the rock here and make our way to those on board.  Then\nthey might be brought here one by one.\"\n\n\"You see'd her break on the rock didn' 'ee, Maaster Trewinion?\" said\none.\n\n\"Yes,\" replied my father, \"she broke close against the long prong.\"\n\n\"Then ef she edn't gone to pieces there may be hope,\" replied the man;\n\"but who can climb up here?\"\n\n\"Two will be enough,\" said my father; \"who'll go first?\"\n\n\"Let me,\" said I.\n\n\"Not yet, Roger,\" said my father.\n\nTwo others immediately volunteered, and started to climb, but the rock\nwas slippery, and there was only one way by which the top could be\nreached.\n\nThey failed in their attempt.\n\n\"Tie a rope round my waist, father,\" I cried.  \"I've climbed it many\ntimes and know the way.\"\n\n\"Go, then, Roger, my boy, and may God preserve you.\"\n\nIt was only because of my boyish freaks that I knew the easiest way to\nreach the summit of the rock.  One day I had laid a wager with Wilfred\nthat I could climb to its summit, and so I had carefully examined it\nwhen the tide was low, and after once climbing it, I had often gone\nthither to hunt for the nests of sea-birds.\n\nAll my knowledge was necessary now.  The stones were slippery as glass,\nand I had to feel carefully for the jutting rocks in order to get from\none point to another.  A false step, a bit of crumbling rock, a slip of\nthe hand would have destroyed our hopes, and perhaps have maimed me for\nlife, if not killed me.  Providence, however, was in my favour.  After\nmany a strain and many a struggle I reached the top.\n\nI shall never forget the sight that met me.  Even in the hour of death\nI think I shall remember the terrible scene.  Holding fast by a rugged\npeak I could in the stormlight dimly see the five huge prongs of the\n\"Devil's Tooth,\" grim and ghastly; while upon them broke the great\nblack waves!\n\nHow the breakers roared!  How the wind howled as it beat upon the great\nrock on which I stood!  Whenever the waves receded I could see the\nwhite foam all round, while the spray beat pitilessly upon me.  I had\nnever seen the like before.  It is an awful thing to watch a storm from\nthe shore; but to stand in the midst of it, to hear it all round you,\nis more awful!\n\nI heard a shout from beneath.  \"Do you see the wreck?\" was the query.\n\nI looked in the direction of the long prong and saw the outline of the\nvessel.\n\n\"Yes,\" I replied, \"but I shall want help to get to her.  There!  I've\nfastened the rope to a rock, let Bill Tregargus come up.\"\n\nInstantly, by the tugging of the rope, I knew that some one was coming,\nand a little later the giant form of Bill Tregargus was beside me.\n\nWe made our way to the wreck, and as we drew nearer I was sure I saw\npeople clinging to the half broken mast.  Nearer and nearer we came,\nand then, to our joy, we saw that two men had got from the vessel and\nwere now trying to scale the rock.\n\n\"There's hope yet, Bill,\" I said.  \"Have you brought the rope with you?\"\n\n\"Part on't, Maaster Roger, and part I tied to the rock.\"\n\nI shouted as loud as I could, but I was unable to make them hear.  The\nthunder of the storm made my little shout of no avail.  I called to the\npeople on the vessel, but there was no response.\n\nMeanwhile the waves swept over the doomed vessel, and roared along the\ncruel rocks.  There seemed but little chance of our rendering help.\nEven we, sheltered as we were by the great prongs of the rock, found it\ndifficult to stand.\n\nI took the rope from Bill, and, holding one end in my hand, I threw it\nstraight to the men, who I could see were struggling below.  The effort\nsucceeded.  It was immediately caught, and soon we got a man on the top\nof the rock.\n\n\"Many on board?\" I asked.\n\n\"Twelve,\" he gasped.\n\n\"Can you make the other one tell the crew to do as you have done?\"\n\nWe looked again, seeking for the best method to signal, and to our\ndelight saw that those on the vessel realised that help was come.  In\nthe dim light I could see that they were leaving the vessel.\n\nIt was only a question of time.  One by one, we pulled them up, some\nbruised and beaten, but still hopeful, others gasping for life, and\nothers again dazed and faint.\n\nWe asked no questions; it was our work to save them first and question\nthem afterwards; and so, one after another, man by man, they reached\nthe summit of the rock.\n\nAt length we came to the last man.  He was getting old and stiff.  Even\nin the night I could see that he was bent and weak.\n\n\"Are you all here?\" I asked, when he had reached the top.\n\nThe old man who had last come up looked around him, and then cried out:\n\n\"But where is Miss Ruth?\"\n\n\"Miss Ruth?\" gasped two or three; \"is she not here?\"\n\n\"No woman has come up,\" I replied.\n\n\"Then Miss Ruth is still on the vessel,\" cried the old man.  \"Wretch,\nwretch, that I am to leave her.\"\n\n\"But she left the vessel,\" replied another; \"why, Tom Poltewan said he\nwas going to help her down.\"\n\n\"She said she must get something from the cabin,\" said another, \"and I\ndidn't see her.  I thought Mr. Inch would be sure to take care of her.\"\n\nThen followed a confusion of tongues, and in the storm I did not\ndistinguish what was said.  Evidently in the great anxiety to escape\ndeath a woman had been overlooked.  But she must be rescued.  The work\nwhich had been begun must be completed.  Surely God who had helped us\nthus far would not desert us now?\n\nWhat was to be done, however, had to be done quickly.  The vessel had\nstruck on a great rock, the billows were sweeping over her, and she\nmight go to pieces any minute.  The storm, although it had not yet\nreached its full height, was rapidly rising, the wind blew louder and\nlouder, until we could scarcely hear each other speak.  The men we had\nsaved were battered and bruised and nearly unconscious.  As I think of\nit now it is a wonder to me that they escaped death.\n\nI tied the rope round my waist, and then asked Bill to lower me down by\nthe slippery rock.  At first he objected to this, but I insisted, and\nsoon stood upon a broad flat ledge which was close to the wreck.\n\nMy object now was to get upon the vessel, but that was not easy of\naccomplishment; the great breakers were constantly sweeping over the\nvessel, and I began to despair of rendering assistance.  I determined\nto try, however, and after many vain attempts, reached the deck.  To\nlook for anyone there was madness.  No woman could stay in such a\nplace.  Either she had been swept away or she must be down below.  In\nspite of storm and darkness I found my way there.  The vessel was half\nfull of water, and I felt that it would be worse than useless to\nattempt to find anyone in the darkness.  Just then I heard a cry for\nhelp.\n\nI cannot describe what followed.  I have a dim recollection of grasping\na cold hand, of struggling to the deck, of holding fast by the broken\nmast, and of a terrible wave that swept me quite away.  After that all\nwas oblivion.\n\nWhen I woke to consciousness I was in my own bed, with my father and\nDeborah Teague sitting near me.  At first everything seemed hazy, then\nthings became more real, until all the events of the storm flashed\nbefore my mind.\n\n\"How did I come here?\" I asked.\n\n\"God helped us to save you, Roger, my boy,\" said my father.\n\n\"How?\" I asked, faintly.\n\n\"I got impatient of your being away so long, and so one of the other\nlads succeeded in getting on the rock, while I, wanting to be near you,\nfollowed him.  I got to the long prong in time to see you swept off the\ndeck.\"\n\n\"And then, father?\"\n\n\"Then I went down to the broad ledge and found you both unconscious.\nYou had been stunned by the awful force with which you were hurled on\nthe rock.\"\n\n\"And she, father, the--the--one who was with me?\"\n\n\"We got you both in the boat after awhile.  God only knows the\ndifficulty we had, for the storm rose every minute.  Had the rock been\nfurther out at sea I don't think we could have weathered it; but the\ngridiron point broke the force of the wind just a little!\"\n\n\"And is she well, father?\"\n\n\"A great deal bruised, my boy, and very weak, but she'll recover.\"\n\n\"Who is she?\" I asked after being silent for a few moments.\n\n\"Her name is Ruth Morton; she is my old friend's only child,\" answered\nmy father, slowly.\n\nI turned on my pillow wearily.  I was tired and sore, and wanted rest.\n\n\"That's right,\" said my father, \"go to sleep again, I'll send the\ndoctor to you, and he, together with Mrs. Teague, will soon make you\nwell.\"\n\nHe left the room as he spoke.  Deborah looked keenly at me.\n\n\"You'll soon git well, Maaster Roger,\" she said presently.\n\n\"I think I shall,\" I replied, \"I am far from dead yet.\"\n\n\"Iss, iss,\" she repeated, \"you'll soon git well, Maaster Roger, but old\nDeborah was right.  The storm and the stranger comed together, ded'n\num?\"\n\nI did not answer.\n\n\"Maaster Roger must be of good heart,\" she continued, \"for he ain't a\nseed the end of this ere matter yet.\"\n\nI asked her to explain herself, but she would not.  She sat silently by\nmy bedside until the doctor came and gave me a sleeping draught, after\nwhich I remembered nothing for a long while.\n\nI lay in my bed for more than a week.  During that time my mother came\nto see me twice, while Wilfred came only once.  Evidently they did not\ncare much about my recovery.  I was grieved at this, for in my heart I\nloved them sincerely.  My father told me, however, that Ruth Morton was\nrecovering, and was anxiously looking forward to the time when she\nwould be able to see me, and thank me for what I had done.  In spite of\nthis, however, I did not ask many questions about her, and when, after\nsome days, I was pronounced well enough to see her, I cannot say I\nlooked forward with any pleasure to our meeting.  Perhaps the reason\nfor this was that I hated to be thanked, or perhaps it was that I did\nnot like talking to girls, but be that as it may I was in no happy\nframe of mind when my father led me to the room where she sat.  I\nremember that my blood rushed to my face as for the first time I saw\nthe one I had probably saved from death.\n\nPerhaps my sadness foreboded the dark days that came afterwards.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nTHE SHAPING OF EVENTS\n\n  The brave man is not he who feels no fear;\n  For that were stupid and irrational;\n  But he whose noble soul its fear subdues\n  And bravely dares the danger nature shrinks from.\n          --_Joanna Baillie._\n\n\nRuth Morton was fourteen years of age, but looked far younger.  To me\nshe appeared only a child of twelve.  She was diminutive in stature,\nand had an innocent childish face.  I did not think her beautiful, and\nyet I remember that her face was pleasing.  I remember, too, that her\nmouth looked very sensitive, and was indicative of a gentle nature; but\nwhat struck me most were her eyes.  They were large and grey, and\nseemed to contain a world of meaning.  Her hair was dark brown and fell\nin heavy masses on her shoulders.\n\nShe looked at me curiously, as if striving to read my character, and\nwhen my father mentioned my name she timidly held out her little hand.\n\n\"You must be friends,\" said he; \"indeed, you must be brother and\nsister, and I shall look to you, Roger, to take care of her.\"\n\nI scarcely know now what I answered, but I daresay it was little to the\npoint.  During the next few minutes I was very uncomfortable, for she\ntried to thank me for saving her life.\n\nAs soon as I could I led her to talk of other matters, chiefly because\nI knew not what to say or how to act.\n\nBy and by she spoke of her father's death, and what she felt when she\nwas informed she must leave her home and come to Trewinion Manor.  She\ntold me, also, of her desire to come by boat, and how Mr. Inch, an old\ntrusted servant, had arranged to get a crew together, and how they had\nsailed along in sight of the giant cliffs.\n\nShe had a sweet, childish voice, and talked in a way that was quite\nfascinating.  By and by, as she told how the storm came on suddenly, of\nthe dread feelings she had as she saw the waves rise higher and higher,\nand how she lost hope when the little vessel with an awful crash was\nswept upon the great rock, I could fancy myself again out on the angry\nsea.\n\nIn a little while my father left us, and then I wished I were again\nback in my room, for I knew not how to talk.  She, too, seemed ill at\nease.\n\n\"I'm sorry you and your brother are not better friends,\" she said,\nafter we had been silent a few seconds.\n\nI was surprised at this, and wondered who could have have been talking\nto her.\n\n\"Have you seen Wilfred?\" I asked.\n\n\"Oh, yes, I have seen him twice.  He came yesterday, and again to-day.\nYour mother was here, too.\"\n\n\"I am glad they have been to see you,\" I replied, \"but I did not know\nthat Wilfred and I were not friendly.\"\n\nShe looked at me, I thought, suspiciously, as though she doubted my\nwords, but did not speak.\n\nHad my mother and Wilfred, I wondered, been saying evil things about\nme.  I hoped not, and yet it might be.  Certainly, their conduct\ntowards me had been strange.  I would not talk of this, however, and so\nasked her if she liked my sisters.\n\n\"Very much,\" she replied.  \"They have been with me every day; and the\nfirst two days when I was ill they were with me nearly all the time.  I\nthink, I see them coming now.\"\n\nAs she spoke Katherine and Elizabeth entered the room.  They were\nbright, buxom maidens, well-grown and healthy.  The latter, though two\nyears younger was quite as well grown as the stranger who had come to\nlive amongst us.  Yet there was a difference.  Ruth Morton possessed a\ndignity and a grace which were foreign to both my sisters.  Children\nthey all were, pretty they all were, yet the beauty of Ruth Morton was\nof a different nature.  She had been cast in another mould, and thus\npresented a contrast to my sisters.\n\nI was a great favourite both with Katherine and Elizabeth; but I did\nnot stay with them.  Stiff and weak as I was I found my way back to my\nroom, where, throwing myself on the bed, I tried to rest.\n\nI knew nothing whatever of the arrangements that had been made about\nRuth staying with us, except that Mr. Inch, the old servant, was to\nremain, that the crew had been sent back to Penwingle, and that the\nsteward was taking care of the Morton estate.  I took no interest in\nthe matter, however.  From all I could gather her mind had been\nprejudiced against me, and there was a look of satisfaction on her face\nwhen I left her.  She was as transparent as the day, so I had no\ndifficulty in seeing that in spite of my having risked my life to save\nher, she had a bad opinion of me.  Well, it did not matter much; in a\nfew years she would be of age and would return then to her old home.\n\nI had banished all unpleasant thoughts from my mind when the door\nopened and Wilfred entered.\n\n\"Well, Roger,\" he said, \"getting better?\"\n\n\"First rate, Wilfred,\" I replied.\n\n\"Lucky, as usual,\" he said.\n\n\"How?\"\n\n\"Why, in the first instance, you were privileged to save Ruth Morton's\nlife, and secondly, you are the hero of the neighbourhood for miles\naround.  The talk of the whole countryside is the bravery and daring of\nRoger Trewinion.\"\n\nThis was said bitterly I thought, but I was not sure.  Wilfred had\nsometimes a way of talking which entirely hid his real feelings and\nmeaning.\n\n\"I don't know,\" he went on, \"if the parson isn't going to preach a\nspecial sermon next Sunday, when his subject will be 'Roger Trewinion's\nBravery and the Mercy of Providence.'\"\n\nHe spoke mockingly, and I began to think that something had displeased\nhim.  I was not sure of this however, so merely said that I hoped\nnothing of the sort would be done.\n\n\"Oh, but I hope it will,\" he said.  \"Why, the people are saying that\nyou jumped from the top of the highest prong of the 'Devil's Tooth' on\nto the wreck, that you waded through water several feet deep, and that\njust when you had carried little Ruth on the deck the vessel broke in\npieces, upon which you plunged into the sea and carried her ashore.  I\nhad no idea I had such a brother.\"\n\nHe laughed jeeringly.\n\nHis manner of speaking made me feel that if Wilfred had ever possessed\nany love for me it was becoming embittered.\n\n\"Have you seen Ruth?\" he went on.\n\n\"Yes, I saw her to-day.\"\n\n\"Father introduced you to her, I suppose?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And no doubt she was exceedingly anxious to glorify the hero who saved\nher.\"\n\n\"No, I don't think she was, but I did not stay long with her.  I fancy\nshe doesn't like me.\"\n\n\"No?\" he said, questioningly.  \"I wonder at that, for she seems to like\nme a great deal; indeed, we are great friends.\"\n\n\"I am glad to hear it,\" I replied, \"for somehow I can't be friendly\nwith strange girls.\"\n\n\"No,\" he said, \"I don't think you are cut out for a girl's friend, and\nyou are not the kind of fellow a girl would like.\"\n\nThere is something in every man's heart which causes him to feel hurt\nwhen he hears another say something about him that he would have no\nhesitation in saying about himself.  I had said many times that I was\nnot a lad whom girls liked, and yet when Wilfred said it I was annoyed.\n\n\"After all, it's right,\" he went on.  \"It is not fair that you should\nhave everything and I, nothing.  You have the Trewinion name, its\nhouses, its lands, and its blessings, while I have nothing but my\nbrains, and people's love.\"\n\n\"There are curses in connexion with Trewinion's heir as well as\nblessings,\" I said.  \"I am fettered on every hand.\"\n\n\"Curses,\" he sneered; \"all old wives' tales.  I wonder at you thinking\nabout them.  Were I the eldest son I would throw all that to the wind,\nI would see the world; I would enjoy myself, and spend some of the\nhoarded gold of generations.\"\n\nHe looked at me closely as he said this, and I began to feel that\nperhaps the old stories were foolishness.  All my father had told me\nseemed real in the night time, but in daylight it was shadowy and\nunreal.\n\n\"Do you know about these stories?\" I said.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"How?\"\n\nHe looked a little confused, and then said, hurriedly:\n\n\"Oh, I have read the history of our house, and have hunted up the\nfamily documents.  You see, while you have been climbing the 'Devil's\nTooth' I have been grinding away at the story of the devil's curses.\nBut, bah, Roger, what are curses to you?  Surely, you can laugh at them\nall.\"\n\nThroughout the conversation I felt that he had some purpose in his\ntalk.  It seemed as though he were sifting me and seeking to read my\nthoughts, and so I was silent.\n\n\"Do you know anything about little Ruth's family?\" he went on.\n\n\"No,\" I replied.\n\n\"Her father owned miles of land,\" he said, \"and it is all left to her.\nYour estate, Roger, is but a patch on hers.  Morton Hall, too, is about\ntwice as big as this house.  Eh, but you were lucky to save her life.\"\n\nLooking back after a long lapse of years I feel that this is not the\nnatural talk of a boy of sixteen, and as I write, I ask myself whether\nI have not incorrectly recorded our conversation.  It is true I only\nwrite from memory; nevertheless, I think I have faithfully described\nwhat was said.  Really, Wilfred was never a true boy.  He was always\nolder than I, though born two years later, and when quite a child he\nhad an old-fashioned way of speaking.  The villagers were in the habit\nof saying that Wilfred had the brains of the family, while I had the\nheart.  Anyhow, he could always outwit me, and if ever we were matched\nagainst each other, I, in the long run, always came off second best.\n\nA few days later I was able to be out again, and once more lived my\nold, free, untrammelled life.  My father and I still continued friends\nand companions; but Wilfred was little with me.  I noticed, however,\nthat he was always anxious to please me.  He ceased to sneer when\nspeaking of me, and I thought he looked sad and downhearted.  This made\nme gentle and forbearing towards him; so much so, that I often went out\nof my way to help him.\n\nI often thought of old Deborah Teague's words as to whether he were or\nwere not my brother; but I could find no answer to my questionings.\nThat we both had the same father I did not doubt; but was his mother my\nmother?  Was that tall, stately woman who always treated me so coldly\nreally and truly my mother?  I asked old Deborah again and again, but\nmy father I dared not ask.\n\nMy mother's demeanour to me was always the same.  I never had a\nmother's cares, never realised a mother's love, and so I could do no\nother than to watch, even as old Deborah told me to watch.\n\nRuth Morton and I did not become friendly.  Evidently she did not like\nme.  I noticed that she looked at me furtively, and would never be\nalone with me by choice.  I could not help feeling that in some way her\nmind had been poisoned concerning me, and I was not long in deciding\nwho was the poisoner.\n\nIt is true that I did not try to win her liking.\n\nI felt it rather hard that she should treat me so harshly, and so I\nnever forced my company upon her.\n\nThis state of things existed for nearly two years.  Wilfred was\nfriendly, and, evidently, beloved by her, but I was disliked.  Often my\nbrother took her and my sisters for long walks, but I never did.  I was\nbusy on my father's estate and learning the secrets of agriculture,\nwhile he in the hours not devoted to study would be away with them, and\nbecame, I thought, more than ever a favourite with Ruth and my sisters.\n\nDuring these two years I had become quite a man in stature, while\nWilfred had likewise grown to be a tall, handsome fellow.  I remember\nthat all this time my mother encouraged the growing friendship of Ruth\nand Wilfred, and seemed delighted when she noticed her evident dislike\nfor me.\n\nI was now twenty.  Wilfred was more than eighteen, Ruth was sixteen,\nand had grown quite a young woman.  Katherine, too, who was the same\nage, had become a splendid example of a healthy, happy, country girl,\nwhile Elizabeth promised to become the beauty of the family.\n\nAt this time an event happened which made us better friends.\n\nOne afternoon I was sitting on the great headland overlooking the sea.\nIt was a glorious day.  The sky was clear, the sun was shining\nbrightly, and the bright waves beneath were laughing and playing in the\nlight of the sun.  To me, as I sat there, the great sea was singing a\nwondrous song, full of a rich, rare music, which touched the deepest\nfeelings of my nature.  I had not heard much in my life about religion,\nand I am afraid I had not thought much about God, but as I sat there\nthat day, a great rock above me and hundreds of feet of cliff beneath,\nwhile the sea chanted a song which the tones of a thousand organs could\nnot reproduce, I felt a longing in my heart to serve my Maker and to do\nmy duty while here below such as I had never felt before.\n\nWhile I sat there I heard voices above me.  Someone was standing on the\ngreat rock in a crevice of which I sat.\n\n\"Let's ask Roger to go with us?\" said a voice.\n\nI recognised it in a second as my sister Katherine's and I waited for\nthe answer.\n\n\"No,\" I heard Wilfred say, \"he hates girls; besides, he'll be as ugly\nas a bear with a sore head.\"\n\n\"That's not fair, Wilfred,\" said Katherine.  \"Roger does not hate us,\nand as for his being ugly, you know he's not.\"\n\n\"Well, we can't find him, anyhow,\" said Wilfred, \"so let us go.\"\n\nI must confess I felt angered by this, for I should have liked to\naccompany them.  I strove to banish my brother's unkind words from my\nmind, however, and again tried to listen to the music of the sea; but\nit was all driven from my heart.  For I have learnt this is truth: we\nmust have music within us if we are to realise music in anything\nwithout.\n\nI could not sit there long.  My brother's words began to burn and\nsting; I would go for a walk, too.\n\nI had not gone far when I saw someone running towards me.  It was\nWilfred.\n\n\"Help, Roger!\" he shouted.\n\n\"What's the matter?\" I said.\n\n\"Ruth has fallen down the cliff!\"\n\n\"Fallen down the cliff! where?\"\n\n\"Up here.  Come with me.\"\n\nWe started running together and quickly came to a place where Elizabeth\nwas weeping bitterly, while Katherine was descending the steep\ndeclivity as if to try and render help.\n\n\"Where is she?\" I said excitedly.  \"And how did she get where she is?\"\n\n\"She wanted a plant,\" cried Wilfred.  \"I told her it was not to be\nobtained, or I would get it; but she would not listen to me, and said\nshe would fetch it herself.  She went down a little way all right, but\nwhen she reached out her hand for the plant she slipped and fell.\"\n\n\"Fell!  Fell where?\" I asked, excitedly.\n\n\"To a ledge a few feet below.\"\n\n\"Did you see her?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And did you not try to reach her?\"\n\n\"Why, how could I do anything?  I could only go for help.\"\n\nIt is true Wilfred was younger than I, but I thought this conduct\ncowardly.  He seemed to fear for himself, and dared not risk his own\nlimbs.  Katherine, on the other hand, though but a girl of sixteen, was\ntrying to rescue her friend.\n\nI quickly scrambled down the declivity, and was not long in reaching\nthe point from which Ruth fell.  Katherine was here also, but she could\ngo no farther, for the ledge beneath, although only about eight or nine\nfeet down, was narrow, and to fall from there meant certain death.  The\nmystery was how Ruth had fallen on to this ledge, and for a time I was\nafraid she had been precipitated on the rugged rocks beneath.  I heard\na moan, however, and saw a bit of her white dress, so my mind was\ncomparatively at ease.\n\nI sent Katherine back, and told her to run for a rope, as it might be\nnecessary, and then prepared to reach the narrow rock on which Ruth lay.\n\n\"Keep a good heart, Ruth,\" I said; \"I am coming to help you.\"\n\nThere was no reply, but I still struggled to get to her.  Time after\ntime I essayed to reach her, and time after time I failed.  I climbed\naround and around, and from different points tried to get a footing on\nthe rock where she lay, but in vain.  It was isolated, and was at least\nnine feet from any point above it, and nearly as many from any standing\nplace on the same level.\n\nThere was only one way by which she could be reached, and that was by\ngaining a rock nearly on the same level, and then leaping over the\nchasm that lay between.  This I determined to do, for how could I do\nless?  Ruth was lying like one dead, and if I did not help her who\ncould?  I got on the point after some difficulty, and then found that I\nwas in nearly as much danger as she.  I had jumped down to this jutting\nrock, but I could not jump up again; the distance was too great.  Could\nI get on the rock where she lay there seemed a possibility to get down,\nfor the cliff looked slanting from that point.\n\nBeneath me were two hundred feet of rugged cliff, and if I failed to\nreach Ruth I should fall from point to point on the rocks beneath and\nbe killed.\n\nI took off my coat and prepared to leap.\n\nAt this moment she awoke to consciousness and looked around her, and\nseeing her position she gave a scream of affright.\n\n\"Don't move,\" I said, \"I'm going to save you.\"\n\nHer eager eyes gave me strength and courage.  I disencumbered myself of\neverything that would hinder me and placed my feet in the best position\nfor a leap.\n\nBy this time I began to be excited.  The sound of the sea seemed cruel,\nwhile the rocks looked like so many giant gaunt spectres that would\nlure me to destruction.  There was no time for wild fancyings, however,\nso I nerved myself for what lay before me.\n\nThen I took the leap.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nLINK TO LINK\n\nI shall never forget the feeling which possessed me when I made this\nterrible leap.  If my foot should slip, if I should fall short, if I\nshould fall and be dashed to pieces!  It was only a second; but I\nseemed to live a whole lifetime in that second.  I landed safely,\nhowever, and was soon by Ruth's side.\n\nTo my delight she was scarcely hurt at all, except that she had\nreceived a shock.  She was trembling violently, but she was a brave\nlittle thing, and as soon as I came she conquered her weakness.\n\n\"Can we get away from here, Roger?\" she said, at length.\n\n\"I think so,\" I replied.  \"If we can't get down from here they will get\nus a rope, which I will fasten around you, so that you may be easily\ndrawn up.\"\n\n\"Oh, I do not think I dare be drawn up,\" she said, with a shudder.\n\"Can we not get down?  I dare try with you to help me.\"\n\nI examined the rocks, and decided to make the attempt.  It was a long\nand tedious journey, especially as I had to clamber from rock to rock,\nand then lift Ruth.  We managed it, however, and after a time stood\nsafely on the hard beach.\n\nNo sooner had we done so than I heard my father's voice above.  He had\ncome with a rope and other means by which we might be helped; but right\nglad was he when he saw that we were not needing his help.\n\n\"The tide is out,\" I shouted in answer to his query as to how we should\nget home, \"and I shall walk down to Trewinion Cove, and thus escape\nclimbing any cliffs.\"\n\nWe started together.\n\n\"This is the second time you have saved my life, Roger,\" Ruth said.\n\n\"Do you think so?\" I answered.  \"You might have got on all right\nwithout me.\"\n\n\"I do not think I have been just to you,\" she went on.\n\n\"How?\" I asked, abruptly.\n\n\"Perhaps I ought not to tell you,\" she said, \"but I cannot help it now.\"\n\nI asked her to explain.\n\n\"I have sudden likes and dislikes,\" she said, \"and when you saved me in\nthe storm, and I heard that you were going to be my brother, I was\nglad--more glad than I can say.  Then when I was getting well your\nmother came and told me that you had neither fear nor feelings.  That\nyou had risked your life out of mere love of danger, that you were\ncruel and vindictive.  That, although you were the heir of the\nTrewinions, you were totally unfit for its responsibilities.  That your\nbrother Wilfred was in reality robbed of the position which he alone\nwas fit to take.  That you had ever been cruel to him, that, although\nyou were superior in strength, you took advantage of his weakness.\nThus, when I saw you, although you had saved my life, I was prepared to\ndislike you.\"\n\n\"And then?\" I asked.\n\n\"I thought you verified what your mother had said.  You seemed rough\nand uncouth, and very different from your brother.\"\n\nI suppose most of us like to be thought well of.  None of us wish to be\nlooked upon as objects of repugnance.  Anyhow, I was in no pleasant\nframe of mind, and I had hard work to keep from bursting out with some\nstrong invective against my brother, but I held my tongue and waited\nfor her to continue.\n\n\"Since then,\" she went on, \"I have been finding out my mistake, and I\nhave wanted to tell you so; but you have always been so cold and\nrepellent that I dared not.  You are rough and stern, Roger, not a bit\nlike Wilfred.\"\n\nI bit my lip angrily.\n\n\"Yes, I know you have saved my life again,\" she said, as if divining my\nthoughts.  \"I know that Wilfred dared not do what you have done; but\nwhat I meant was that anyone who does not understand you would think\nyou harsh.  Besides, it takes some time to know you.\"\n\n\"But I always felt friendly towards you, Ruth, even though you seemed\nto dislike me.\"\n\n\"And I shall always be more friendly to you in the future.  I want you\nto forgive me, Roger.  Will you?\"\n\nShe looked at me, and her great grey eyes were full of kindness, and\nher voice was so gentle that I felt quite uncomfortable.\n\n\"Don't talk about forgiving,\" I said, rather roughly, I expect, \"let us\nbe good friends.\"\n\nShe looked very pale as I said this, and then I saw that she was more\nshaken and hurt than I had at first thought.  She would have fallen, I\nbelieve, had I not upheld her.  I led her to a rock, where she sat down\nfor a rest, and when I had found some fresh water for her, she was\nquite refreshed.  She took hold of my arm as we walked home, however,\nand I felt a strange pleasure in helping her.  She had grown just like\none of my sisters to me, and she seemed to regard me as a brother.\n\nWe talked quite pleasantly on our way, until we forgot the great danger\nin which we had both been a little while before.  I forget just now\nwhat we were talking about; but I know that while we were laughing\nheartily at something she had been saying we were startled by a voice\ntelling us to stop.\n\nWe looked up, and Deborah Teague stood before us.  She eyed us keenly,\nand when she saw how friendly we were, she said, \"Maaster Roger, mind\nwhat ould Debrah said.\"\n\n\"I always do mind what you say, Deborah,\" I replied; \"you have always\nbeen a friend to me.\"\n\n\"Maaster Roger,\" she continued, \"ould Debrah hev vollied the fortins of\nyer family for years, and she ought to knaw.\"\n\n\"Well, what's wrong now?\"\n\n\"It wur a woman as tempted Adam, it wur a woman as tempted Samson, it\nwur a woman as tempted Ahab.  Lev Maaster Roger be keerful.\"\n\n\"I hardly know what you mean,\" I said, a little astonished at this\nstrange speech.\n\nShe lifted her skinny hand above her head.\n\n\"Mind,\" she said, \"mind Trewinion's curse!  Oh, tes comin', tes comin'.\nI see it now.  Mind, Maaster Roger, my deer, mind.  Doan't 'ee forgit\nwhat ould Debrah tould 'ee on the night of the storm, years agone.\n'Twas the mawther that was too cunning for Esau, ah, and ef Maaster\nRoger ed'n keerful the mawther'll be too cunnin' for him.\"\n\nTry as I would I could not help shuddering at her words, while Ruth\nclutched my arm convulsively.\n\n\"Keep boath yer eyes oppen, Maaster Roger, or the curse'll be upon 'ee,\nfor as sure as ould Debrah spaikes tes comin'.\"\n\nShe waddled away when she said this, leaving us to wonder at her words.\n\nWhat caused her to speak like this?  How could she know what she\ndid?--for her words came true.  Did she possess some power to peer into\nthe future?  Were things clear to her vision to which I was blind?  Or\nwas it simply that she was clear headed and clever and her statements\namounted only to a shrewd guess?\n\nI will not dare to answer.  I have seen so many strange things happen,\nwhich I have been unable to explain, that to say she was possessed of a\npower that was not natural would be unwise.  And yet I have been fed\nupon strange mental food, and have been led to believe in things at\nwhich some laugh.\n\n\"What does she mean, Roger?\" said Ruth, when she had gone.\n\nI was silent.\n\n\"Do you think she is a witch?\" she continued; \"she looks like one.\"\n\n\"She is a strange old woman,\" I said, as lightly as I could, for I did\nnot want Ruth to be made anxious, \"and some think she is a witch; but\nMr. Polperrow says she is only a clever old woman who knows more than\nthe common run of villagers.\"\n\nShe was about to ask more questions when we saw my father, Wilfred, and\nmy sisters coming towards us.  Both my sisters gave a shout of joy, and\nI saw a glad look in my father's eyes.  But Wilfred's face was black as\nnight, and the gleam of a devil flashed in his eyes.  He did not speak,\nand while the others were anxiously asking questions as to what we did\nand how we had managed, Wilfred stood and glared savagely at me.  His\neyes became red, and his face like the face of a corpse.\n\nI asked myself whether my father had accused him of being a coward, or\nif my sisters had been foolishly praising me, as they sometimes did,\nfor neither Katherine nor Elizabeth seemed to realise how rough and\nuncouth I was.  I noticed, however, that when Ruth began to magnify\nwhat I had done, as in her exaggerated notions of things she did, he\ngave a cynical, sarcastic laugh, and walked back to the house alone.\n\nDid Wilfred care so much about praise, I wondered, or was he bitter\ntowards me because I was heir to the Trewinion lands?  Why else should\nhe be so unbrotherly to me?\n\nI do not think my sisters did Ruth any good by talking to her about her\ndanger, for it brought back to her that faintness which she experienced\nupon the sands, so we soon took her indoors, where, being able to rest\nin quietness, she recovered.\n\nI do not think it is my nature to remain unfriendly with any one, so I\nmade an opportunity of trying to find Wilfred, in order to know what I\nhad done to offend him.  I found, however, that he was with my mother,\nand did not wish to be seen.\n\nAgain Deborah Teague's words came back to me.  Was Wilfred's mother my\nmother?  If so, why was it she never allowed me into her private room?\nWhy were there no confidences between us as there were between her and\nmy brother?  Was she the cause of my brother's anger?\n\nThat evening we all sat together in the library, as we generally did\nbefore going to rest.  Ruth still looked pale, and complained of pains.\nEvidently her fall had hurt her more than we had thought.  My mother\nsat near her, and lovingly held her hand, often saying soft loving\nwords, as though she wanted to be a mother to her.  I was glad of this,\nfor I was sure that Ruth must often feel sad and lonely, and it must\ncomfort her to know that although she was an orphan she was still\nbeloved.\n\nWe all joined in conversation, with the exception of Wilfred.  He sat\nbehind his mother, never speaking a word.  I forget now what were the\nsubjects of discussion; it does not matter much.  Still I cannot but\nwish that some clever painter could have put the gathering on canvas,\nfor to me it looked beautiful.  My father was so stately and grand,\nwhile my mother was, I think, the handsomest woman I ever saw; and\nbehind her was the clear, Greek-like face of my brother.  The three\ngirls, too, looked the picture of contentment.  It was a home scene in\na quiet old house, and worthy of a painter's skill.\n\nWe had been sitting there some little time, when the vicar walked in.\nHe was always a welcome visitor and I regarded him as a sort of second\nfather.  He joined in our conversation quite naturally, and we soon\nbecame quite merry together.\n\nPresently there was a lull in our talk, and then Wilfred, without any\nwarning, broke out excitedly, and in a loud voice,\n\n\"Father, I want to go to Oxford.\"\n\nWe all looked at him in astonishment.  He had been so silent all the\nevening that this made us think something was the matter.\n\nMy father eyed him keenly, and then replied quietly.\n\n\"I had arranged for you to go next year, Wilfred.\"\n\n\"Yes, but I want to go now,\" he said, excitedly.  \"I've been home here\nlong enough; I've wasted enough time.\"\n\n\"You've not wasted so much time, my boy,\" said my father, kindly.  \"Mr.\nPolperrow has had you in hand, and has given you a good drilling;\nbesides, you are only just turned eighteen.\"\n\n\"I know,\" he said; \"but I am the younger son, and so shall have no\nfortune.  Thus, I think, I should waste no time in getting an\neducation.  Mr. Polperrow told me, not long since, that he could not do\nmuch more for me, and as I am to be 'penniless Wilfred' I think I might\nhave a chance to earn my bread.\"\n\n\"You will not be penniless, Wilfred,\" said my father.  \"You will be as\nwell endowed as most young men, and I have my plans for the future.\"\n\n\"But I can't stay here longer,\" he cried.  \"If I have talents why\nshould I waste them here?  Give me a chance, and then the second son\nmay turn out to be as good as the elder.\"\n\nThis was spoken both bitterly and sadly, as if he felt his lot to be\nhard.\n\n\"I have come about this very matter,\" said Mr. Polperrow.  \"Wilfred has\nvery great gifts, and the sooner he goes to Oxford the better.  I have\nsome little influence there, and if you thought fit I would make\narrangements at once.\"\n\nMy mother's eyes fairly shone with joy as he said this, and then she\ntoo joined in the plea that Wilfred should be allowed to leave home so\nthat his powers might have a fair chance of being tested.\n\nMy father at length gave his consent, and Mr. Polperrow went away with\nthe commission to procure for Wilfred an entrance into this ancient\nseat of learning.\n\nWhen we retired to rest I thought long over the events of the day.\nWhat was the meaning of this sudden desire to depart?  Was there a\nleague between the three who had advocated this step?  Only a few days\nbefore Wilfred had been speaking of going to Oxford a year later.  Why\nthen this sudden resolution?\n\nI fell asleep, however, without solving the problem, and as during the\nnext few days Wilfred wore a grieved expression and seldom spoke to any\none but his mother and Ruth, I was still deeper in mystery.  When we\nwere all together, if he spoke to me, he spoke kindly, but when we were\nalone he betrayed a hatred for me that I could not understand.\n\nA month later my mother was in great sorrow.  Wilfred had started for\nOxford.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nTHE WITCHES' CAVE\n\nAs I look back over what I am now about to relate, my mind is strangely\nconfused with the amount of reality and unreality that appeared.  At\none time I am inclined to think it all real, at another I am led to\nregard it as pure imagination, or as due to the credulity of a\nhot-brained youth.  Be that as it may, however, I will try and set down\nwhat I remember as faithfully as I can.\n\nAfter Wilfred had gone things were very quiet.  My mother seldom spoke\nto me, but kept Ruth by her side, until the two became, as it seemed to\nme, almost inseparable.  Indeed, she took far more notice of Ruth than\nshe did of her own daughters.  As a consequence my sisters and I were\noften together, until the villagers came to say that Roger Trewinion\nwanted no sweethearts but his sisters.\n\nOn the afternoon of a sultry autumn day, some time after Wilfred had\ngone to Oxford, I had to walk past Deborah Teague's cottage, and saw\nthe old woman sitting on the doorstep quietly smoking.\n\n\"Come ere, Maaster Roger,\" she said; \"I've been waitin' for 'ee a bra\nlong while.\"\n\nI looked at her in astonishment.\n\n\"Iss' my dear, I knawed you was a comin', so I says I'll jist wait for\nMaaster Roger.\"\n\n\"How did you know I was coming?\"\n\n\"Knaw!\" she replied, \"what doan't I knaw?  But come in, I want to talk\nto 'ee.\"\n\n\"What about?\"\n\n\"Somethin' you're interested in, my deer.  Ther set down.  Yer brother\nes gone away to college edn't a?\"\n\n\"Yes, he's gone.\"\n\n\"Ah, ould Debrah ev for a long time bin thinkin' 'bout it, my dear.\"\n\n\"About what?\"\n\n\"'Twas a hawful storm, Maaster Roger, wadn't it, then?  People do say\nthat ould women ca'ant do nothin', but, law, that storm wur big enough\nand bad enough!\"\n\n\"Do you mean to say that you caused the storm then?\"\n\n\"No, not me, my dear, but I knawed it wur a comin' ded'n I un?  And\nded'n I give 'ee warnin', my dear?  Ef I dedn't, why she would'n ev bin\nlivin' now.\"\n\n\"Deborah,\" I said, \"you are talking in riddles.  If you have anything\nto tell me, let me know about it.\"\n\n\"Doan't 'ee be vexed, Maaster Roger.  Ould Debrah is yer friend, and do\nwant for you to be her friend!\"\n\n\"But I don't understand all this mysterious talk.  You are hinting at\nstrange things.  Let me know about it.  Is there witchcraft in the\nmatter?\"\n\n\"Ould Debrah do knaw 'bout Trewinion's curse, doan't she, my deer?  How\nshould she know that except by--well, we wa'ant say what.\"\n\n\"Yes, you have hinted about it?  But what have I to do with it?  I have\ndone nothing that will cause it to rest upon me.\"\n\n\"But tes comin', Maaster Roger, ef I and some more doan't help 'ee.\nTell 'ee, my dear, things belongin' to the sperrits can onnley be\nstopped by they who--well, who have got power in they paarts.\"\n\nI was getting interested.\n\n\"Are you a witch, then?\" I asked.\n\n\"Can 'ee bear to hear it, Maaster Roger?\" she whispered.\n\n\"I can bear anything,\" I said.\n\n\"Maaster Roger, you've eerd of Farmer Jory?\"\n\n\"Yes, often.\"\n\n\"Ah, ee died a awful death, my deer.\"\n\n\"So I've heard,\" I said.  \"People have told me that his last hours were\nterrible; that he seemed like one placed upon a rock.  And that\nalthough at one time he was well off, all his cattle died and his\nground refused to grow crops.\"\n\n\"You've eerd that, av 'ee?  Well, now, I tell 'ee summin.  My old man\nPitter used to work for'n, my dear, and my maid went there to sarvice.\nPitter and me were 'appy as two turtle doves, my deer, and my maid was\nthe puttiest in the parish.  Well, Farmer Jory was a bad man, my deer.\nHe ought to ev married my maid, and he ded'n, an' though I went down on\nmy knees and prayed to 'im to save her frum disgrace, he would'nt, and\nso she died heartbroken.  By this time Pitter wur nearly a cripple and\ncouldn't work much, so that we wur nearly starvin'.  He had worked for\nthe Jorys oll his life, and now when they ought to ev 'elped us they\nleft us to starve.  Twa'nt more'n three weeks after we berried the maid\nafore Pitter died of starvation and a brokken heart, and I wur left\nalone.  Oh, Maaster Roger, ef you could ev knawed what I suffered you\nwould pity me.  I wur nearly mad wi' grief and shame, and the day after\nmy owld man wur berried I wur sittin' in the doorway theer, when Betsey\nTressider comed 'long.  I was allays 'fraid of Betsey, cause people\nsaid she wur a witch, and did meet with a lot ov others up in the witch\nov Fraddam's cave.  She axed me what I wur grievin' for and I tould\nher.  Then she laughed and zed I wur a fool not to be revenged on\nFarmer Jory, and not to make 'im suffer more'n I'd suffered.  I axed\nher ow I cud do it, and she tould me to become a witch.  Then I axed\nher ow I could be a witch, and she tould me to go to Logan Rock nine\ntimes at midnight and tich it wi my little vinger, an' she laughed and\nwent away.\n\n\"Well, I wur oal alone, and so I thot and thot, and then I went to\nLogan Rock and tiched it wance, and I veeled a strange shivery feelin'\nand then I did it every night until the ninth night.\"\n\n\"And what happened then, Deborah?\" I asked.\n\n\"I shan't tell 'ee that, my dear, but when I comed 'ome I seed Farmer\nJory, and I looked top un, and I zed--well, never mind what I zed; but\nyou knaw what happened.\"\n\n\"But witchcraft is of the devil,\" I said.\n\n\"Tes and tedn't,\" she said, mysteriously.  \"Who can charm as well as\nme, and the charms es oal bout goodness.  Here, my dear, I'll tell 'ee\nsome charms, and then you'll knaw ef they be good; but never tell a\nman, Maaster Roger, ef you do you'll break em.  You knaw that Tommy\nTriscott's cheeld came to me t'other day with a scald, and I charmed\nun, and the charm is this:--\n\n  Then came three angels out of the east,\n  One brought fire, and two brought frost;\n  Out fire, and in frost\n  In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost--Amen.\n\n\n\"And is Tommy better?\"\n\n\"He had aise in three minutes; but he wur cured with a good name.  I'll\ntell 'ee nother.  You do knaw when you wur a cheeld you had a great\nthorn in ye arm through fallin' off a hedge, and you comed to me, and I\ncharmed it and cured 'ee?\"\n\n\"Very well.\"\n\n\"Well, I'll tell 'ee the charm:--\n\n  Christ was of a Virgin born,\n  And He was prick'd by a thorn,\n  And it did never throb nor swell,\n  And I trust in Jesus this never will.\n\n  Christ was crowned with thorns;\n  The thorns did bleed but did not rot.\n  No more shall thy finger,\n  In the name of Father, Son and Holy Ghost.\n\n\nI could not help a creepy feeling coming over me as she uttered the\nwords.  I remembered her charming the place where the thorn had been\nand rubbing some ointment over it, and I also remember how quickly I\nhad ease.\n\n\"So, my deer,\" she went on, \"tedn't always a bad power that witches\nhave.\"\n\n\"Well,\" I said at length, \"have you asked me to come in here in order\nthat you might tell me this?\"\n\n\"Not all, my deer.  I've wa'anted to show 'ee as ow I've got power,\nMaaster Roger, and that tedn't oal bad.  And I want 'ee to harken to me\nso that you may not have the Trewinion's curse.\"\n\n\"Can you stop it?\" I asked.\n\n\"I weth others can,\" she said.\n\n\"But the curse of the Trewinion's will not come upon me,\" I said, \"for\nI shall not do anything to incur it.\"\n\n\"Wa'ant 'ee, but you will, Maaster Roger, and ef you doan't do as I\ntell 'ee you'll rue it to yer dyin' day.  I see it comin', I see it\ncomin',\" and she lifted her skinny hand above her head.  \"I zee Maaster\nRoger beggard, I zee un starvin', I zee un mad wi' shame, I zee un\nouseless, and omeless, I zee hes brother where he ought to be oal\nthrough Trewinion's curse.\"\n\nIn spite of myself I felt the old woman to be speaking the truth.\n\n\"But I will abide by everything written for my safety,\" I said.\n\n\"You ca'ant, you ca'ant,\" she screamed.\n\n\"Why?\" I asked.\n\n\"You were born in a onlucky month, and the onlucky week of the month,\nand a onlucky day of the week, and an onlucky time ov the day.\"\n\n\"Why, when was I born?\"\n\n\"You was born at nine o'clock ov a Friday evenin', in the third week in\nMay,\" she said.\n\n\"And I can do nothing to avert the curse?\"\n\n\"No, but I can.\"\n\n\"How?\"\n\n\"Will 'ee come wi' me to Betsey Fraddam's cave?\"\n\n\"When?\"\n\n\"To-night.\"\n\n\"At what time?\"\n\n\"Twelve o'clock.\"\n\n\"No,\" I said with a shudder.\n\nShe glared at me with her evil eye, then she said slowly:\n\n\"You'll come.\"\n\nBetsey Fraddam's cave had an evil reputation.  It was the meeting-place\nfor all the evil women in the neighbourhood.  Women who possessed\nterrible power.  I had been taught to believe in them and to avoid\ncoming into collision with them.\n\n\"Who'll be there?\" I asked.\n\n\"You'll see,\" she said.\n\nI went home soon after, pondering over Deborah's words.  We retired to\nbed early at our house, and by ten o'clock quietness reigned\neverywhere.  I could not sleep, however.  My mind was excited by what\nold Deborah had told me, and when eleven o'clock came I had an intense\ndesire to go to Fraddam's cave.  The witch of Fraddam was almost a\nhousehold word among the simple people.  It was said that she was\nconstantly raising storms and working mischief, and that if any one saw\nher thus engaged, woe be to that one for ever after.  From my earliest\nchildhood I had been frightened with stories of Betsey Fraddam's cave.\nIt was whispered that the terrible witch herself met the living witches\nand goaded them on to terrible deeds.\n\nStill I wanted to go.  In the silence of the night the curse of the\nTrewinion's became terrible to me, and I was anxious to know how I\ncould avert it.  Besides, so much had my mind been filled with stories\nof the superstitious and wonderful that I felt afraid to disobey the\nold woman's summons.  It is true I was a young man fairly well\neducated, and as a consequence disbelieved many of the stories of a\npriest-ridden age.  And it may be that as the years roll by future\ngenerations may disbelieve in what we speak of to-day, even as we\ndisbelieve the stories of the past.  Nevertheless, at half-past eleven\nI rose and dressed quietly in order to go down to Fraddam's cave.\n\nI remembered the old vicar's words, however, and said my prayers before\nstarting, and then hurried down the precipitous pathway to the sand.\nThe tide was out, and I could hear the sweet murmur of the sea in the\ndistance.  There was no wind, and the pale light of the moon lit up the\nscene, which was grand in the extreme.  On my right hand behind me,\nrose the giant cliffs, rugged and forbidding, on the great headland\nstood our house, bluff and bold like an old castle.\n\nI looked in the direction of the cave of evil repute, but could see\nnothing.  My heart throbbed wildly.  As old Deborah had said, we\nTrewinions never feared the living, but we trembled at the thought of\nthe dead.\n\nAs I drew near Fraddam's cave I saw a twinkling light, and on coming up\nto its mouth I saw the bent form of an old woman.\n\n\"Trewinion's heir!\" said a voice, and the light was taken into the cave.\n\nAs if drawn on by a charm I entered.  It was the first time I had ever\ndared to do so.  Often had I passed by the cave; but its reputation for\nevil was so terrible that I had avoided entering it.  I doubt whether\nany inhabitant for miles around would ever think of intruding in a\nplace which, it was believed, belonged to the powers of darkness.\n\nThe cave became larger the farther I penetrated into it, and was lit up\nby a ruddy kind of light.  I noticed, too, in spite of my fears, that\nthe main cave led to smaller ones, and that on each side of the\nentrance the ground was honeycombed.  Presently the light became\nbrighter, and, turning a sharp angle, I saw a good sized fire, on which\na crock was steaming round about which weird forms sat.  The ground was\nquite dry and it was evident the tide seldom came so far.  As my eyes\nbecame more accustomed to the light, I recognised some of the women who\nsat there.  Betsey Flue, Mally Udy, and Tory Bone lived within a mile\nof Trewinion Manor, and had doubtful reputations.\n\nNone of them looked at me for some time.  They were intent on watching\nthe fire and the steaming crock.  The smell from this article was by no\nmeans unpleasant, evidently some savoury meat was being cooked, and I\nbegan to feel the place to be less gruesome than I had at first\nanticipated.  I noticed, too, that a great many things were stowed away\nwhich could have no connection with the unseen world.  Evidently the\ncave was used by smugglers as well as witches.\n\n\"Let Debrah Teague spaik,\" said an aged crone.\n\n\"Maaster Roger do knaw what I main,\" said Deborah.  \"There's an awful\ncurse for the Trewinion 'ouse, and unless Maaster Roger do as we do\ntell un he'll ave it.\"\n\nGhastly as was the sight, uncanny as was the place, this speech of the\nold woman dispelled much of my fear.  The nocturnal gatherings of\nwitches were in my idea always associated with mysterious incantations.\nAlthough Shakespeare was a forbidden book to us boys, I had read\n\"Macbeth,\" and this meeting was altogether dissimilar from the meeting\nof witches therein described.  In spite of everything, I could not help\nthinking these old women were met for some sinister purpose far removed\nfrom the mysteries of witchcraft, so I said boldly:\n\n\"Old Deborah wanted me to come here; I have come.  What do you want?\"\n\n\"The curse is comin'.  We can remove it,\" said the old woman who went\nby the name of Mally Udy.\n\n\"How?\" I asked, for the sound of their voices and the sound of my own\nmade me bolder still.\n\n\"We've worked a charm,\" said Mally, the oldest woman in the party.  \"We\nstole into Trewinion Church and took some water that the parson had\nused fur christenin' his oan grancheeld, an' we've made a broth of it.\nWe've boiled a piece of lamb in it, with some sycamore leaves and some\nhagglet (white thorn) leaves, and we've said nine charms, nine times\naich, and it'll ondo any curse.\"\n\n\"Where is it?\" I said.\n\n\"Here, a boilin' now,\" was the reply.\n\nI began to feel fearful again.\n\n\"But Maaster Roger must make a vow afore he drinks,\" said Mally.\n\n\"What?\" I asked.\n\n\"You must say this,\" she said, shaking her skinny finger.  \"I, Roger\nTrewinion, promise never to hurt the women here to-night, or their\nchildren.  I promise it by the sperrits of the place.  And I make a vow\nthat I'll allays protect they and their children as fur as I can.\"\n\nThere was a cunning look on her face as she spoke.  I felt now that\nthese were evil women, and that I would have nothing to do with them.\n\n\"I refuse to make the promise,\" I said.\n\n\"You'm afraid, you'm a coward,\" cried Deborah.\n\n\"No, I'm not afraid, I'm not a coward,\" I said, \"and I'll stop these\nproceedings of yours.  You have other reasons than witchcraft for\ncoming here, and I'll know what they are.\"\n\nThis roused their passion.\n\n\"Evil sperrits shall tear 'ee,\" they said, \"and oal your tribe.\"\n\n\"You are a set of evil hags,\" I said, furiously; \"and the mysteries of\nthis cavern shall be brought to light.\"\n\n\"Stop!\" said old Mally Udy, \"this broth here was fur yer good.  I'll\nturn it to something bad and make 'ee drink it.  The spirit of Betsey\nFraddam is here, and she'll make a mixture for 'ee.\"\n\nI had worked myself up into a passion and I kicked the crock and\noverturned it.\n\nNever shall I forget the terrible words they said to me, or the curses\nthey called upon me.  They cursed me in body and mind, they cursed me\nin love and hate, in living and dying.\n\nWhat was it, I wonder?  Meaningless jargon, or not?  When my story is\ntold you will be able to judge better.\n\nI went out of the cave in fear, and when outside I fancied I saw the\nterrible form of Betsey Fraddam.  Then I went back to my home trembling.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nTHE BEGINNING OF THE END\n\n  O beware of my lord of jealousy;\n  It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock\n  The meat it feeds on: that cuckold lives on bliss\n  Who, certain of his fate, love not its wronger.\n  But O, what damned minutes tells he o'er\n  Who dotes yet doubts; suspects yet fondly loves.\n          --_Othello._\n\n\nAlone in my room that night I began to think again.  I had hurried back\nfrom the cave with fearful speed, never daring to stop or think.  Now I\ncould do both, and for hours I tried to solve the problem before me.\nWhat was the meaning of this night's adventure?  Had these women the\npower to rid me of a terrible calamity, or were they seeking simply the\nprotection I should be able to afford in the future years?  They were\nall in bad repute, and ofttimes the anger of the people was aroused\nagainst them, thus if they could gain my friendship they would be\ncomparatively safe.  Did they seek to frighten me into a promise, or\nwas there some dread meaning in their words?\n\nThese questions drove me to pray, or rather, to say my prayers.  I did\nnot, could not, really pray.  To me there was no real God.  All was as\nmisty and unreal as the mythical stories I had read about the fabled\nGreek gods.  For hours I sought light, and help, and strength; but none\ncame, and when daylight came I was still in doubt.\n\nThe next day I passed by old Deborah's cottage.  I thought she might\nhave something to say to me, but when she saw me she, bent her head and\nwould not answer to my \"good-day.\"  Try as I would I could not help\nfeeling that she had ill-will against me, and would lose no opportunity\nto do me an injury.  Once I thought of speaking to my father about it;\nbut I dared not tell him that I had been to Fraddam's cave at midnight;\nthat act was in itself enough to bring darkness to my future, if there\nwere any truth in the stories which floated in the very atmosphere of\nmy life.\n\nDays lengthened into weeks, and weeks into months, and nothing\nhappened.  Old Mally Udy passed and re-passed me, but she gave no sign\nof our midnight encounter.  She dropped her usual curtsey of respect\nwhen she saw me.  Thus it was that the awe of the night in Fraddam's\ncave died out.  I gave up seriously thinking about it, and as the\naffairs of the Trewinion estate began to rest on me my mind was fully\noccupied.\n\nDuring the months that followed, I believe I was moody and taciturn.\nAt any rate, my sisters did not find so much pleasure in being with me\nas formerly, while Ruth was still my mother's companion.  She was\nalways kind to me, and seemed glad if she were able to do little\nsisterly acts, but we were never alone together, and never were there\nany confidences between us.\n\nOn my twenty-first birthday there were great festivities at our house.\nAll the tenant farmers, their wives, and their children, together with\nthe cottagers and labourers on the estate, were invited.  These, with\nthe neighbouring gentry, made a gay scene.  There was one vacant place,\nhowever, which largely spoiled the enjoyment of the day.  This was my\nbrother Wilfred's.  He had been pressed to return home, but had refused\nto do so, even for the celebration of my coming of age.  Indeed, he\nintimated that he did not wish to do so until his three years of\ncollege life should come to an end.\n\nMy father was annoyed at this; but my mother said not a word.  It\nseemed to me that she had expected things to turn out so, and was not\nat all surprised.  Her behaviour to me after my birthday was more cold\nthan ever.  She took no pains to make herself friendly towards me, yet,\nunless Deborah Teague were right, she was my mother.\n\nThe months slipped rapidly by, until three years had elapsed since\nWilfred had gone to Oxford, and now he was daily expected to return.\n\nDuring that time none of us had seen him except my father and mother,\nwho had travelled to Oxford specially for that purpose.  My two sisters\noften speculated what he would be like, how he would act, while Ruth,\ntoo, seemed to look forward with great pleasure to his return.\n\nRuth had grown to be a beautiful woman.  She was by no means tall or\nstately, but she was as fair as a spring morning, and lovely beyond\ncompare.  Great pains had been taken with her education, and this,\nadded to her personal charms, caused her to be envied for miles around\nby girls of her own age.\n\nHer old friend Mr. Inch had remained at our house all this time, and\ntried to gratify her every wish.  He was friendly with Wilfred, and I\nfound out that they corresponded regularly.  With me, however, he was\nnot nearly so friendly.  He was always polite, almost painfully so; but\nhe never looked me straight in the face, and often, I thought, regarded\nme with dislike.  I explained this, partly by the fact of my uncouth\nways, and partly by his intimacy with my mother, who regarded him with\ngreat favour.\n\nAt length the day arrived when Wilfred came back.  I shall never forget\nit, for it began a new era in my existence.  I awoke on the morning of\nthat day bright and cheerful, with not a cloud that was worth the\nmentioning upon the sky of my life.  When I retired to rest all was\nchanged.  I awoke a boy, I went to sleep a man.  But for that day these\nconfessions would never have been written; the events I shall relate\nwould never have come to pass.  Even now, as I look back, my heart\nbeats more rapidly at the thought of it, and a strange feeling\npossesses me, which reminds me of what I felt then.\n\nI remember how anxiously I saw the horses being attached to the old\nfamily carriage, and with what joy I saw my father and mother driven\naway to meet the coach by which Wilfred was to come.  I longed, as much\nas any of them, to see him, although I said but little about it, for,\nin spite of his apparent dislike of me, he was still my brother, and I\nloved him very much.\n\nWe all stood at the old hall door as the carriage drove up, and watched\nmy father alight.  Then another form stepped on the hard gravel, and\ncarefully assisted my mother.\n\nI should scarcely have recognised him as my brother.  He had gone away\nbut little more than a boy, he had returned a handsome, cultured man.\nHe was not big and clumsy like myself, but tall and lithe, and yet\nexceedingly muscular.  There was grace in his every movement, while\nrefinement was stamped upon his handsome face.  I could not help\nfeeling the contrast between us.  I was a great boorish country clown,\nhe was as handsome as a Greek god.  Surely, too, there was a look of\nmalicious satisfaction on my mother's face as she saw the difference\nbetween us.  He seemed to change the very atmosphere of the house.\nEverything had a new meaning when associated with him.  My sisters\nlooked at him with admiration, while Ruth was evidently fascinated by\nthe charm of his presence.\n\nIn his boyish days he had often seemed sulky, but that was all gone.\nHis demeanour towards my father was at once respectful and\naffectionate, to his mother he was kind and loving, to the girls he was\ngallant and considerate, while to me I thought he extended an air of\npatronage.\n\nThe old Wilfred had gone, and a new Wilfred had taken his place; a\nWilfred who was brilliant, gallant, scholarly.\n\nI remember that we dined early that day, and after dinner I went out\nalone, as I often did, and sat upon the great headland which stood out\nagainst the sea.  I remained there some time thinking, and wondered\nwhat kind of a life we should lead now that Wilfred had come back.  I\nfelt in some way that I had no right to my father's estate; I was not\nfit for it, and that I lived there on my brother's bounty.\n\nThese thoughts were disturbed by the sound of voices, and looking up I\nsaw a sight that caused my brain to whirl and my heart to throb\nviolently.\n\nWilfred and Ruth were walking arm-in-arm, and he was looking at her at\nonce tenderly and with an air of proprietorship.  Then I knew what I\ndid not know before, then I realised what nearly drove me mad.  I loved\nRuth Morton with all the strength of my being, while she, I could tell\nfrom the tender confiding look on her face, was in love with my brother\nWilfred.\n\nI staggered to my feet, scarcely knowing what I was doing, and stared\nthem in the face foolishly.\n\n\"Ah, Roger,\" said Wilfred, lightly, \"enjoying yourself in the old way?\nAll play and no work.  Happy fellow, you, Roger; but then, some people\nare born lucky.\"\n\nI felt myself treated as a child.  There was a jeering look upon his\nface as he spoke, and his tone was that of a man speaking to another of\ninferior intellect.\n\nI did not answer his sally.  I only felt desirous of joining in their\nwalk, of having a chance, no less than he, of speaking to Ruth; so I\nstammered out:\n\n\"You are going for a walk; let me go with you.\"\n\nHe did not hesitate a minute before replying, and in the same tone as\nhe spoke before.\n\n\"You won't mind, I'm sure, Roger, when I tell you that we prefer taking\nthis walk alone.  We haven't met for three years, and have so much to\nsay to each other.\"\n\nAgain I was treated as a child, and I became angry.  I was about to say\nsomething very foolish, but before I could utter the words they were\ngone, and I heard Wilfred laugh a low, jibing kind of laugh.\n\nI think I was mad during the remainder of that afternoon.  My brain was\non fire, and everything seemed to whirl around me.  My love was no\nsooner known to myself than the object of it was snatched from me by\nanother, and that other my other brother.\n\nI tried to convince myself that he was more worthy than I.  I told\nmyself that I was a country bumpkin, an ignorant clown, and unworthy to\naspire to a maiden like Ruth Morton.  That I was under a curse, that I\ndared not leave the Trewinion lands for six months at a time, and that\nit was better she should love Wilfred.  This however, did not satisfy\nme.  Try as I would to stifle it, I could not help thinking I had more\nclaims to her love than he.  What had he done for her?  Nothing!  I, on\nthe other hand, had twice risked my life for hers.  But for me she\nwould have died, and yet she had bestowed her love on another.  Had\nshe?  I was not sure, and yet there could be little or no doubt about\nit.  Wilfred was capable of winning any woman's affection, and I felt\ncertain she would not resist his wishes.  The very first day of his\nreturn they had gone away together, and no doubt he would impress her\nwith his cleverness and greatness.\n\nI would know the truth and that soon.  Such was my determination.  I\nwould ask her to walk alone with me as she had done with Wilfred, and\nthen I would find out.\n\nI cannot describe my new found love, or, rather, the knowledge of the\nlove I had felt for years.  It was so strange, so great.  I had from\nthe first taken a special interest in Ruth; from the first I had\nregarded her as a very dear sister.  Now she was a thousand times more\nthan a sister.  Nothing was too good for her.  My one great thought was\nto give Ruth happiness and joy.  Why, then, did I not without a murmur\nsacrifice her to Wilfred.  Surely he could give her more happiness and\njoy than I?  Strange as it may seem, I felt that he could not.  I\nshuddered at the thought of her belonging to him in any way, and I\nground my teeth at the thought of their being together.\n\nPerhaps this was because of my jealousy.  Nevertheless, I am sure that\nrough, uncouth, ay, half savage as I was, I would willingly have laid\ndown my life to save her from pain.\n\nI had no chance to speak to her that day, nor the next, nor indeed for\nmany days.  When my chance came, something stepped in between us.\nEither Wilfred was with Ruth, or my mother claimed the girl as her\ncompanion.  I need not say that this maddened me more than ever and\nmade me act in anything but a creditable way.  I would leave the merry\nfamily party and go down to the village to talk with the fishermen.  I\nwould seek to forget my own sorrows by laughing at their jokes, or\nentering into their lives.  Again, I would indulge in long, lonely\nwalks, or go away fishing alone.  I knew I was fighting against my own\ninterests by doing this.  I knew I was allowing my brother to use every\nfascinating art in his power.\n\nAt length, my time came.  We had all been out in the harvest fields\ntogether, watching the reapers cut the golden wheat and gather it into\nsheaves.\n\nSurely the earth has few fairer sights than this!  I have travelled\nover a great deal of the globe, but I have seen nothing fairer than our\nold Trewinion fields at harvest time.  Especially was this so beneath\nthe light of the harvest moon.  I shall never forget it.  As twilight\nfaded, a thin mist rose from the earth, which, as the pale moon's rays\nshone through it, looked strangely beautiful.  The corn moughs\n(stacks), too, looked weird and ghastly in the dim light, while the\nsilver sea in the distance made a low, delicious music as it gently\nrippled on the shore.\n\nIn the distance I could hear the men and women singing on their\nhomeward way some plaintive Cornish songs, which to me blended sweetly\nwith the low sighing of the wind.\n\nRuth and I had by some means became separated from the rest, and my\nheart fluttered rapidly, for I had determined to find out if she loved\nmy brother Wilfred.  It has never been my way to lead up slowly to a\nsubject.  What I have to say I must blurt out at once, ofttimes in a\nway that gives pain to those to whom I speak.\n\n\"Ruth,\" I said, \"I have long wished to tell you something.\"\n\n\"Have you, Roger?\" she said, cheerfully \"then tell me at once, for you\nhave made me curious.  What can you wish to say to me?\"\n\nThere was no hesitation, no trembling in her voice.\n\nShe spoke as naturally as my own sisters might have spoken.\n\n\"Let us go home by Pentvargle Cove,\" I said, \"and turn in at\nHoneysuckle-lane.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" she said, gaily; \"and you'll pluck some of the honeysuckle\nfor me, won't you?  I can smell it from here; how delicious it is.\nWouldn't Wilfred enjoy this?\"\n\nShe was thinking of Wilfred even now, when she was alone with me, and I\nwas about to burst out with an angry remark about my brother when I\nlooked down into her face.\n\nTo me it seemed like the face of an angel.  Her large, lustrous grey\neyes had a far-away look in them, and an expression of sweet, placid\ncontentment rested on every feature.  Never have I seen a face so\nsweet, so beautiful.   Tenderness, truth, purity were there, mingled\nwith courage, sacrifice, daring.  It was a face never to be forgotten\nwhen once seen.  Never did I love her as I did then, and I could not\nsay angry words about my brother.\n\nI have said I was clumsy in my mode of expression.  I could say nothing\nas it should be said; and now, when I felt I ought to be more than\nusually careful, I was more than ever confused.\n\n\"Come Roger,\" she said, \"what is it you want to tell me?\"\n\n\"I want to know, Ruth,\" I said, my voice trembling, \"why you shun me,\ndislike me, hate me so?\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nOMENS OF DARKNESS\n\n  Look here upon this picture, and on this;\n  The counterfeit presentment of two brothers.\n  See what grace was seated on his brow;\n  Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself.\n  An eye like Mars to threaten or command.\n          --_Hamlet_, Act III, Scene 3.\n\n\nShe looked up as if surprised at my question.\n\n\"Hate you, shun you, Roger,\" she repeated.  \"Whatever led you to ask\nsuch a question?\"\n\n\"How can I help asking it,\" I said, \"when it is true?  You never have a\nword for me now.  Your every thought is given to my brother.  I suppose\nit is because Roger is a boor, Roger is a clown, Roger is ugly.\"\n\n\"What can possess you to speak in such a way?\" she said.\n\nI knew I had spoken foolishly; but I could not help it.  I was mad with\nrage and jealousy.  Having once begun to speak, all judgment and\ndiscretion were gone.  I was determined to know my fate, determined to\nknow if she loved my brother Wilfred.\n\n\"Possess me!\" I answered.  \"Well, I hardly know; but this I know.  Ever\nsince my prig of a brother has come home from Oxford with his affected\nsmile and flattering ways, Ruth has had no ears or eyes for any one\nelse.\"\n\n\"Still I fail to understand you,\" she said.\n\n\"I do not doubt,\" I replied, savagely, \"that I am too ignorant a clown\nto make my meaning clear.  Were Wilfred speaking, you would understand\nhim.  He would put his thoughts in such poetic language, and speak in\nsuch cooing tones, that little Ruth would be made to think as he\nthought, and feel as he felt; but I--I am nobody.\"\n\n\"Roger,\" she said, \"you are not kind, you are not speaking like my big\nbrother.\"\n\n\"No, I cannot,\" I said, \"I do not feel that I am your brother.  What\nkind feeling have you towards me?  Not a jot.  It is Wilfred, Wilfred,\never Wilfred.\"\n\nShe walked on by my side in silence, I feeling that I had been a brute,\na savage.  What right had I to speak so roughly, and thus to annoy her?\nI looked down at her face, and I saw that her eyes were filled with\ntears and her lips trembled.  For a moment my jealousy and anger were\ngone.\n\n\"Forgive me, sister Ruth,\" I said, \"I ought not to speak so.  Try and\nforget what I have said.  See, we are in Honeysuckle-lane, and here is\nsome.\"\n\nI picked a sprig of honeysuckle as I spoke and gave it to her, which\nshe received kindly.  This emboldened me.  Perhaps after all I was not\nso hateful to her.\n\nI have not a very poetical nature; but I think the scene by which we\nwere surrounded aroused what little I had.  The birds were finding\ntheir way to the hedgerows to seek rest for the night, ever and anon\ngiving a faint chirp of content.  The beetles went humming heedlessly\nby, the bees laden with honey returned to their hives, and all nature\nseemed to be at peace.  The honeysuckle and the hedge flowers that grew\nin wild confusion perfumed the lane in which we walked; the nuts hung\nin thick clusters on the fences, blackberries everywhere abounded.  One\nby one the stars came out of their obscurity until the heavens became\nglorious; and as we walked on, the evening became more still.  The\nharvesters reached their homes, and we no longer heard the sound of\ntheir voices.  The night wind served only to make delicious music as it\nplayed with the leaves on the trees and hedges or coquetted with the\ngolden corn.  Now and then we could hear the sea murmur its old, old\nsong.  To me it told of peace, and calm, and beauty.\n\nAnd I was alone with the maiden whom I loved more dearly than my life.\n\nI said that her kindness emboldened me, so with great trembling hands I\ntook her bonnet from her head and wove a piece of honeysuckle amid her\nnut-brown hair.\n\nBeautiful, beautiful Ruth!  Yes, after the long stretch of weary years\nI still call her so; but that night she was to me more than beautiful,\nshe was like an angel.  I was young and unsophisticated, and--and I did\nnot know what was coming.\n\nFor fully five minutes we did not speak.  Slowly we walked side by side\nin the calm still eventide, until we emerged from the lane, and went\ntowards Pentvargle Cove.  Then the sight of the rugged cliffs seemed to\nalter my feelings, and the old jealous passion returned.  I could see\nthe five great prongs of the \"Devil's Tooth\" towering into the sky, and\nI could not help thinking of the time, years ago, when I had scaled its\nslippery precipitous sides to save the girl at my side.  Again the old\ndesire to know the worst came back to me.  Did Ruth love my brother\nWilfred?\n\n\"Do you see the 'Devil's Tooth' yonder, Ruth?\" I said.\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, \"how calm the sea is now.  How different from when I\nsaw it first.  Then--but I cannot bear to think about it, can you?\" and\nshe shuddered as she spoke.\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" I said.  \"I like to think about it.  Why, Ruth, I was able\nto save you, you know.\"\n\nShe was silent, and again a bitter feeling crept into my heart.\n\n\"Don't you wish it had been Wilfred who saved you, instead of Roger?\" I\nasked, a little bitterly.\n\n\"Why?\" she said, quickly.\n\n\"Because you seem to think so much more about him.  You like to be in\nhis company, and you treasure every word that he says.\"\n\nI thought she looked confused, as she said hurriedly, \"Why should I\nnot?\"\n\nAt this answer I was as much the slave to my mad feelings as when we\nhad commenced our walk.  It was bitter hard for me.  There, in sight of\nthe very place where I had saved her, she admitted her preference for\nhim who had done nothing for her.\n\n\"Why should you not?\" I answered, boisterously, \"why not indeed.  There\nis every reason why you should.  No doubt you wish Wilfred were the\nelder son and I the younger.  No doubt you wish he were Trewinion's\nheir, and that I were penniless.\"\n\n\"No, Roger,\" she said, \"were you penniless, and were your father to\ndie, you would have no means of obtaining a livelihood.  It is best as\nit is.\"\n\nBlunt and dull of perception as I was I could not help seeing the\npurport of this.  She thought me too much of a fool to earn a living;\nthat it was only by the money which I inherited as a birthright I was\nsaved from starving.\n\n\"I see the point of your answer, Ruth,\" I said.  \"You think Wilfred far\nmore fit for the position of Trewinion's heir than I, and that I am too\nignorant a clown to get a living for myself.\"\n\n\"I cannot help what conclusions you draw from my words, Roger,\" she\nreplied.\n\n\"There is only one conclusion to be drawn,\" I answered.  \"You think\nWilfred better than I.  You think he should be master, and not I.  You\nthink I am a brute, a savage.\"\n\n\"I think no such thing,\" she replied, \"but you must yourself feel the\ndifference between you and him.  He is kind, thoughtful, gentle; he is\ncultured and refined.  He gives way to no fits of passion, nor does he\nseek to hurt one's feelings.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" I said, bitterly.  \"He has been to Oxford, and has learnt\ntricks dear to a woman's heart, and, having learnt them, he knows how\nto practise them.  He can quote poetry, and make soft speeches; he can\nplease you with flattery.  His face is pale and interesting, his hands\nare soft and white; and Ruth is very fond of him.\"\n\n\"You are unkind, and you are unjust, Roger.  If he has been fonder of\nstudy than you, and if he has learnt to govern his temper, don't be\njealous or cruel.  Better try and emulate him.  You call yourself\nboorish and clownish.  Try and improve yourself; and then, perhaps, you\nwill not feel so much inferior to your brother.\"\n\nAs I have said before, no one cares to hear another say what in\nself-disparaging moments he often says about himself.  A dozen times in\nthe last fortnight had I spoken of myself as inferior to my brother,\nbut for another to say it was wormwood and gall to me.\n\n\"Copy my brother!\" I said, savagely.  \"Be a soft-fingered coward like\nhim!  To be afraid of my own shadow like him!  Copy him!  Why he is but\na mere woman disgracing the clothes he wears.  Had I been a puny thing\nlike him I should have ran away just as he did, and left you to die on\nyon rocks.  And yet you talk of my copying him.  Why, he's just a\nsoft-muscled contemptible coward.\"\n\n\"I scarcely know which I like less,\" she cried, \"a coward--although I\ndon't admit that your brother is one--or one who boasts of his own\nbravery and taunts you with his own kind deeds.  Roger, do you think\nbecause you cannot appreciate your brother's nobleness that it does not\nexist?\"\n\nThis silenced me.  I had been answered.  She had championed my brother.\nShe had declared in so many words that she preferred him to me.  She\nregarded what I had done for her as nothing.\n\nI found then that my passion had been inflamed by hope, that my\njealousy was due to this reason.  No sooner did Ruth speak in the way I\nhave described than a dull despair laid hold of my heart, and I was\ndumb.  I could see now that she loved Wilfred, and that she saw\nnobility in him, which, in her opinion my nature was too poor to see,\nthat the fact of my having saved her life was to her little more than\nthe action of an animal, who acted instinctively without a thought of\ndanger.  Well, on the whole I was glad to know the worst.  I knew how\nto act now, I was not upheld by any false hope.\n\n\"I am glad you have told me this, Ruth,\" I said quietly.  \"It is best\nthat I should know.  I am afraid I have behaved very rudely! forgive me\nand you shall have no reason to complain again.\"\n\nShe clutched my arm tightly, and seemed about to protest, but I did not\nallow her to speak.\n\n\"It was mean and unmanly of me to say what I have,\" I said, \"but I was\nexcited and almost beside myself; let us walk more rapidly towards\nhome.\"\n\nAt this Ruth looked at my face as if in surprise, and began to speak.\n\n\"I hope I have not hurt your feelings, Roger, but I--that is----\"\n\n\"Pray, don't distress yourself, Ruth,\" I said.  \"It is well you have\nspoken and let me see the truth.  Perchance I shall be thankful some\nday that you have spoken.  Look, what's that?\"\n\nI pointed towards the \"Devil's Tooth,\" which we could still see rising\nclearly against the sky.  On its very summit was a small flickering\nlight, and in my fancy I saw a dark form moving among its rugged peaks.\n\n\"It's a light,\" said Ruth, as if glad to change the subject; \"what can\nit mean?\"\n\n\"It means death,\" I said.\n\n\"Death!  I don't understand, Roger.\"\n\n\"Whenever any one sees a light on the 'Devil's Tooth' it means death to\nsome one belonging to the man or woman who first saw it,\" I replied\nwith a shudder.\n\n\"But that's only a superstition,\" replied Ruth, \"surely you will pay no\nattention to such stories.\"\n\nI knew it was only a superstition; but such is the power of education\nand association that I could do no other than believe the warning to be\nreal.  Why should it come just now when I was so little able to bear\nit?  Why should a darker cloud blacken my sky than was already there?\n\nI looked again.  The light was gone, but surely I saw even in the pale\nmoonlight a dark moving figure.  Try as I would to banish the feeling I\ncould not help fearing that a dread calamity was about to fall on me.\nI felt ill able to bear it.  I had been stunned by the fact of Ruth's\nlove for Wilfred and her dislike for me.  It is true she had not told\nme in as many words that she disliked me, or that she loved Wilfred\nbetter, but I was convinced that she thought him more noble and true,\nand that there was no hope of her ever coming to love me.\n\nIt was quite dark now, and we were away from the soothing influences of\nthe green honeysuckle lane and the rustling of the ripe corn.  We were\nwalking on the top of the cliff and could see the misty outline of the\ncoast.  We walked slowly on for some distance, and then we both\nstopped, trying to see if the dark form were a reality or only a fancy.\nScarcely had we done so when I felt my arm touched.\n\n\"What be 'ee lookin' for, Maaster Roger, my dear?\" said a\nhalf-wheedling, half-mocking voice.\n\nI turned and saw Deborah Teague.\n\nI must confess that seeing her there alone made me feel strangely.  She\nhad not spoken to me since the night when we met in the cave of evil\nrepute.  Whenever we did chance to meet she looked steadily on the\nground, never answering any words I might address to her.  I did not\nwonder at this, for I fancied she had some ill-will towards me for not\ncomplying with her wishes, but I did wonder at her coming now and\nspeaking to me in this familiar way.  Nevertheless, I answered quietly:\n\n\"I thought I saw some one on the 'Devil's Tooth,' but I'm not sure.\"\n\n\"Ded 'ee zee a light jist now?\" she continued.\n\n\"Yes, I did,\" I replied.\n\n\"Do 'ee knaw who made the light?\"\n\n\"No,\" I replied.  \"I have been wondering what it meant.\"\n\n\"Iss, and you've bin tellin' Miss Ruth 'bout it, aint 'ee, Maaster\nRoger?  I'll tell 'ee what you've zid (seen).  You've zid Betsey\nFraddam, my dear, and you do knaw what that do main.\"\n\n\"I know what foolish people say it means,\" I replied, \"but I do not\nknow what it really means.\"\n\n\"Do'ant 'ee?  But you will.  'Tis nearly come, Maaster Roger.  You\ndefied and got vexed with they who would kip this from comin'; but 'tis\ncomin' now!\"\n\n\"What's coming now?\"\n\n\"Trewinion's curse,\" she screamed.\n\n\"You hag,\" I cried, aroused into a passion.  \"You have ill-wished me.\"\n\n\"Ill-wished 'ee?  No, I ain't, and that you do knaw.  We can't ill-wish\na eldest son; but the curse es comin', and that we could have kipt off.\"\n\n\"See there, see there!\" she continued, pointing towards the great\nforbidding-looking rock, \"do 'ee zee the light?  I can!\"\n\nAgain I saw the flickering light on the rock between the great prongs,\nand my flesh crept with fear.\n\n\"Ted'n too late, is it?\" she said.  \"Come to th' ould plaace to-night\nat the same time, and we may do summin.\"\n\n\"Do you think I'm a fool?\" I said.  \"You cannot gull me with your\nstories, for I know your tricks.\"\n\nShe laughed in my face, revealing gums that were toothless save for one\nyellow fang that rested on her lower lip.\n\n\"Oa, I remember it, Maaster Roger,\" she said.  \"Ould Debrah do knaw the\ncurse.  La me zee, how do it go?--\n\n  His power be given to another,\n  And he be crushed by younger brother,\n  Then his son, though born the first,\n  By the people shall be cursed;\n  And for generations three\n  Trewinion's heirs shall cursed be!\n\n\nThe old woman recited these lines glibly, as though they had been often\non her lips, and she chuckled as she repeated them.\n\n\"Go home,\" I said, angrily, \"and trouble me no longer with your ugly\nface.\"\n\n\"Iss!  Iss!  I'll go,\" she screamed; \"but there'll be black days for\nyou.  Ah, yer brother'll be wise if you be'ant.  Ah, a Trewinion\ndisgraced, starvin', ruined!\"\n\nI turned savagely towards her, but old as she was she nimbly stepped\nout of my way, and pointed to the five-pronged rock.\n\n\"The light es gone, and Maaster Roger's hope es gone, unless he do come\nto Betsy Fraddam's cave at midnight, and there 'ee'll zee strange\nthings.\"\n\n\"You'll suffer for this, Deborah,\" I said, almost beside myself.\n\n\"Zee where you're standin',\" she screamed, \"and think of what you zeed\nthree years agone, when you went to see the passen.\"\n\nI looked, and, to my horror, I remembered that long years before I had\non this very spot seen a figure in white, which had disappeared on the\nedge of the cliff.\n\nI was so astonished that for a minute I did not move, and when I\nrecovered my senses Deborah had gone, although I thought I heard her\ncroaking, mocking laugh a little distance away.\n\n\"The old woman is mad, Roger,\" said Ruth; \"let us go home quickly.\"\n\nI was nothing loth.  I hurried on as though the furies were behind me,\nwhile Ruth was evidently as anxious as I to get indoors.\n\nWe had entered the old postern door, and were walking up the drive\nleading to the house, when a servant met me.\n\n\"Mr. Roger,\" he said, anxiously, \"you must please come in at once.\"\n\n\"Why, is anything the matter?\"\n\n\"Yes, your father has fallen off his horse and is badly hurt.\"\n\nA great dread laid hold of me, but I hurried towards his room.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nTHE GATHERING DARKNESS\n\nAs I made my way along the dim corridors, fear gripped me.  The weird\nform I had seen between the prongs of the \"Devil's Tooth\" had told me\nof darkness to come.  This accident to my father was the fulfilment of\nthe omen.  Arrived at the door of my father's bedroom I heard muffled\nvoices within; but no sooner was my arrival known than I was\nimmediately admitted.  I found my father propped up in the bed by\npillows.  There was a ghastly cut upon his face, and his hair was\nclotted with blood.  Evidently, too, he was suffering great pain, and\nhe breathed with difficulty.\n\nNo sooner did he see me than he beckoned me to approach.  Although I\ndid not notice them at the time, I found out afterwards that my mother\nwas there, and Mr. Polperrow, the vicar, together with Mr. Inch and the\nfamily doctor.\n\n\"Roger!\" said my father, hoarsely.\n\n\"Yes, father,\" I said, coming up and kneeling by his bedside.\n\nMy presence seemed to soothe him, for he gave evidence of less\nsuffering, and a look of peace stole over his face.\n\nHe laid his right hand upon my head fondly.  \"My eldest-born boy,\" he\nsaid, slowly, \"my big-hearted son.  I am going to die, Roger,\" he said.\n\n\"No, father, no!\"\n\n\"Yes, Roger, 'twill soon be over.  Only a few hours at most.  I have\nmet with an accident, my boy.  I was riding from Truro, and got near\nhome, when three men, who had been drinking hard at the tavern near by,\ncame out from the hedgeside and frightened Bess; she is a very flighty\nmare, you know.  She gave a side leap and threw me.  My foot caught in\nthe stirrup, and I was dragged along the road until I fancy the mare\ntrod on me.\"\n\nHe said this quite calmly, as though it were a matter of everyday\noccurrence.  As for me, I could not speak, my heart was nearly bursting\nwith pain.\n\n\"I want to say a few more things to you before I die, my own boy,\" he\ncontinued, slowly.\n\n\"Say what you will, father, but don't talk of dying.  Surely, surely,\nthe doctor here can make you well again.\"\n\n\"No, no, Roger, no doctor can cure me,\" and he looked wistfully into\nthe doctor's face, who shook his head sadly.  Then I felt sure that my\nfather's words would come true; that soon I should lose him.\n\nThe doctor felt his pulse; then said that what my father wished to tell\nme must be told quickly.\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" said my father.  \"You, Roger, are my first-born, my own\nboy,\" and again he lingered lovingly over the words.\n\n\"Your own boy,\" I repeated, proudly.\n\n\"You are Trewinion's heir,\" he continued, \"the master of all the\nTrewinion lands.  You remember what I told you years ago, my boy?\"\n\n\"Yes, father.\"\n\n\"Ever remember them, Roger.  Be careful.\"\n\n\"I will, father.\"\n\n\"There were other things in connexion with the history of our people\nthat I meant to tell you, but I kept putting it off, and now it's too\nlate; but perhaps it's as well as it is.  You will find them out in\ntime.  God grant you may be prepared.  What I want to say now refers to\nWilfred, and to Ruth Morton.\"\n\nI scarcely breathed.  I thought I should hear something that would make\nclear my future relation to Ruth, and would clear up the mystery that I\nfelt existed in regard to my brother and myself.\n\n\"Wilfred----\" he hesitated a moment, and then his eyes sought my\nmother's.  Instantly she came to his side, and looked at him strangely.\nHe heaved a sigh, and continued:\n\n\"Wilfred is younger than you, and does not by law inherit any of the\nTrewinion lands.  I have left him money, however, and given him a good\neducation, still----\"\n\n\"What, dear father?\"\n\n\"I fancy he thinks himself hardly treated.  If you like, Roger, you\nmight grant him an annuity,\" and he named a sum.\n\n\"God is my witness, father, that I'll be true to your wishes; if I can,\nI'll give him more.\"\n\n\"That's my own boy, Roger.  He will not need it; but it's perhaps best.\"\n\nI looked at my mother as he said this.  There was a terrible look on\nher face.  I cannot describe it.  Mockery, disdain, anger, despair,\nvindictiveness were all stamped there, but I heeded little; I was too\nintent on catching my father's every word.\n\n\"With regard to the girls, Roger, they will live on with you.  I have\nleft them a farm each--bought with the money saved through the years.\nThe rents of these farms have been, and are, accumulating.  It's all\nwritten down, and, when the lawyer comes, you can go into everything.\nThese farms, and the money received from them, will be their wedding\nportion if they marry; if they don't they will never be in want.\"\n\nI could only say, \"Yes, father.\"\n\n\"If it's God's will,\" he went on, \"Wilfred will succeed Mr. Polperrow\nand have the Trewinion living, unless anything happens to you,\nthen--then he will be Trewinion's heir.\"\n\nInvoluntarily I again looked at my mother's face.  There was exulting\ntriumph on it, mingled with a look of terrible hatred.  I did not know\nwhat it meant, nor could I conjecture.\n\n\"But I hope there's no danger of that,\" he continued.  \"You are my\neldest born, my own boy.\"\n\nHow fondly he repeated these words, and how proud I felt, in spite of\nmy grief, as I heard him speak them; and so I again repeated:\n\n\"I'm your own boy.\"\n\n\"There's just one other matter I'm going to speak to you about,\" he\nsaid, after a pause.  \"I ought to have spoken to you about it before;\nbut I thought there was plenty of time.  Mr. Inch, will you come near?\"\n\nThe old man came up with a stately step.  He had always been treated\nwith great respect in our house, especially as he was Ruth's valued\nfriend, and had much to do with the managing of Ruth's estate.\n\n\"You remember,\" went on my father, and I noticed that he spoke with\nmore difficulty, \"the night you saved Ruth?\"\n\n\"Yes, father.\"\n\n\"I had been in communication with her father prior to that; indeed, as\nyou know, we had been friends for years.\"\n\nHe turned to Mr. Inch when he said this, and went on:\n\n\"You know Mr. Morton's wish with regard to Ruth, Mr. Inch; he told you\nbefore he died all about it?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Mr. Inch, \"and it was mentioned in his will.\"\n\nI looked again at my mother.  There was a stony look upon her face.  It\nwas ghastly to see.\n\n\"Yes, to be sure,\" said my father, \"it was mentioned in the will.  What\nwas his lifelong wish, Roger, was also mine.  His desire and mine was,\nand is, that our families should be united, that you should wed Ruth.\"\n\nIn spite of the tragic circumstances, my heart gave a wild leap for\njoy!  Ruth, my darling, my life, would be mine!  It was her father's\nwish, and she, I was sure, would be faithful to his least desire.  I\ncould bear anything now!\n\n\"Will you do this, Roger?\"\n\n\"Gladly, if Ruth will, father,\" I said huskily.\n\n\"Forgive me for interposing,\" said Mr. Inch, \"but you have not exactly\nstated the true conditions of Mr. Morton's will.\"\n\n\"In what way?\" asked my father.\n\n\"What Mr. Morton stated in his will was that he desired his daughter\nRuth to marry the heir of the Trewinion estate, so that not only might\nthe families be united, but the estates also be joined.\"\n\n\"Well, is not Roger the heir of the Trewinion lands?\"\n\n\"Yes, but you mentioned just now the possibility of anything happening\nto your elder son, then, of course, your second son would take his\nplace.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes.  Of course, of course,\" said my father, wearily.\n\n\"Does Ruth know about her father's wish?\" I asked.\n\n\"No, not yet,\" replied Mr. Inch, \"he thought it best that it should be\nkept from her until she reached her twenty-first birthday, unless\nnecessity arose for her being told.  No such necessity has arisen, and\nhence she remains in ignorance of the arrangement that was made between\nher father and Mr. Trewinion.\"\n\n\"Everything else I have stated in my will,\" said my father, \"and all\nthings are arranged in due form.  Roger, my boy, you will try and be\ntrue to the Trewinion's name?\"\n\n\"God helping me, I will,\" I said, \"but, father, have you anything to\nsay about my mother?\"\n\n\"Your mother!\" he repeated, vacantly.  \"Ah, yes, of course, she will\nlive on here--unless--but that is all arranged.  You need not worry\nabout her.\"\n\nInexperienced as I was, I could not help thinking that this was\nstrange.  Why should my mother's welfare be dismissed in such a\ncareless way?  I could not understand matters.  Perhaps, however,\neverything was privately arranged, and my father did not care to speak\nbefore those who were outside our family circle.\n\nI looked at my mother again, but this time her face told no story.\nEvidently, I was to know nothing about her future, at any rate, for the\npresent.\n\nAfter this my father grew weaker rapidly, and although he suffered but\nlittle pain we knew that his life was fast ebbing away.\n\nWhat I felt as I sat and watched I cannot describe, for he desired me\nto remain to the end.  Nor will I try and write about the farewell\nbetween him and Wilfred, and my sisters, and Ruth.  Such scenes are not\nto be written about; they cannot be.  Even now that solemn hour comes\nback to me, and I try to realise, as I tried to realise then, that my\nfather's spirit went to be with God.\n\nOh, this mystery of death!  It surrounds us all, and yet we understand\nit not.  There we stood talking with him, who was soon to be no more\nwith us--and we knew it.  What would become of his spirit?  We did not\nknow, we could only hope.  Would father become nothing, or would he\nlive on?  I could not realise the fact of his death then.  I can barely\ndo so now.  For one hour my father talked to us.  His brain thought,\nhis tongue spoke, his soul felt, the next--he was gone; and yet he was\nnot gone.  He lay there, the father I had embraced, and yet he did not\nlie there.  The body could not love, and my father _did_ love me.\n\nAfter we had sat some time in silence, Mr. Polperrow spoke to my\nfather.  He asked him if he felt himself safe for the next world; but\nfather answered him not.\n\n\"You have always been a good churchman,\" continued Mr. Polperrow, \"and\nhave always been regular in partaking of the Holy Communion.\"\n\nMy father smiled, I thought sadly, and then he beckoned to me again.\nHe looked as though he had something to tell me--at least, I thought\nso--and I put my ear close to his mouth.  He was now very weak, and\nspoke with difficulty; but I thought I caught the words:\n\n\"Be careful.\"\n\nI thought he referred to the legend about the curse and assured him\nthat I would be careful, but he did not seem satisfied.\n\n\"Beware of----\" he said, and seemed to hesitate before pronouncing the\nword that would make the sentence complete.  He looked round the room\nuntil his eyes rested on the place where my mother and Wilfred stood,\nthen he sighed deeply.\n\n\"I will beware of everything wrong,\" I said, in trying to lead his mind\nfrom difficulty or doubt.  \"You are sure everything is well with you.\nNo vestige of the curse remains with you.\"\n\nHe looked at me strangely, then a smile lit up his face and a new light\nbeamed from his eyes.\n\n\"There is no curse,\" he said.  \"God is love.\"\n\nThese were his last words.  Soon after his soul took its flight into\nthe unseen.\n\nThen I went out into the night alone.  One by one the events of the day\nflashed through my mind, until I was sick and dizzy.\n\nI was terribly excited; but beneath the excitement was a dull, aching\npain.  For hours I walked the headland and tried to realise that my\nfather was dead, that I should hear his voice no more; but realisation\nwas impossible.  I had seen him ride away in the morning, a handsome,\nrobust, man in the prime of life, and now----.\n\nIn my grief for him everything else had for the time been forgotten.\nEverything had been dispelled by this great calamity, and what was\nhardest of all to bear was that I was not sure that my father\nwas--somewhere.  I could not think of him as being in hell.  I could\nnot think of God, father, and hell at the same time, but was he\nanywhere?\n\n\"Father,\" I cried, \"let me know that you are somewhere!  Let me hear\nyou speak, if only a word; only to know that all is well.\"\n\nThe night was very still.  Not a breath of wind stirred, the harvest\nmoon was just sinking into the sea, and the water was all aglow with\nits light.  But I heard no voice.  Even the sea made no noise, so still\nwere its waters.\n\n\"Ah!\" I cried, \"my father is gone, for ever gone, and I am cursed with\nthe curse of my people.\"\n\nWas it fancy?  Was it the voice of man or the voice of God that I heard\nin answer to my despairing cry?  Fancy it could not be, for it was past\nmidnight and I stood alone on the great headland.  Surely God spoke to\nme, for there, alone in the silence, I heard my father's last words\nrepeated.  How they came I know not, but this I know, in tones sweeter\nthan thought can fancy came the glorious message, \"There is no curse,\nGod is love.\"\n\nAfter that I was able to think and connect, link by link, the events of\nthe evening.\n\nAnd all this was but the twilight which told of the coming night.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nTHE CALL TO RENOUNCE\n\n              Whereat Siddartha turned,\n  And lo! the moon shone by the crab! the stars\n  In that same silver order long foretold\n  Stood in range to say, \"This is the right!--Choose thou\n  The way of greatness or the way of good;\n  To reign a King of Kings, or wander lone,\n  Crownless, and homeless that the world be helped.\"\n          --_The Light of Asia._\n\n\nAfter this I went back to my room, and tried to realise the true\nposition of matters.  One by one I thought over the events of the day,\nand tried to understand their purport.  \"There's Providence in the fall\nof a sparrow,\" said Hamlet, and I, being to a certain extent a believer\nin this, fancied that everything through which I had gone was an\nessential part of the drama of my life.\n\nFirst, there was Ruth's preference for Wilfred and her dislike for me.\nWell, I must bear that.  Besides, I was not sure.  It is always the\nfunction of a true-hearted woman to speak well of the absent one,\nespecially if he be maligned.  I would not yet allow myself to be\ndowncast.\n\nThen there was the light on the great rock, the rock of evil repute,\nthe rock that lured vessels to their destruction.  I thought again and\nagain of this.  Then there was the appearance of Deborah Teague, who\ntold me the light foreboded evil, while the weird dark form between the\nprongs told the same story.  On other occasions I might have laughed at\nall this; but that terrible calamity following so soon after the\nwarning impressed me strangely.\n\nYet what connexion could these dark omens have with the death of my\nfather?  What link was there between evil women and one of the purest\nand best of men.  Clearer than all omens and louder than evil words was\nmy father's last message to me, a message repeated by the voice of\nHeaven, \"There is no curse; God is Love.\"\n\nThus when daylight came, I was calm, and although I had passed a\nsleepless night I was not altogether unrefreshed.\n\nThree weary days followed, and then the funeral.  Of that time I have\nnot much to say.  I was mostly alone, except when I was obliged to\nattend to the business which now devolved upon me, though I declared\nthat nothing of importance should be dealt with until after my father's\nburial.\n\nFrom the members of the family I received only kindness.  My mother\nsaid nothing that could hurt my feelings; indeed, she seemed\nconsiderate and at times almost gentle.  Wilfred, too, was more like\nthe Wilfred of olden times when we were on good terms with each other.\nThere was no change in my sisters.  They always loved me, and were more\nthan usually loving, while Ruth was the comforting, cheering influence\nof the house.  Never until now did I realize the sweetness of her\nnature, or her power to cheer and help others when her own heart was\nalmost breaking.\n\nI could not do much; but in my clumsy way I tried to make them all feel\nmy father's loss less.\n\nAnd thus the time passed until my father was laid in the old family\nvault, and we returned to our old house on the cliff.  Then we came\nback to the hard material things of life.  We had to listen to father's\nlast will and testament, and hear his latest wishes.  All the family\ngathered in the library, together with Mr. Inch, Ruth, our solicitor,\nwho also attended to the legal matters of Ruth's estate, Mr. Tremain,\nthe doctor, and Mr. Polperrow, the vicar.\n\nI need not here state the terms of the will: they have already been\nhinted at.  Everything that a loving father could devise for the\nwelfare of his children my father had done.\n\nNot a word was spoken when the lawyer's voice ceased.  If Wilfred was\ndiscontented he said nothing at the time, and my sisters were too\novercome with grief to trouble about what money was left them.  No\nsooner had the will been read, however, than Mr. Inch spoke.\n\n\"It seems to me that this is the time for the wishes of Mr. Morton and\nMr. Trewinion to be made known,\" he said.\n\nI began to tremble violently, while Ruth evidently wondered what was\ncoming.\n\nThe lawyer complied very graciously with Mr. Inch's request.  \"This\nseems to be the right time,\" he said.\n\nI could not help thinking that the matter had been arranged beforehand,\nespecially when Mr. Tremain produced a certain document and began to\nread therefrom.\n\nThe words he read were very plain and distinct.  They stated that it\nwas the wish of Mr. Morton that his daughter Ruth should in due time\nmarry the heir of the Trewinion estate, and while he did not enforce it\nas a condition of her becoming his sole heiress, he still trusted that\nhis daughter's love for him would lead her to obedience.  After this\nthe lawyer went on to say that on the night of his death my father had\nreiterated the same wish.\n\nWhen he had finished reading and speaking I looked at Ruth.  Her face\nwas pale as death, and I saw that she was terribly moved.  The\nrevelation had come to her as a great shock, and I could not help\nseeing that a look of anger and disgust flashed from her eyes.\n\n\"My father wish that I should marry Roger!\" she exclaimed, huskily.\n\"Never!  It cannot be!\"\n\nMy heart sank like lead; but no further word was spoken.  Soon the\nfamily conclave broke up, and we adjourned to the dining-hall.\n\nI felt very strange, sitting at the head of the table in my father's\nchair, and for a time was almost overcome; but I rallied presently, and\nduring the dinner was quietly thinking what was best to do.  Although\nthe head of the family, I felt I was quite alone.  Everything told me\nthat all in the house, excepting, perhaps my sisters, were in league\nwith my mother against me.\n\nI made up my mind, however, that I would not speak for three days to\nRuth concerning her father's wish, and that then I would, if I dared,\nsay the words my heart was burning to make known.\n\nNothing worthy of mention passed during the dinner-hour, but\nafterwards, having occasion to go into the library, I found Ruth alone.\nInstantly I wanted to refer to what had been said concerning us.  My\nblood rushed madly to my head and my hands trembled.\n\nI do not know, but I think she saw what was in my mind, for she turned\naway her face and walked toward the window.\n\n\"Ruth,\" I said, \"why do you go away from me?\"\n\nShe began to sob violently.\n\n\"Ruth,\" I continued, \"something must grieve you to make you cry thus.\nIs it because of what has been said about us?  If so, do not grieve any\nmore.  I will never ask you to do what would give you pain.\"\n\nHer sorrow was terrible to see.  Was it because of me that her grief\nwas so bitter?\n\n\"Don't give way so,\" I went on.  \"Shall I leave you alone?  I am sure I\ndo not wish to give you any trouble.  After our walk the other night I\ndetermined I would never say another word to hurt your feelings, and\nI'll be true to my determination.  I did not mean to speak about the\nwill for some time, but perhaps it would be better if I were to tell\nyou now.  Ruth, it is the dearest wish of my life that we should fulfil\nour fathers' wish in this matter.  I have loved you ever since--since\nthat terrible night, when you first came, but I never realized it until\nthe day that Wilfred came home from Oxford.  Then I was nearly mad with\njealousy.  I am afraid I have been very rude to you since, but it was\nbecause I love you so, for Ruth, I would do anything to make you happy.\"\n\nStill she sat leaning forward on a table, her head buried in her hands,\nand sobbing as though her heart would break.\n\n\"It hurts me to hear you cry so,\" I said, \"and I can see now why it is.\nBut cheer up, Ruth.  I will not speak of this any more.  I will never\nask you to obey your father's will.  You shall not have the pain of\nlinking your life to mine.  I love you too well for that.  God bless\nyou, Ruth.  I will try and find out what will make you happy, and then\nyou shall see how I love you; for I will do all in my power to give you\nwhat you want.\"\n\nShe held up her head.  There was an expression of thankfulness on her\nface; a look of intense relief, as though a burden was taken away.\n\nI knew my fate then; and while it gave me joy to give her one minute's\npleasure, yet it was agony to think that the promise of my absence\nshould be the cause of it.  So great indeed was the pain that I could\nnot bear it, and stumbled blindly out.  In spite of the fact that when\nI got into the hall I thought I heard her calling \"Roger\" I rushed away\nto the cliffs, whither I always fled in my hours of trouble.\n\nBut the events of the day were not yet at an end.  As I stood alone\nlooking at the sea I saw a great cloud rising in the northern sky.\nSoon I knew we should be enveloped in it and feel its darkness.  In\nlike manner was there a cloud, darker than all the rest, rising in the\nsky of my life.  What it was I could not say; but I felt its coining,\nand I shuddered.  \"Coming events cast their shadows before,\" says the\nold adage, and looking backward I can see how true it was in this case.\n\nAimlessly I wandered on while the evening shadows gathered around, and\nthe sea sobbed its sad song, telling me of the storm that was surely\ncoming.  As chance or fate would have it, I passed by the cottage of\nold Deborah Teague, and there in the grey twilight I saw her, with\nMally Udy, quietly smoking.  They looked up at my approach, but spoke\nnot.  A low chuckle escaped both of them, however, but I had no heart\nto speak to them.  Still, their gruesome appearance added to the dark\nfeelings that possessed me, and the dark shadows became more real.\n\nAt length I made my way back to the house, and although I was its\nlawful owner, and although every inch of land for a long distance\naround was mine, I felt that I was a stranger and an interloper.  It\nwas cold, too, cold as a vault, and as I passed along, the stone paved\nhall made a clanking noise which echoed through the silent rooms.  I\nheard the wind howling too, and the sea began to roar, and when this\nwas so there was always a ghostly, weird feeling about our old grey\nhouse.\n\nAs if drawn on by a spell, I made my way to the library, and on\narriving there found my mother sitting alone.\n\n\"I have been waiting for you, Roger,\" said my mother quietly.  \"I felt\nthere were some things about which I ought to speak to-night, and so\nwould not retire until I saw you.\"\n\n\"And what about the girls, mother?\" I said.  \"Where are they, and where\nis Wilfred?\"\n\n\"They are all gone to bed.  It has been a terrible day for them all,\nespecially for Ruth, and so I sent them off.  Besides, we must speak\nalone to-night.\"\n\n\"Speak alone, mother?  I thought everything was settled.  I am weary,\nand desire no business to-night.  I have had much to do for three days,\nand have more to do to-morrow.  I must rest.\"\n\n\"There is such a thing as duty as well as pleasure,\" said my mother\nseverely.  \"You are now Trewinion's lord, and surely it is your duty to\ncare about the happiness of others.  Besides, a mother should ever be\nable to command her son?\"\n\n\"Just so, mother,\" I said wearily.  \"Tell me what you wish, and I will\ndo my best to obey you.\"\n\n\"Roger,\" she said in an altered tone, \"you have had the reputation of\nbeing kind-hearted and generous.  I know you have often thought me hard\nupon you; but if I have been so, it was only from the desire to make\nyou gentle as well as generous.\"\n\nI looked upon her in surprise, and in spite of my sorrow my heart\nbounded with hope.  Perhaps my father's death had destroyed all hard\nfeelings, and now I should know the meaning of a mother's love.\n\n\"Mother,\" I said, \"I have been rough and harsh.  I'll try to be a\nbetter son, and perhaps we may be happy in the future.\"\n\nA sharp spasm, as if of pain, crossed her face, but she spoke naturally.\n\n\"It may be,\" she went on, \"that what I shall say may hurt you, but I\nonly want to be a kind, loving mother.\"\n\nMy heart warmed more than ever.  \"I am sure that is your desire,\nmother,\" I said.\n\nShe was silent for a minute, and again I saw the look of of pain which\ncrossed her face.\n\n\"Roger,\" she burst out, \"what I have to say nearly kills me,\" and she\nburst into a flood of tears.\n\nI went to her side and soothed her.\n\n\"Don't grieve, mother,\" I said, \"and don't say anything that will give\nyou pain.\"\n\n\"No, no, it's not that,\" she said, and then cried out, \"I can't tell\nhim, I can't.\"\n\n\"Don't, mother,\" I cried.  \"Wait until you are stronger, and then tell\nme.  These few days have been terrible for you.  I have been thinking\ntoo much about myself.  I have been remembering that I have lost my\nfather, but have forgotten that you have lost your husband.  I know\nit's terrible, mother, but dear father is happy now, and Wilfred and I\nwill take care of you.\"\n\nAt the mention of Wilfred's name her face changed.  A look of\ndetermination came upon her face, and her hands clenched nervously.\n\n\"Roger,\" she said, \"I am calm now, and hard as it is to tell you I will\ndo so.\"\n\nI sat down before her, wondering what was coming.\n\n\"You remember the night of your--your father's--death?\"\n\n\"Yes, mother.\"\n\n\"He said it was his wish, and the wish of Mr. Morton that you should\nwed Ruth.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I said, my heart beating violently.\n\n\"Roger, that must never be!\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\nI spoke harshly, for my heart became hard as a stone, and yet it seemed\nto grow too big for my bosom.\n\n\"Because,\" she answered, her voice trembling as she did so, \"she\nloathes, shudders at the thought of marrying you.\"\n\n\"How dare you say this?\" I cried angrily, and yet I knew her words were\ntrue.  Ruth's face had told me the same story only that very evening.\n\n\"If you wish to drive her mad, kill her, murder her!\" went on my\nmother, \"ask her to do as her father wishes.\"\n\n\"What is there in me to drive her mad, or to murder her?\" I cried.  \"I\nhave always been kind to her.\"\n\n\"Nothing, nothing, Roger.  She loves you as a brother.  You have been\nvery good to her.  None of us forget that twice you saved her life.\"\n\n\"Then why do you say she loathes me?\"\n\n\"Can you not see what I mean?  She does not loathe you as a brother;\nbut she loathes the thought of your being her husband, and were you to\ninsist on a marriage, you would kill her!\"\n\n\"Why?  You say she loves me as a brother; why, then, should the other\nthought be so terribly abhorrent?  Could she not in time learn to give\nme more than a brother's love?\"\n\n\"Never!\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Because she loves another!\"\n\n\"Another!  Who?\"\n\n\"Can you not guess?\"\n\nGuess!  Ah, yes; I could indeed.  Had I not seen it for weeks?  My\nmother need not tell me more.  I knew perfectly well.\n\n\"Surely you have seen that they have been lovers from childhood,\" she\nwent on.  \"She has been all in all to him, while--well, you must have\nseen how she regarded him.  He did not speak to her about it, however,\nuntil he came home from Oxford, and then, on the day of his arrival, he\ntold her what he had felt for years.\"\n\n\"And she?\"\n\n\"She told him--that--what in short he had been longing to hear, and,\nalthough we knew it not, they became betrothed.\"\n\nIt was what I had thought, it did not surprise me, and yet I felt sick\nand giddy.  It was some time before I could speak, and then I could\nonly stammer out:\n\n\"And she promised to be his wife?\"\n\nMy mother nodded.\n\nNo words can describe what I felt, for never until then did I realise\nhow I loved her, or what pain it was for me to lose her.\n\n\"Do you love Ruth very much, Roger?\" asked mother.\n\n\"Love her!\" I cried, \"love her!  I would die for her.\"\n\n\"And she loves Wilfred, and would never be happy away from him.\"\n\nI fought it down after a while; crushed all my envy, jealousy, and\nhatred--for hate did possess me for a time--and then turned to my\nmother again.\n\n\"Let Ruth and Wilfred be happy,\" I said, \"I shall put in no claim, her\nhappiness is more important than mine.\"\n\n\"They cannot,\" said my mother.\n\n\"Cannot!\" I cried.  \"Why?\"\n\n\"Because it was her father's wish that she should marry Trewinion's\nheir, and she will do it, though she dies the next day.\"\n\n\"I do not understand.\"\n\n\"You know how much she has ever thought of her father.  No one I ever\nsaw loved a parent, or a parent's memory, as much as she loved her\nfather's.  And now, although she would have to sacrifice everything\ndear to her heart, she will be true to his wish.\"\n\n\"But I will not have it so.  I will not call for the sacrifice.\"\n\n\"Then you are hindering her father's wish from being fulfilled, and you\nwill still be keeping Ruth and Wilfred apart.\"\n\n\"But what can I do?\"\n\nMy mother was silent.\n\nThen I saw her meaning.  My very existence was the great evil.  I was\nTrewinion's heir, whom her father wished her to marry, and yet she\nhated the thought of it; while she could not marry the man she loved\nbecause of her father's will.  Meanwhile she was suffering a terrible\ntorture--and I was causing it.\n\nI tried to look at the whole matter fairly and boldly.  What were the\nalternatives?  I was Roger Trewinion's eldest son, and if I allowed my\nfather's and Mr. Morton's will to be carried out, I doomed my darling\nto a loathsome life--a living death, while, though I should attain the\nobject most dear to me, I should live in hell, the hell of being with a\nwoman who loved another man.  If I refused to marry her, things would\nbe nearly as bad.  I should still be dooming her to misery; she would\nnot marry my brother, I should never be free from the thought that I\nwas keeping others from happiness, while the two houses of Trewinion\nand Morton would not be united.\n\nSlowly it came at first!  Then the full meaning of the thought flashed\nupon me!  I could not do it, I could not!  And yet it was the only way.\n\nRenounce my name, my possessions, my identity!  Go away and never\nreturn!\n\nThat was the alternative, the only way by which the houses could be\nunited, the only way Ruth could be happy.\n\n\"I see what you mean, mother,\" I cried out at last, \"but I must have\ntime, I cannot decide in a moment.  I must speak to Ruth, to Wilfred.\"\n\n\"Why speak to Ruth?  You will only give her more pain.  You spoke this\nafternoon.  Why cause her to bear more than she is already bearing?\"\n\nRuth had told her, then, and doubtless told her, too, what were her\nfeelings towards Wilfred!  I saw the truth, the force of her words, and\nyet it was very hard.\n\n\"I must think, mother,\" I said.  \"I know you love Wilfred the better; I\nknow you think him far more fit to be the head of the house than I; you\nthink I ought to make the sacrifice, but I must have time to think.\"\n\n\"How long, Roger?  The day after to-morrow Ruth leaves Trewinion Manor.\"\n\n\"Leave!  Why?\"\n\n\"Need you ask?  She cannot wait here in the house with the man she\nthinks she has to marry, when the thought of such a thing is terrible.\"\n\nI was driving Ruth away then.  Not only was I giving her pain and\nsorrow, but because of me she was going to leave the only home wherein\nshe could be happy.  It was true she could return to her own home,\nwhich had been kept in repair, but I knew she did not intend going\nthere until she came of age.\n\n\"She does not wish to be with me longer than she thinks she is forced\nby her father's will?\" I said.\n\n\"She knows she is not expected to marry you until she is twenty-one.\nThat will not be for some time, and so she is going away.\"\n\nThis was hardest of all to bear, it drove me to madness.  Her\ndetestation of me was so great that she determined to shun me.\n\n\"Just one word more, mother.  Have you spoken to me because of Ruth's\ndesire, or with her sanction?\"\n\nA strange look flashed across my mother's face; then she said, \"Roger,\nnever think I can answer that question.\"\n\nMy brain seemed on fire, and I could not tell what to do, I could not\ndecide.  I simply rushed out of the room saying, \"You will soon know.\"\n\nI made my way to my room upstairs, and in passing along a corridor I\nsaw a light in Mr. Inch's room.  Immediately I knocked at his door, and\non receiving permission, entered.  I found him busy with a lot of\npapers.\n\n\"Is it correct that you and Miss Morton are going to leave us, Mr.\nInch?\" I said.\n\nHe bowed, and said, quietly but distinctly, \"It is so decided.\"\n\n\"Might I ask the reason for this abrupt departure?\" I said.  \"I have\nheard nothing about it until to-night.\"\n\nHe looked at me for a moment steadily; then he said,\n\n\"It is not for me to say; surely you should know that it is next to\nimpossible for her to remain here now.\"\n\nHe also had told me in words as plain as words could tell what she\nfelt.  I must think, think alone.  I found my way to my bedroom, but my\nmind would not work there.  I must get out under the broad sky, where\nall was free.  So again I left the house, went away towards the highest\npoint on the headland, where, hundreds of feet below, the waves were\nlashing themselves into foam as they broke upon the great rugged rocks.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nNIGHT\n\n\"And Esau hated Jacob. . . .  And Esau said in his heart, the days of\nmourning for my father are at hand; then will I slay my brother\nJacob.\"--_The Book of Genesis._\n\n\nIt did not rain, but the wind blew a wild hurricane.  Now and then it\nseemed to cease, and I could hear a kind of moaning sound which the sea\nmade, but again it came as though it would sweep away the great rocks\nthat grimly defied the fury of the elements.  I did not mind this,\neverything accorded with my feelings.  I found ease in breasting the\nstorm, I breathed more freely when the wind blew its loudest.\n\nBy and by the thunders began to roar and the lightnings to flash, still\nno rain fell, so I did not mind.\n\nBut it was terrible to be alone on such a night, and with such a\nproblem to solve.  For hours I think I was mad.  I am sure that in my\nfrenzy my voice could be heard above the wind and wave.  Nothing,\nhowever, made me forget what lay before me.  The future ever haunted\nme, and turned the thunderings of the wave into derisive mocking\nlaughter.\n\nNow and then I would stand and look at the old house, which I could\ndimly see in the stormlight, and when I did so it became dearer than\never to me.  It was the home of my fathers, the place wherein they had\ndied, and my heart clave unto it.  I felt proud of my name--proud that\nI was born the representative of my family, and to give it up seemed\nlike pulling at my heart-strings.\n\nAnd thus I was tempted in the night; I would maintain my position as\nTrewinion's heir.  I would wed Ruth.  I would brave everything and\ncarry out the wish of my father.  Ruth did not love me now, but she\nmight learn to love me in time, besides, I could not give her up.  I\nloved her--loved her supremely.  All the strength of my nature, moulded\nlargely by wild surroundings and an uncultured people, was given to\nher.  I did not love tamely.  It was no tender passion I felt, it was a\nmad, passionate adoration.  I can call it nothing less.  Fer her I\ncould brave danger, difficulty, death; but I could not give her up.\n\nAnd I would not!\n\nWhy should I?  I was master, I would remain so.  I would maintain my\nrights.  I would let Wilfred know that I was the elder brother and he\nthe younger.  And Ruth should be mine.  My father wished it, and so did\nhers, and so I would claim her.  I would take my father's place and\nreign righteously.  I would be a pattern to the neighbouring gentry,\nand my name should be respected far and wide.  This was what every\neldest son of my race save one had done--that is, they had all claimed\ntheir position, and so would I.  Wilfred's happiness!  Well, Wilfred\nhad always defied me and treated me as an inferior.  Wilfred must take\ncare of himself; he must be thankful that I gave him the annuity my\nfather had mentioned.  I could not help being born the first; besides,\nwhat had I to do with his happiness?  What right had he to seek to win\nRuth's affections?  Doubtless he who was so friendly with Mr. Inch\nwould know her father's wish.  Thus he must have acted like a sneak to\nhave sought what could not be fairly given to him.  And Ruth!  Did I\nnot love her, would I not humour her every wish, grant her every\ndesire, and devote my life to make her happy?\n\nAnd mother?\n\nShe had never cared for me, never trusted me, never treated me as a\nson, never told me of her intentions.  I did not know, indeed, if she\nwere my mother.  Why, then, should I trouble about her?  If need be she\ncould go and live with Wilfred; at any rate, I would be Trewinion's\nlord, and maintain my rights.\n\nThen the other side presented itself.  If this were carried out what\nwould be the result?  I should see Ruth suffering, pining day by day.\nShe would loathe my presence, she would shudder at my embrace.  By my\nselfishness I should wreck her life.  I should be her murderer.  Then\nwhat happiness should I have?  Could I be happy while the woman I loved\nwas being cursed by my presence?\n\nThen I put it this way: If I went away--not that I should, but\nconsidering it suppositiously merely--if I went away, what would be the\nresult?  Wilfred would claim to be master; he would be Trewinion's\nheir; he would wed Ruth, who would gladly join her life to his--for\nwere they not affianced lovers?--my mother would rejoice, and all would\nbe happy.  My black shadow would be taken from their lives, and they\ncould for ever live in the sunshine.\n\nThe picture seemed bright, and for a moment the thought of it gave me\npleasure.  Then I remembered that I should be leaving Ruth for ever; I\nshould be leaving my old home for ever; I should not die in the great\nchamber where all my ancestors had died.  I should be a wanderer, a\nvagrant, homeless and friendless.\n\nBesides, what could I do?  Strong and hardy I was, as a man could well\nbe, but I had no trade or profession.  That is the curse which befalls\neldest sons who expect fortunes; if anything happens to them they have\nno profession on which to rely.  What did I know?  Something of the\nmanagement of an estate, but not enough for a steward, nor would anyone\nhire a steward without an assurance as to his abilities and past\ncareer.  I was not fit for that, and if I went away the name of Roger\nTrewinion must be sunk for ever, so that I could not seek such a post.\nThe only thing I could say I was fit for was the post of a sailor.  If\nI went away I must try and get a place in a trading vessel.\n\nI thought of all this, but would not confess to myself that I was\nseriously thinking of leaving my home, the sacrifice was too great.\n\nMeanwhile the storm was raging, and flakes of foam were blown against\nmy face.  Then I felt some raindrops falling, and the sky became more\nlowering.\n\nI would go in and go to bed, and on the morrow I would speak to Ruth.\n\nThen came the moment of final struggle.  Ruth was leaving the house\nbecause of me, because she loathed the thought of being my wife, and\nbecause she wished to be free from me as long as she could.\n\nThis thought took away much of my interest in home, as well as my\ndesire to remain among the scenes of my early childhood.  It chilled\nthose warm feelings of attachment for the homestead, and for the people\nwho had become a part of my life.\n\nRuth leave because of me!  And yet it was because of Ruth I wanted to\nstay.  I would look at the matter again.  I wanted to make Ruth happy;\nbut what was the course I must take in order to do that?  The great\nhindrance to her happiness was myself.  I was the black cloud that hid\nher sun.  If I did not exist her joy would be complete, for then she\nwould be free to wed the man she loved.\n\nAnd while I was fighting this battle the storm beat furiously upon me.\nNever shall I forget how the wind blew, nor how the waves became more\nand more maddened.  Dimly I could see the great mountains of waters, as\nwith thundering roars they hurled themselves on the rockbound coast and\nbecame churned into foam.  How stern and pitiless nature was, how\ncareless of all human joys or sorrows!  It was well I had my dying\nfather's assurance that God was love, or I could never have believed it\nthen.  To me there was an almighty devil ruling the universe.  A being\nwho hated us, and sought our destruction.\n\nI was however glad of the storm.  It helped me.  I had to resist, to\nexert myself.  It gave play to my active nature; it kept me from\nsuccumbing to the dark cloud of sorrow in which I was enveloped.\n\nI know not how, nor can I tell the exact moment when the decision was\nmade; but, in the end, I decided to leave the old homestead and to give\nRuth happiness.  I claim no virtue for my act.  There was not much in\nit after all.  I should never be happy if I remained at home; nay,\nTrewinion Manor would be hell to me, while spectres that I should\nconstantly be raising would haunt my life.  Besides, I might find some\nrelief away.  I would go, I would roam the world all over, and,\nperhaps, away from the scene of my misery, I should find peace.  My\nheart was breaking, and it was not worth while for me to add misery to\nthat which was already felt by those by whom I was surrounded.\n\nIt may be said by those who read this that my act was one of great\nself-denial; but if it was it brought none of that peace and inward\nsatisfaction which are said to come from such deeds.  My misery, if\npossible, became more intense, and the storm seemed to mock me with\nshrieks and howls of derision.\n\nWith a great weight on my heart I crept back to the house, and slowly\nwent to my room.  When should I go?\n\n\"To-morrow\" was the response of my weaker nature.  \"Get a good night's\nrest, make an impressive scene before Ruth, and go away with a flourish\nof trumpets.\"  But that would not do.  I doubt whether I could have had\nthe heart to go away in the daylight if I saw Ruth near me.  Besides, I\ndid not want to go away openly; I would leave in secret, when no eye\nshould see me, and when no one should be able to trace me.  When should\nI go?\n\n\"Now!\"\n\nThat was the answer of my stronger and sterner nature.  Leave in the\nnight, alone, and at once.  Never look at the sweet face of Elizabeth\nand Katherine, never be weakened by the beauty of Ruth, never be shaken\nin my resolve by the patronising pride of Wilfred or the unloving look\nof my mother.  Delay would be dangerous.  On the one hand were\ninfluences leading me to stay, by making me defiant, hard, and bitter;\non the other, by making me weak and yielding.  I would go at once then.\n\nWhere?\n\nThat mattered not for the time.  I would leave the house at once, and\ndecide my course when once away and alone.\n\nShould I let any one know what had become of me, should I write a\nletter to Ruth, or Wilfred, or mother?  I dared not.  To do that would\nweaken me at once.  Still, it would be better that I should let them\nall know that I was gone away, never to return.\n\nI clothed myself in a strong plain suit of clothes, which I had used\nwhen shooting on our boggy rough moors, put twenty guineas in my\npocket, and then went down into the library again.  I did not look\naround me and think of the hours I had spent there.  If I did Ruth\ncould not be happy, for I should not have sufficient courage to remove\nmy black shadow from her life.  I went to the writing desk and began to\ntry to say good-bye.  That I found I could not do, so I simply wrote\nthe words:\n\n\"From this time Roger Trewinion is no more.  He ceases to be so that\nWilfred can be Trewinion's heir and Ruth can be happy.  Let Wilfred do\nhis duty, or Roger Trewinion may come to life again.\"\n\nThat was all, and after I had written it I felt more calm.  Then I took\na stout oak stick, on which was engraven my father's name, and one\nwhich he usually took when out walking and went away from the house, in\nmy heart bidding it good-bye for ever.\n\nI walked rapidly northwards, keeping close to the cliffs.  It was now\nearly morning, but the sun had not yet risen.  The black clouds had\npassed away, but the sea forgot not its anger, and still broke\nfuriously upon the shore.\n\nI must have walked five miles when I saw signs of day.  The sky changed\nfrom nearly black into a sombre grey, while the sea became like unto\nthe sky.  The birds creeping from their night resting-places, began to\nsing, and from the farms by which I passed I heard the sound of the\ncocks crowing.\n\nOn I tramped, anxious to get away from the neighbourhood where I was\nknown, the light becoming clearer and clearer as I went, until I could\nsee the outline of the coast.  Then before me I saw a great jutting\nheadland, similar to the one on which our house was built, thence I\nshould be able to see my old home.\n\nBy the time I got there it was broad day, I think about five o'clock,\nand wistfully I scanned the coast.  Yes, there was Trewinion clear and\nplain, although miles away.  The grey, rugged walls stood out\ndistinctly and striking, while the tower lifted its head proudly into\nthe sky.  And this home I had given up.  Back from it stretched broad\nacres that were mine, and these I had renounced for a woman.\n\n\"Treat her well, Wilfred, or by the Creator of us both you shall curse\nthe day on which you were born.\"\n\nI muttered this between my closed teeth, for at that moment I knew I\nhated him.\n\nThen I remembered the Trewinion's curse.\n\nDo I believe in supernatural agencies, in witchcraft?  Am I prey to\nsuperstitious fancies?  I cannot answer.  The unseen world is so linked\nwith the seen that they are but one world.  I cannot tell where to draw\nthe line between natural and supernatural.  To me the two are one.  But\nthis I know; the moment I realised that I hated Wilfred, I was cursed\nwith a terrible curse.  Evil passions surged within me, I planned dark\ndeeds, murder did not seem hateful, and hell far worse than that which\nI had felt when I had been struggling on the cliff was now my doom.\n\nA bottomless pit!  I was in it.  A pit of slavery to evil desire, of\nsavage joy which was not joy, at the thought of evil.  This was where I\nwas.\n\nHe, the miserable sneak, had robbed me of my love, my all.  And yet I\ncould not go back.  The house was mine, the lands were mine, yet I\ncould not claim them.  I was bound, yet I could not see the fetters\nwhich chained me.\n\nDoes a curse like unto mine follow the footsteps of men who hate, or\ndoes the Trewinion race stand alone.  Be that as it may, I felt cursed,\nthe clear fountains of my manhood were gone.  Roger Trewinion was more\ndemon than man.  For hatred poisons the soul.\n\nAnd yet I loved Ruth.  This, I think, was the power that kept me from\ngoing back and doing evil, and yet this love did not make me hate the\nless.  Nay, it made hatred more intense.\n\nLong I stood alone in the grey morning, watching the bleak house that\nstood in the distance, while the sea moaned and sobbed miserably, as if\nto add another feeling to the misery of my heart.  I seemed riveted\nthere.  I looked at the five prongs of the \"Devil's Tooth\" like one\nentranced, and thought of their associations.  I saw the place where I\nhad saved Ruth, when she had fallen from the cliffs.  I fancied I\ndetected the place where the witches' cave stood, and I remembered all\nthat had been said.\n\n\"Ah,\" I cried, \"Deborah Teague is indeed a true prophet.  Dark omens\nhave a meaning.  I am indeed homeless, friendless, forsaken, and the\nTrewinion curse is come.  I go now, never to return, while my love is\ngiven to another, and my power is taken by my younger brother.  Yet\nseemingly I have done nothing to merit this.\"\n\nFor a time I was mad.  I shook my fist and called down curses upon\nWilfred and my mother.  I prayed that they should never have rest or\njoy, and that the ghost of my father should haunt them.  And yet I\ncould give no real reason for this, only that my heart was black.\n\nI felt I must go on.  I must get farther away from the place where my\nlife had been spent; so I gave one look more, one long hungering look\nthat was full of agony, and as at last I turned my eyes away, my heart\nstrings seemed to snap.\n\nThen I set my teeth together, clasped my stick firmly, and, with\nlowering brow and a black heart, trudged wearily northward.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nA WANDERER\n\nI went on heedlessly for a mile or so.  I was stunned, and felt strange\nand giddy; but by and by I felt I must come to such decision in regard\nto my course.  So I struck into the main road, and continued my journey\nnorthward.  By this time I felt the warmth and brightness of the day.\nThe sun was now clear of the horizon, and revealed the glittering\ndewdrops that hung on grass and flower.  The majestic hills rose on\neither side of me, the waving cornfields presented a rich and beautiful\nappearance.\n\nThe glories of nature did not soften me, however.  My heart was still\nhard with hatred and disappointment, and I was too busy with my sad\nthoughts to decide what to do, or to what town to steer.\n\nPresently a man met me, the first I had seen since I started.  He was a\nfarm labourer, taking his oxen to the fields to plough, and on looking\nat my watch I found that I had been walking for about six hours, and\nthat I must be at least twenty miles from home.  The man touched his\nhat, although I was sure he did not know me.  Evidently my dress was\nnot that of a workman.  If I was to get a place as a workman, I must\ndress like one.\n\n\"Where does this road lead to?\" I asked of the man.\n\n\"Dun knaw, zur, I'm sure, but they do zay as 'ow it do go to\nWaadbrudge.\"\n\n\"Wadebridge, eh?  Do you know how far it is away?\"\n\n\"No, zur, I doan't, for I never bin more'n vive mile away from\nTreloggas, which is my home, zur, but my maaster es a bit of a\ntraveller, zur.  He've bin to Bodmun, and he do zay as 'ow Waadbrudge\nes fifteen mile on.\"\n\n\"Fifteen miles.  Is it a good road?\"\n\n\"Oi, iss, zur.  You do git into the turnpike dreckly (directly), and\nthen the roads sa smoove as a booard.\"\n\n\"And is there a publichouse anywhere near?\"\n\n\"Iss, zur, 'bout three mile on thurs a kiddley-wink (beershop) that do\nbelong to Tommy Dain, he as can raise the devil, you do knaw, zur.\"\n\nThis helped me to decide what to do.  Wadebridge was a little seaport,\nand there I should perhaps get on board a vessel that would take me\nright away from home.  Then, perhaps, when I was away on the rolling\nseas, I should forget my disappointments, and find ease from the\ngnawing, bitter hatred that had gripped my heart.\n\nInspired by this thought I hurried on rapidly.  I was beginning to feel\nhungry and faint after my long walk, so was glad to know of the inn,\neven although Tommy Dean, the landlord, possessed such powers.\n\nArrived there I had a good breakfast of ham and eggs, after which Tommy\nbrought out a tankard of ale.  I was about to drink it when I\nreflected.  But for drink my father's horse would not have been\nfrightened and I should not now have been fatherless.  But for drink I\nshould not now be homeless and friendless.  Drink had deprived me of my\ndearest, best friend, and I would have none of it.  So much did this\nimpress me at the time that I made up my mind never to touch intoxicant\nagain; at any rate, until I saw sufficient reason to alter my mind.\n\nAfter breakfast I felt that the twelve miles which lay before me were\nas nothing.  In three hours, if nothing happened, I should be in\nWadebridge.\n\nNothing of importance happened on the way.  Milestone after milestone I\npassed wearily.  I had little object or hope in life.  I had sacrificed\nmy all for the sake of others, and it brought me no happiness.  When I\nreached Wadebridge my interest was somewhat aroused.  My knowledge of\ntowns was very limited.  I had only paid two or three visits to our\ncounty towns, which are, to say the least of them, small and to some\nextent uninteresting.  Twice I had been to Truro, and once to Falmouth;\nthus when I came to Wadebridge, I was somewhat excited.  Such a thing\nseems strange to me now, when I remember the facts of the case.\nWadebridge was only a little village composed of one street, which led\ndown to the river Wade, over which a bridge is built, hence the name of\nthe port.\n\nThere is a curious story among the Wadebridge people as to how their\nbridge was built.  Many years ago there was a ferry across the river,\nbut it was the frequent custom of farmers to ride their horses or drive\ntheir cattle across it when the tide was low, but often men and beasts\nwere lost in the quicksands formed in the rising tide.  After one sad\naccident of this sort, the Rev. Mr. Lovebone, the vicar of Wadebridge,\ndetermined that a bridge should be built, and after great pains and\nstruggling it was finished with seventeen arches of stone.  But in\nspite of their great labour, disappointment and defeat followed in\ntheir track, for pier after pier was lost in the sands.  A \"fair\nstructure\" was to be seen in the evening, but in the morning nothing\nwas left.  Mr. Lovebone was ready to give up in despair; but one night\nhe dreamed that an angel came with a flock of sheep, that he sheared\nthem, let the wool fall in to the water, and speedily built the bridge\non the wool.  Then the holy man awoke with a new idea.  He appealed to\nthe farmers, who sent him all the wool they had, which was put into\nsacks; these were placed thickly on the sands, and on these piers were\nbuilt.  Thus the wisdom of the angel of the dream was manifest, for the\nbridge remains to this day.\n\nThe harbour is not very wide or large at Wadebridge, and vessels of\nlarge dimensions can only come in when the tide is high.\n\nThe first thing I did on my arrival was to go to a small shop where\nseafaring apparel was sold.  The owner looked at me curiously, as I\nasked for a general rig out, but showed me what I wanted nevertheless.\nI was not long in making a bargain, and then asked for permission to\nchange my attire.\n\n\"Ain't bin doin' nothin' wrong, I hope?\" he said.\n\n\"Not to my knowledge,\" I replied.\n\n\"Cause you do'ant look much like a chap as is used to wearin' a\nsailor's clothes,\" he said.\n\n\"No,\" I answered.  \"What do I look like, then?\"\n\nHe looked at my hands, then at my shooting suit, and again at my face,\nand replied slowly:\n\n\"Why, you do look look like a passen's son as hev got into trouble and\nbe now runnin' away; ed'n that about right, now?\"\n\n\"Not exactly,\" I said, \"but I'm sure you'll allow me to change my\nclothes, won't you?\"\n\nHe gave an unwilling consent at length, and I confess that, when I had\nput on a rough suit of seaman's clothes, I hardly knew myself.  I went\nacross the bridge to the little village of Egloshayle, and walked\ntowards Slades Bridge, which lay in the direction of Bodmin.\n\n\"Now,\" I said to myself, \"you are no longer Roger Trewinion, but a\ncommon fisherman, who is desirous of going to sea.  Forget the past.\nForget that you are the heir to a fine estate, forget that you have\ngiven up all for love.\"\n\nBut I could not do this.  True, there was a sense in which all seemed\nlike a dream, so that the past was misty; but above all was the fact of\nmy great and burning love for Ruth, a love so intense as to lead me to\nsacrifice everything that she might be happy with the man whom she\nloved, and whom I hated, although he was my brother.\n\nThe thought was madness.  My sacrifice seemed madness, and once I\nthought of going back again.  That, however, was soon banished, for\nalthough my coming away might be the action of one who did not know\nwhat he was doing, to go back would be to strike despair and anguish\ninto the heart of Ruth, and that would be hell for me.\n\nNo, I had fought that battle.  I had made Ruth happy.  I should soon\nbecome as nothing to them, and thus Wilfred and my mother would have\ntheir own way, and be joyous because I was no more.  That was\nsomething, and yet I was sure that Wilfred had schemed for such an end.\nWhat definite reason I had for this I could not tell, but I was sure of\nit, and I hated him.  True, I had gone away freely, and yet I had been\ndriven away; things had been so arranged that I could not stay to be a\nskeleton at the feast, a hindrance to all joy.\n\nI ceased to think about it at length, and tried to bring myself into\nharmony with my surroundings.  What should I call myself?  I could not\nask for a sailor's position as Roger Trewinion, and yet I did not like\nto give up my name.  Finally I decided to call myself Richard\nTretheway.  It was a very common name, and by this name I should still\nretain my initials.  Where I came from was a matter of little\nimportance; there were lots of little fishing villages all the way down\nthe coast; so I settled on one near my old home, and made my way to the\nriverside where some vessels lay.  The captain of one of them struck my\nattention in a minute.  He stood quietly watching some men who were\nloading the boat with corn.  He was not swearing or bullying as some of\nthe others were, and I determined to speak to him.\n\n\"And what may you want, my lad?\" he said as I went up to him.\n\n\"A job, sir,\" I said, with a strong Cornish accent.\n\nHe looked at me keenly.  \"What can you do?\" he said.\n\nI named the work I could do on a ship.\n\n\"Let's have a look at your hands?\" he said.\n\nI showed him my hands.  They were not so soft as those of most young\nmen in my position.  I had done an amount of harvest work, and thus,\nwith constantly rowing and engaging in other physical exercises, they\nwere almost as hard as an ordinary seaman's.\n\n\"What have you been brought up to?\" he asked.\n\n\"Fishing.\"\n\n\"That's a lie.  You are neither a fisherman nor a sailor.\"\n\nI hung my head.\n\n\"Yes, you may hang your head, my lad, for you are not what you seem.\"\n\nAgain in a clumsy way I repeated the duties of both, but the captain\nwould not listen.\n\n\"Yes, yes, my young gentleman, you may know about these things as well\nas I do, but that don't deceive me.  You were never brought up to work,\nyou weren't; but you are a strong likely chap for all that.\"\n\nI tried again to assure him that I could do a sailor's work well.\n\n\"Now, look here, young man,\" he said, \"I'm an oldish chap, and have\nseen a bit of the world, and have learnt to read a little of men and\nthings, and although you are not what you want to pass off to be I like\nyour looks.  What you mean by being here I don't know; but that's not\nmy business, and I do want a likely young fellow like you.  Answer me\nsquare and fair.  Are you seeking to get on this vessel because you've\ndone anything wrong, are you in fear of anybody or anything, and is\nanybody after you now?\"\n\nI liked his plain question, and I answered plainly.\n\n\"I have done nothing wrong, sir,\" I said; \"I am not afraid of anything\nor anybody, and no one is after me now.\"\n\nHe looked at me straight in the eyes, but I met his gaze fearlessly.\n\n\"What's your name, my lad?\"\n\n\"Richard Tretheway.\"\n\n\"That is not your real name?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"You are sure you are doing nothing wrong in concealing your true name?\nBe perfectly honest.\"\n\n\"I am doing nothing wrong.  I am doing what's right.\"\n\n\"I'll take you,\" he said.\n\nI thanked him.\n\n\"Look you,\" he said, \"expect no favours; you must do your work fair and\nsquare like the rest.  We go from here to Padstow, then on to Falmouth,\nfrom there to Plymouth, then to London.  From there, if you behave\nwell, I'll take you to France and down the Mediterranean.  Do what you\nhave to do here quickly.  It's high tide at six this evening, and then\nwe shall sail.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" I said; \"I have nothing to do, but I'll go and get some\ndinner and then come straight back.\"\n\nAs I said this I turned to go; but the captain laughed and called me\nback.\n\n\"Look you, Tretheway,\" he said, \"if I hadn't known you were a greenhorn\nto this kind of thing before I should know it now.  You haven't said\nanything about wages.\"\n\n\"I'll leave that to you,\" I said confusedly, and then went back to the\ntown.\n\nI shall not dwell on my experience that evening, nor, indeed, shall I\nspeak of many of my adventures, as I want to relate only those facts of\nmy history which are vitally concerned with the name I bear, with its\nassociations and legends.\n\nThe next afternoon we sailed past my old home.  Long before we drew\nnear it, I saw the grey tower on the great weather-beaten cliff, and\nwith beating heart I stood on the deck and watched while we drew nearer\nand nearer.  I strained my eyes to catch sight of any of my family, but\nno one could be seen.  Closer and closer we came, the great prongs of\nthe \"Devil's Tooth\" standing out more clearly as we swept on.\n\nDid anyone there think of me? I wondered.  Yes, they would naturally do\nthat.  My mother would think of me, and be glad I was gone, for her\nfavourite boy would be master.  Wilfred would think of me, and wonder\nif I should come back, and, perhaps, dread the thought of such a thing\nhappening.  My sisters would think of me lovingly, and wonder what had\nbecome of Roger.  And Ruth--I dared not think of her.\n\nWho had seen my letter? I wondered.  My mother was the most likely one\nto do so, or Wilfred, and they would treasure up the words I had\nwritten, they would weigh well their purport.  But would it be shown to\nRuth or to my sisters?\n\nMy dear, dear old home, how I loved it!  It was there I was born, it\nwas there my father had died.  So near was I to it, and yet so far.\nBesides, it was mine no longer.  I had given it up to make the woman I\nloved happy, and to keep it from being hell to me.\n\nMy thoughts were rudely checked.  Two persons stood together on the\nheadland, the headland on which my home stood, and they were evidently\nlooking at the ship in which I was sailing.  Who were they?  I strained\nmy eyes to see.  They looked like Wilfred and----  I dared not think of\nit, the thought was maddening.  I would not believe that Ruth was out\nwalking with Wilfred so soon after my departure, and on the very day\nwhen she was reported to be leaving for her home.\n\nYet why not?  By this time they had, perhaps, publicly announced\nthemselves as lovers; and yet they dare not.  My departure could not\nyet be regarded as a settled thing, and my mother had told me that Ruth\nwould be true to her father's wish.  As yet I must be regarded among\nthem as Trewinion's heir, and thus she would look upon me as her future\nhusband.  How, then, could she be encouraging the man she loved, when\nshe would regard it as a sin to do so?\n\nBut was it she, was it Wilfred?\n\nThe captain's glass was near me, and I seized it.  I brought it to the\nright focus.  I saw them plainly, Ruth and Wilfred standing side by\nside, with her hand resting on his arm.  There could be no mistake.\n\nYes, she would know all by this time; she would know that I had given\nup everything for her happiness, and she had accepted it without a\npang.  She had come out alone with the man who had stepped into my\nplace.\n\nIt was base ingratitude.  She was not worthy the sacrifice.  I would\nleave the vessel at Falmouth, go home, and destroy their plans; I would\nclaim my own again.  As for Wilfred, I would whip him like a dog, and\ndrive him from the place.\n\nI know my thoughts were confused, and unreasonable, but I think I was\nmad, for I stamped my foot in my rage.\n\nI heard a noise behind me and turned round.  The captain stood coolly\nwatching me.  Instantly, my position burst upon me, and I was confused.\n\n\"Well, Richard Tretheway,\" he said, \"and what have you been using my\nglass for?\"\n\n\"It is a fine old headland, sir, and I wanted to see it.\"\n\n\"Ay, and it's a fine old house on the cliff, eh.  Whom does it belong\nto?\"\n\nI was silent.\n\n\"Ah, well, lad, I will not pry into your secrets; sometime, perhaps,\nyou may want to tell me,\" and he walked away.\n\nStill I watched, while the couple on the cliff became more and more\nindistinct, and the old grey tower seemed to melt away in the steely\nsky, and as it did so my feelings softened, for I felt I was bidding\ngood-bye to it for ever.  My love for Ruth began to exert its power,\nand although I felt bitter, the thought of going back to wreck her\nhappiness was repugnant.\n\nOn, on we swept, until Ruth and Wilfred could no longer be seen, and\nthe old house was hidden by the prongs of the \"Devil's Tooth.\"  Then I\nbroke down and sobbed like a child.  Now, indeed, I was alone and\nwithout a friend.  There was no brightness in my sky, no hope for the\nfuture.  Truly I was sad at heart.  With that the words of old Deborah\nTeague came back to me.\n\n\"Mind, mind Trewinion's curse, tes comin', tes comin'.  I see Maaster\nRoger homeless, friendless, despised, disgraced.  Mind, Maaster Roger,\nmind.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\n\"A HOME ON THE ROLLING DEEP\"\n\nI found Luke Miller, the captain of the boat, to be kind and friendly.\nNot that he took any notice of me for several days.  He did not.  But\nwhen we arrived at Plymouth, and were away from the crew, he began to\ntalk kindly to me.\n\n\"Tretheway,\" he said, \"I don't know anything about you, and it may be\nthat in talking freely to you I am in one sense taking a liberty.  May\nbe you have been brought up well; fact, I'm sure you have.  But all\nthat's no business of mine.  What I want to say is this, I like you.  I\ndaren't show it at sea, as there'd be jealousy.  At the same time, if\never I can show my real friendship to you, or if ever you want a\nfriend, you know where to come.\"\n\nI thanked him warmly.\n\n\"There's just another thing to say, lad.  You've had a quiet time on\nboard yet, for the men ain't known what to make of you, but they begin\nto feel their way.  They fancies you are a swell and a sneak, so keep\nyour weather eye open.  The best men of the crew are leaving here, too,\nand I am afraid I shall have to pick up a rough lot, so, as I say, keep\na sharp look out.\"\n\nI found this advice very much to the point a day or two after.  Not\nthat I minded much.  I was too terribly bitter towards almost\neverything to care what happened to me.  Still, when we were fairly out\nat sea from Plymouth, and the men began to play practical jokes upon\nme, I remembered the captain's words and remained cool.\n\nThere were one or two discontented men on board who took it into their\nheads that I had a doubtful past, and, moreover, that I had a secret in\nmy life of the discovery of which I was in constant fear.\n\nIt was afternoon, and the men having nothing special to do were\nstanding lazily around.  I was making my way to the bowsprit, and was\nwalking rather rapidly, when the biggest bully on the boat put out his\nfoot and threw me head foremost.  This was received with a loud guffaw\nof derisive laughter, and the man who had done it was highly\ncomplimented on his achievement.  I took no notice, however, doing that\nwhich I had set out to do.  This, instead of lessening their dislike\nfor me, increased it, and for days after I was subjected to many petty\nannoyances.  A few weeks before, I should not have stood it.  I was\nwild and passionate then, full of life and strength, now I was so\nbitter that I scarcely felt any interest in anything.  Besides that,\nthe men were so low and brutal that I disliked encountering them.\n\nAt last I went to them and asked what I had done to make them\nconstantly wish to annoy me.\n\n\"Because tha'art a coward and a snaik,\" said one.\n\n\"A spy and a tell-tale,\" said another.\n\n\"Cause you think yourself too good to mix with we, who are a mighty\nsight better than you,\" said another.\n\n\"Or else you're afraid we'll find out something of your dirty ways,\"\nsaid two or three together.\n\nI felt sick and sad at heart.  To mix with these men was bad enough, to\ncome into such relationship with them as would lead to a brawl was\nworse.\n\n\"I'm not a coward, a spy, a sneak or a tell-tale,\" I said quietly.  \"I\ndon't think myself too good to mix with any honest man, and I'm not\nafraid of your finding out anything about me.\"\n\nWith that the bully placed himself before me and spat in my face.  In a\nmoment my calmness and self-control were gone, and in a minute more we\nwere engaged in a hand-to-hand fight.  The devil that my hatred for my\nbrother had aroused now showed itself, and I fought with all the fury\nof a demon.  My opponent was as big as I, and as strong, or would have\nbeen had he not abused his strength by evil habits; and in addition to\nthis, he knew many tricks of fighting unknown to me.  Minute after\nminute we fought, he more for the love of fighting than for hatred for\nme, I with a mad heart, and with every evil passion aroused.  If at\nthat moment I could in no other way have beaten him save by selling my\nsoul to the devil, I am sure I should not have hesitated to make the\nbargain.  I had allowed an evil passion to enter my heart, and it had\npoisoned my whole being.  Thus it was that I determined to die rather\nthan be conquered.\n\nA determined man can do almost anything.  A mad man is supernaturally\nstrong.  I was both.  Thus, at length, by a trick of wrestling, and a\nblow that would have felled an ox, I laid him bruised, bleeding and\nsenseless on the deck.  This did not satisfy me.  I turned to another\nwho had been prominent in seeking to quarrel and laid him beside the\nfirst.  Then like a mad bull I rushed upon the rest.\n\nI don't know what happened after that, save that there was a terrible\nscuffle, and I found myself struggling in the grasp of brawny arms,\nafter which I felt a heavy stunning blow which rendered me oblivious to\nall my surroundings.\n\nWhen I awoke to consciousness I was in chains, and the captain by my\nside.\n\n\"Well, Tretheway,\" said he, \"and this is the way you carry on?\"\n\nI was silent.\n\n\"I took you for a decent lad, perhaps my better in many things, and\nyet, here I find you fightin' like th' old Nick himself.\"\n\n\"What have I done?\" I said sulkily.\n\n\"Done!  Why disabled two men, unfitted them for work for a week at\nleast, knocked two more into a cocked hat, and would have killed 'em if\nthe whole crew hadn't seized you and took you below here and put you in\nirons!\"\n\n\"Somebody has struck me,\" I said.  \"I've a wound on my head.\"\n\n\"A chap said he were obliged to do that or you'd a bin the death of\nhim.\"\n\n\"Captain,\" I said, \"you know the truth about this, and that I sought no\nquarrel; but now, now--if one of them dares to trifle with me I'll----\"\n\n\"You won't have the chance, Tretheway, my boy.  Every man jack of 'em\ndeclares they will not sail with you.  They've all given warnin' unless\nyou are dropped at the first port.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Because they say you are not a man but a devil.  They say yer eyes\nwere red, and they see a flame a comin' from yer mouth as you fought,\nand although they're a bad lot I hain't got time to get a fresh crew to\nsuit you, so you must either be left in irons until we get to London,\nor be dropped at Dover.\"\n\n\"I'll go to London,\" I said; \"I may stand a better chance there.\"\n\nThe captain left me, and I was again alone.  I did not feel at all\nexcited, but a kind of despair possessed me.  I was not at all\nsurprised or annoyed at the men.  I felt that they were right.  I\nshould have done harm to them had I remained at liberty.  I was not fit\nto have my irons knocked off.  The spirit of hatred possessed me,\nhatred that was dark and murderous, and hatred is the devil.\n\nI spoke to no one during the time I remained on the vessel.  I spoke\nnot when the irons were knocked off my feet and hands by the captain.\nI climbed to the deck, and saw the men huddled together as if in fear,\nand I stood and watched them; then I looked and saw we were anchored in\na great tidal river, and that London, great London, was on either side\nof me.  Once it would have aroused all the enthusiasm and excitement of\nmy nature.  Now I was unmoved.  I was about to leave the boat, when a\nthought struck me and I turned to the captain.\n\n\"Captain Luke Miller,\" I said, \"you know the whole meaning and history\nof this matter, and that I picked no quarrel.  I don't grumble; but I\nwant you to stretch a point for me.  Can you give me a certificate as\nan able-bodied seaman?\"\n\nHe did not speak, but put a piece of paper in my hand, and pointed to\nthe board by which I was to leave the boat.  I gave him a look of\nthankfulness and left.\n\nI tramped through the crowded London streets unheedingly.  I did not\nrealise the seething surging, masses of people; I forgot that I was in\nthe greatest city of the world, the centre of thought, and power, and\nlearning.\n\nAt length I came to London Bridge.  I did not know it at the time, but\nI have since learned that such was the fact.  I stood for a little\nwhile wondering at the great crowds of busy people, and then I looked\nat the broad, dirty river.  A large vessel was being unloaded of her\ncargo, and I went straight to the captain.\n\nI asked him for a place among the crew.  He looked at me suspiciously\nand then said, \"Who was your last captain?\"\n\nI told him.\n\n\"Let's have a look at your papers,\" he said.\n\nAlthough I had not looked at what Captain Luke Miller had given me, I\nhanded the certificate to this skipper, who read it carefully.\n\n\"I'll engage you,\" he said, giving me back my certificate.\n\nI looked at it afterwards and found the reason of my ready acceptance.\nLuke Miller had proved a friend indeed, and had spoken very highly of\nme.\n\nIn a few days we set sail, during which time I remained on board.  I\nhad no desire to see London; I wished to be away on the broad, deep sea.\n\nI found that we were bound for a long voyage, and that the captain had\ngot together a very motley crew.  This did not trouble me; in fact, I\nwas glad on both scores.  The journey would take me away--I cared not\nwhere, the savagery of the crew accorded with my own wild feelings.\nThey were a poor, degraded set, weak physically, and with the stamp of\nvillainy upon them.  Their conversation was degrading, their every\nthought was steeped with filth.  I soon made myself a sort of\nunofficial captain among them, and by a strong will held them in\nsubjection.\n\n\nI dropped my pen at the last word, for I found myself beginning to\ndescribe in detail my seafaring experience, and I must not do that.  It\nis not necessary, nor will it be interesting.  One or two prominent\nfacts I shall relate, the rest must be imagined.\n\nI sailed with this captain and this crew nearly twelve months, then I\nleft them, and for the next seven years I went from ship to ship and\nfrom crew to crew.\n\nI need not have done so, but I determined not to set my foot on English\nground.  I wished to keep away from every association and thought of my\npast life.  There is not much that I need describe.  I had the usual\nexperience of seafaring men.  I experienced cold, hunger, and storm;\nbut was indifferent to them.  I do not think I had any interest in\nlife.  Often death stared me in the face, and I did not flinch.  I\nshould not have minded had the hand of death struck me down.  Indeed,\nif I ever wished for anything it was that I should die, and still I\nremained strong, and hearty, and well.\n\nBut my love for Ruth died not, my hatred for Wilfred was as strong as\nit was when I had seen him with Ruth on the great headland watching the\nship in which I sailed.  Every fact of my early life, and of my\nrelations with Ruth, was as real and vivid as when I had lived at home.\nThe eight years I had been away had destroyed neither my memory, nor my\nfeelings.\n\nIt was a wild life I lived.  I had no friends, no ties, nothing, in\nfact, to refine or purify.  The hatred in my heart kept me from being\nloved by my associates, and nothing kept me from sinking to the lowest\ndepths of degradation but my love for Ruth.  Often, when I was on the\npoint of yielding to the low and the depraved, my love for her saved\nme.  That was a pure force in my life, and it was my salvation.\n\nOften did I think of the old home life.  Often did I imagine what my\nmother and the rest would be doing.  Sometimes I asked myself if ever\nthey thought of me, or if they had any idea as to what had become of\nme.  I tried to comfort myself by believing that they thought about me,\nor that they mourned me as dead.  Then I hoped that they wished me\nalive and waited for my home-coming; but that hope was speedily\ndispelled by the remembrance of my last interview with Ruth and my\nmother.\n\nStrange to say, I never once longed to return home; never once desired\nthat my feet should stand on the spongy turf on the great headland;\nnever wanted to speak to any one of the family.  I felt that I was a\nbanished man, homeless and friendless.\n\nIt may be that some will say the \"Trewinion's curse\" is merely an idle\ntale.  I know not; this I know: that ever since I realised my hatred\nfor Wilfred, on the morning of my departure, I lived a new life, a life\nthat was all dark.  The skies were black, the earth was black, and,\nworst of all, my heart was black.  Never since then had I known real\njoy or gladness.  A terrible despair gnawed at my heart, and this I\ncarried everywhere.  I had thought that by going away from the scenes\nof my childhood I should escape my sorrow.  I was foolish to think so.\nI discovered that sorrow comes not so much from the outward; it comes\nfrom the heart, from the man himself.  Wherever I went I could not\nshake off the shadow of self, and thus I was never free from sorrow and\npain.\n\nAt the end of eight years there was a change in my life.  I was now\nmore than thirty.  My softer feelings, all but one, had gone.  I was as\nhard and callous as the cliffs which surround the Cornish coast.  At\nthis time we were sailing the Indian seas, and our vessel was laden\nwith a valuable cargo.  The men were lazily standing around on the\ndeck, while the captain stood with his glass to his eye eagerly\nscanning a distant object.\n\nWe took no notice for a while, then it was whispered along the deck\nthat the captain had seen a curious, suspicious-looking craft that was\nevidently bearing down upon us.  This whisper was soon confirmed by the\nfact that our vessel's course was altered, and every stitch of canvas\nthat she could carry was hoisted.  In spite of this, however, we saw\nthat the other boat was gaining rapidly upon us, and must in a very few\nhours overtake us.\n\nI saw that a great fear had seized the crew, for there was but little\ndoubt that our pursuer was a pirate.  For myself I did not care.  I was\nindifferent to life, and it mattered not what became of me.  It was,\nhowever, in my nature to fight for the side on which I found myself, so\nlike the rest I prepared for the struggle.  When the two vessels were\nnear each other our pursuer hoisted a black flag, then we were sure of\nwhat would follow.\n\nNever was a crew braver than ours; every man fought for dear life, but\nwe were no match for the assailants.  They were double our number and\narmed to the teeth.  At length we were overpowered and bound.  The\nvessel was no longer in our possession, and the company to which she\nbelonged would have to suffer a great loss.  It was not that of which\nwe were thinking, however.  Every man was in terrible dread as to what\nhis own future would be.\n\nThe captain of the pirate ship was one of the most striking men I ever\nsaw.  He was, perhaps, forty years of age, and was of Spanish\nextraction.  His eyes and hair were as black as the raven's wing, and\nhis skin was of a dark, olive colour.  His crew were likewise\nSpaniards, plainly outlaws of the worst character.  But I noticed that\nthey all loved and obeyed their chief.  I did not wonder at their\nobeying him, his personality was so strong, but I did wonder at their\nloving him.  He seemed stern, harsh, and violent.\n\nAfter we had all been bound, I saw the captain of the pirate ship\nconsulting with his men; evidently they were deciding what to do with\nus, and there seemed some difference of opinion.  Presently the captain\ninspected us one by one.  We were by no means as fine a crew as our\nconquerors, not simply in numbers, but in kind.  We were made up of\ndifferent nationalities, and I was the only Englishman among the whole\nnumber.  There were Greeks, Arabs, Turks, and one or two Austrians\namong us.  The captain and the mates were all Greeks, and the ship\nbelonged to a Greek company.  Most of the men were small in bone, and\nwhile strong and wiry, were by no means striking in appearance.\n\nAfter he had looked at us some time, there was another consultation,\nand at length they decided what to do, and we saw that preparations\nwere being made.  Eagerly I scanned the sea, but not a sail was in\nsight, no help was near, and careless as I had been about danger my\nheart felt heavy.\n\nWith blanched faces our men saw a plank which reached a few yards into\nthe sea, placed on the vessel's deck, and with beating hearts we saw\nthe officers of our ship bound.\n\nI will not try and describe the scene.  Hard and rough as I was, it was\nterrible to see men killed in cold blood.  In vain the captain pleaded\nthat he had a wife and little ones.  No mercy was shown, and, although\nwe dreaded the sight, our eyes were drawn, as if by a magnet, to see\nthe men who had commanded us walking to their death.  Even now their\nawful shrieks as they fell into the sea ring in my ears.  And we were\nall bound, unable to help them, and waiting for a similar doom.\n\nThen we saw what caused us common sailors hope.  A good-sized boat was\nlowered, and provisions were placed in it; and one by one, the men were\ntold to board it, This they gladly did, until I was left alone.  I was\npreparing to follow, when the captain came up to me.  He took a long\nlook at me and then spoke to his men.  I had picked up enough of\nSpanish during the years I had been away to understand an ordinary\nconversation, so I followed every word he said.  His opinion was that I\nshould make a splendid addition to their crew, and that it was a pity I\nshould be lost to them.\n\n\"Your name?\" he said to me abruptly.\n\n\"Richard Tretheway!\"\n\n\"Ah, you are English?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"How long since you were there?\"\n\n\"Eight years.\"\n\n\"Why have you kept away from your home so long?\"\n\n\"For private reasons.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" he said eagerly, and he looked at me keenly.  \"One of us, eh?\nStand up, Richard Tretheway.\"\n\nI stood up.  Tall as he was, I was taller, and broader too, for that\npart.  The Trewinions have ever been a race of giants.\n\n\"What do you wish us to do with you?\" he said at length.\n\n\"I'm not anxious.\"\n\n\"Then you don't mind walking the plank?\"\n\n\"It won't matter much.  I must die some time, and I've not much to live\nfor.\"\n\nThe captain's eyes sparkled.\n\n\"What do you think of us?\" he said at length.\n\nI looked at our crew, who were evidently to be sent away to die.  I\nthought of our officers who had only a few minutes before been\ncondemned to death, and I said savagely:\n\n\"I think you are bloodthirsty villains--demons out of hell.\"\n\nHe laughed a mirthless, cruel laugh, while the crew demanded my death.\n\n\"What would you do if you had us in your power?\"\n\n\"Hang you.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"To rid the earth of such a crew.\"\n\n\"Let him walk the plank,\" cried the men.\n\nBut the captain was more forbearing.\n\n\"Why, look you,\" he said, \"you are just as bad as we.  We sent your\nofficers to Heaven or to the other place for our safety, while you\nwould send us there for the safety of the world.  Who has the most\nreason on his side?\"\n\nI was silent at this, and the captain went on: \"You fought like a mad\nbull when we were boarding you.  There are three men down under lying\nhalf dead because of you.\"\n\n\"Serve them right,\" I said, \"I was defending the party attacked, and,\nwhile I don't care a fig for my own life, I would fight to defend those\nwho do.\"\n\n\"Would you like to be one of us?\" said the captain.\n\n\"What would you have me do?\"\n\n\"Be a king on the high seas.\"\n\nIn spite of everything I felt a liking for the captain.  There was a\nfascinating power about him, and I wanted to know about him.  My eight\nyears on the wave had hardened me, and my hatred had dulled my higher\nfeelings.\n\n\"Look you,\" he went on, \"we are not wholly bad.  We have freed hundreds\nof slaves, and while we live by plunder we only take from the strong\nand the rich.  Only last week we set at liberty two hundred slaves who\nwould have been sold to a living death.\"\n\nHe went on speaking in this strain until I was less bitter towards him,\nbut I said:\n\n\"All this does not prove that you are not cold-blooded villains.  The\nofficers of my ship are now dead through you.  Your robbery is bad.\nYour murder is worse.\"\n\nAgain the men clamoured; but again the captain went on:\n\n\"What, are we worse than your English man-of-war vessels?  You go to\nwar with a country, you take her vessels, you kill her men, and your\ncrews divide the booty.  What, are we worse?  Nay, we are better!\"\n\nI did not attempt to argue further with him, being maddened at the\nthought of my captain being killed, and of the wife and children who\nwould have to bewail his loss.  So instead of answering him I burst\ninto a torrent of abuse.\n\n\"Tie his hands and blindfold him,\" cried the captain savagely.\n\nIn a few seconds this was done!\n\nThey placed me on the plank.\n\n\"Walk!\" cried the captain.\n\nIn a second a vision of my old home flashed before me, but I walked\nstraight on.  I felt the warp of the plank, and knew I was nearing the\nend!\n\nStep by step I walked, then my foot went into space, and in a minute\nmore I fell bound into the deep sea, hearing the savage yell of the\npirate crew as I did so!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nTHE VOICE OF THE SOUL\n\nI had scarcely fallen into the water when I felt myself drawn up again.\nUnknown to me a rope had been fastened around me, and in another minute\nI stood upon the deck.\n\n\"Good!\" cried the captain.  \"You stood the test well, and are just the\nsort of fellow we want.\"  I looked at him in astonishment.\n\n\"Yes, you may look,\" he said, \"but at heart you are one of us.  I can\nsee both discontent and defiance in your eyes, your face.  You are out\nof love with the world, and when you know my history you'll sympathise\nwith me, and won't take much persuading to become one of our crew.\"\n\nI was thereupon taken to a cabin, where I was supplied with dry\nclothes, after which the captain came and spoke to me.  Evidently, he\nwas desirous of my becoming one of his allies, for without hesitation\nhe told me the history of his life and his reasons for leading such a\nlife.\n\nI will not repeat his story at length.  I do not wish to recall in\ndetail the terrible things he related.  True to his Spanish nature, he\nhated intensely and loved intensely.  When quite a boy he had loved,\nand his love had been returned.  There were months of happiness, then a\nrich nobleman appeared, and, fascinated by the beauty of his betrothed\nsought to win her from him.  Defeated in this, he used force.  Then\nfollowed a succession of plots and cunning intrigue, and, finally,\nthrough the avarice and greed of his love's father, through social\ninfluence, and through devilry of the worst kind, he, the pirate\ncaptain, was robbed of the one for whom he would have died, while she\nbecame disgraced and ruined.  Then his passion burned to white heat,\nand revenge was his one object.  He did not rest until he had killed\nhis rival, after which he was obliged to fly.  Others who had been\nengaged with him in the fray left with him, and formed themselves into\na band, which gradually grew until they became what they were.\n\nI shall never forget the terrible intensity with which he told his\nstory; how at one time his eyeballs were red as fire, and at another\nhis hands trembled with passion; and again, when he told of the beauty\nof his betrothed, how his voice became gentle, and his eye became\nmoist.  In spite of everything I could not help sympathising with him,\nand, afterwards, when he spoke of his buccaneering career and\nremembered what led him to it I did not wonder.\n\nNeed I tell how, little by little, I fell in with the captain's\nproposals and vowed allegiance to him?  I can scarcely realise what\nhappened now; it seems but as a half-forgotten dream; though real\nenough then.  In those days my better nature was dead, or nearly so.  I\nhad allowed one passion to conquer me, and it had poisoned my whole\nbeing.  I had learnt the meaning of the words of Scripture: \"For\nwhosoever shall keep the whole law and yet offend in one point, he is\nguilty of all.\"  This is more than mere words; it is a principle of\nlife.  One passion corrupts the whole being, degrades the whole man,\nand thus I, because I entertained hate for my brother, lost my finer\nnature and joined a crew of pirates.\n\nI will not portray the life we led; how by sheer brute force and will\npower I fought my way up until I was next in power to the captain\nhimself.  I could fill a volume in narrating the battles we fought and\nthe hair-breadth escapes we had, but whoever reads these lines must\nimagine for themselves how we dreaded being taken, and how we vowed a\nterrible vow to die the most awful death rather than be conquered by\nany vessel, of whatever nationality.  Truly it was a wild life, full of\ndanger and peril; and yet I was happier in it than I had been for\nyears.  There was freedom on the wide seas, there were interest and\nexcitement in our constant frays.  The life suited my uncouth, rugged\nnature, and thus for two years I almost forgot my past and lived only\nin the excitement of the present.\n\nI had been ten years away from home, ten years without ever catching\nsight of the British shores.  Eight years I had served on trading\nvessels of various nationalities, and two years I had been a pirate,\nwhen another change came.\n\nI was sitting one evening alone, watching the setting sun, when I began\nto think of my old life.  I remembered all the legends of our house and\nname as vividly as if I had been hearing them during the last ten\nyears.  I thought of my father's warning that I should never leave the\nTrewinion estate for six months at a time; if I did the race for three\ngenerations would be cursed, while I should be haunted by dark spirits\non my deathbed.  I remembered how he told me that if a Trewinion did\nwhat was unlawful he brought down the vengeance of Heaven.  And I had\nbeen away ten years; I had become a pirate and was ever under a\nsentence of death.  I thought again of old Deborah Teague's warning, of\nthe cave full of evil women, and wondered.  Then memories of Ruth came\nback to me, and I saw her at Trewinion Manor as Wilfred's wife.  I\nwondered if I should ever see them all again--wondered, and then tried\nto forget.  I became oblivious of the beauty of the setting sun and of\nmy surroundings.  The ship on which I sailed might be a ship of the\nfancy for all I knew, for all I knew the crew might be spirits or men.\nI was back again in my old home, and when at length I was aroused from\nmy reverie I could not get rid of the impression that I was wanted,\nneeded amongst the scenes of my childhood.\n\nPresently the captain came near and laid his hand on my shoulder.\n\n\"Tretheway, I am getting tired of this roving life,\" he said.\n\n\"So am I,\" was my reply.\n\n\"I have been thinking,\" he went on, \"if there may not be happiness and\npeace for me even yet.  I have been wondering if I may not return to\nthe land of my birth, and maybe find someone whom I can love and who\ncan love me.\"\n\nI looked up into his face.  There was a soft expression in his eyes,\nand his lip was tremulous.\n\n\"Perhaps the way may open up soon,\" I said.\n\n\"It shall,\" he replied, sternly, and walked away.\n\nSoon after this I turned in.  I did not expect to sleep, but no sooner\nhad my head been placed on the pillow than I fell asleep and dreamed.\n\nI saw the old home again as plainly as if I were there, and recognised\nseveral of the servants.  Katherine and Elizabeth I could not see, but\nmy mother was there, and Wilfred.  In my dream I wandered from room to\nroom.  I felt sure that Ruth was in the house, but I could not find\nher.  At length I entered the library.  I thought I could see\neverything, and yet I was unseen.  It appeared to me that while my\nspirit was there my body was elsewhere.  All my thinking powers were\nsupernaturally awake, but my body was asleep.\n\nThe room was in darkness, or nearly so, and I thought no one was there\nuntil I heard a sigh, and then I saw Ruth.  She moved in her chair as\nif weary.  A servant entered bearing a light, and then I saw her face.\nIt was wonderfully changed.  It was not that she looked older, but that\nshe was so weary and wan.  The old joyous light was gone from her eyes,\nand she was very thin and fragile.\n\n\"Ah!\" I thought, \"the marriage has not been happy.  Perhaps Wilfred has\nnot been kind to her; perhaps she has children, and they are sickly.\"\n\nI looked at her hand, but could see no wedding ring.  Then I heard a\nnoise outside and a whispering, and I saw that her face had a look of\nterror upon it, as though she dreaded some great calamity.\n\nThe door opened, and in walked my mother and Wilfred.\n\nI looked at both their faces and watched their expression.  Hers looked\nsomewhat haggard and hard; while his was cunning and yet fascinating.\n\nThey sat down beside her, and mother asked her why she looked so\ntroubled and wan; but she was silent.  Then Wilfred spoke to her.\n\n\"Ruth,\" he said, \"the ten long years have come to an end.  You know\nyour promise.  Think how patiently I have waited, and how I must have\nloved you to wait so long.  Now, Ruth, let us wed at once, so that we\nmay fulfil our fathers' wishes.\"\n\nThen I looked at her again, and from her eyes tears fell, and on her\nface was such a look of misery that her enemy, had she one, could not\nhelp pitying her.\n\n\"You are not Trewinion's heir,\" she murmured.\n\n\"How can you say that?\" he replied.  \"Roger is dead, of that we are\nsure.  You know that his body was found a few days after his departure,\nbruised and battered, 'tis true, but still my mother recognised him,\nand so did Mr. Inch, and Mr. Polperrow.  All believed it was Roger but\nyou, and so when I asked you to fulfil our fathers' wishes you would\nnot.  Then the months and years passed on, and Roger came not; so I\npleaded with you again, and you said if Roger came not within ten years\nof his departure you would believe him dead and wed me.  Those ten\nyears are complete this very night, and I am come again to claim my\npromise.\"\n\nThen I saw Ruth bury her face in her hands and sob bitterly.\n\nAgain the door opened, and I saw Mr. Inch enter with a roll of papers\nin his hand.\n\n\"Mr. Inch,\" cried Ruth, \"will you not be my friend, will you not tell\nme that this need not be?\"\n\nThen I saw Mr. Inch and Wilfred change glances, and the former open his\nroll of papers.\n\n\"I am your friend,\" he said; \"and I am also your father's old servant,\nand I would see his wishes carried out.\"\n\nThen he began to read:--\"'I desire my daughter Ruth to dwell in the\nhouse of my friend, Roger Trewinion, and that she shall be wedded to\nhis heir, so that the two estates shall be united.  And it is my will\nthat she shall be wedded to him as soon as possible after she comes of\nage, and to remain at Trewinion Manor until within a month of the\nwedding day.  Then she shall return to Morton Hall to prepare for the\nmarriage ceremony.'  This is an extract from the will,\" he went on,\n\"and I should not be a friend to Miss Ruth if I failed to see this\ncarried out.  We have waited now many years beyond the time, and if\nthis be not done soon the bodies of the dead fathers will rise from\ntheir graves to know why their wishes have not been fulfilled.\"\n\nThen I heard Ruth speak again.\n\n\"Oh, Roger, Roger,\" she said, \"why did you go away?\"\n\n\"Why?\" said my mother, \"because you drove him.  He was mad with love\nfor you, and because you scorned him he ended his days.  Be careful,\nor, perchance, you will drive my other son to his death as well.\"\n\nAt this she looked up to the faces of those in the room with an\nexpression of dull despair.\n\n\"I will obey my father's will,\" she said huskily, \"make what\narrangements you choose.\"\n\nThen I saw Wilfred move towards her, as if to embrace her; and I\nthought I went forward too, as if to hinder him, but Ruth looked up and\ngave a scream, half of joy, half of fear.\n\n\"Roger is here!\" she cried.\n\nI thought I saw consternation on every face, then all melted away, and\nI awoke.\n\nI was lying in my cabin in a pirate vessel, was not at home at all;\nwhat I had seen was a mocking dream.  And yet all was real.  I could\nnot believe that I had not been at home, though I knew it could not be.\nI was away on the broad seas, hundreds of miles from land.  My\nimagination had been excited, and I had dreamed--that was all.  I tried\nto sleep again, but could not, I was constantly thinking of what I had\nseen in my vision.  Then I remembered the day of the month and the\nyear.  Yes, ten years ago that very night I had left home.  I had not\nbeen thinking of that, but in spite of everything it had been revealed\nto me in my dream.  Was it a dream, or was it real?  Had my spirit\ntravelled home, the spirit that knows no boundary or limits, had I seen\na vision of what really existed?\n\nSuch a thing was without precedent in my experience, and yet why should\nit not be?  Our bodies are not ourselves.  We are distinct from the\nflesh, the bone, the sinew, why then might not the spirit have liberty\nto go home to its early associations?\n\nI could remain in my cabin no longer.  I rushed up to the deck, saw two\nsailors standing at the post of duty.  I spoke a word to them, and then\nwent towards the forecastle alone.\n\nThe night was as still as death, not a ripple could I see on the\nwaters.  I looked around me, and all was smooth, placid sea.  I looked\nupwards and saw a cloudless sky, the full moon was almost as bright as\nthe sun itself, so much so that the stars barely showed themselves.\nNow and then I could hear the gentle lapping of the water against the\nvessel's side, but beyond that--nothing.\n\nI stood alone, minute after minute, thinking.  I could not forget my\ndream, for such I had forced myself to believe it was, when----\n\nWhat was it I heard?\n\nThe cry of a woman!  A wail of distress!\n\nMy heart seemed ready to burst; but I listened.\n\nThen I heard words.  I heard my own name uttered by a woman' voice!\n\nAnd I was alone on a vessel, with nothing but men on board, hundreds of\nmiles from land, and no other vessel near.\n\n\"Roger!  Roger! where are you?\" said the voice.\n\nI answered not, I could not, for my tongue clave to the roof of my\nmouth, but eagerly I listened.\n\n\"Come to me, Roger!  Come to me, or they will kill me!\"\n\nIt was Ruth's voice, carried by the power of God to me.  I was wanted\nhome.  I was sure of it, yet I could make no answer to what I had\nheard.  For years I had forgotten God, but He had not forgotten me.  He\nhad revealed Himself in the voice I had heard.  He had carried the\nmessage of Ruth's heart to me.  I was sure now that there was a God in\nHeaven, and that He was telling me to frustrate evil.\n\nThen something told me that all this was fancy, the result of an\nexcited brain.  I had been dreaming, and now I fancied I had heard what\nonly existed in a mind half mad.  I rushed to one of the sailors.\n\n\"Did you hear a woman's voice, just now?\" I said.\n\n\"Woman's voice?\" said the man, evidently surprised, \"why no, sir!\"\n\nHad I been mistaken?  Was it all delirium?\n\nAgain I strained my ears, and again I heard the voice.\n\n\"Come, Roger, I am all alone.  Oh come to me!\"\n\nI answered, but whether articulately or no I cannot say; the words I\nsaid in my heart were,\n\n\"I am coming, Ruth, I am coming.\"\n\nThen it seemed to me that the broad waste of waters reiterated my\nwords, until away in the far distance, where the sea lost itself in the\nsky, I could hear them repeated \"I am coming, Ruth, I am coming.\"\n\nI know that this will seem strange to whoever may read it, but I only\nspeak the truth.  Perhaps my sons and my sons' sons may say it was\nsimply the result of an overwrought mind; but I believe otherwise.\n\nFor hours I walked the deck, but I heard nothing more.  I expected\nnothing.  I weighed what I had seen in my dreams, and connected it with\nwhat I had heard in my waking moments.  What did it mean?  First my\nfears said it was but the deceitful words of the devil, who would drag\nme deeper into sin.  But my heart cast that off.  I felt that there was\nno evil agency at work.  Then I thought it was only a dream; but how\ncould that be?  Why should it come that night, exactly ten years from\nthe time I had left home, and why should I hear the voice afterwards?\nAnd so I came to the conclusion that I had been allowed by God to know\nthat I was needed at home.\n\nThe thought gave me new life, new energy.  The passion of my hatred was\nstunned by some greater passion.  If my dream were indeed true, if the\nvoice were not a mockery, Ruth was not yet married, and she loved me.\nFor hours I lived in blissful ecstasy, the smooth waters were written\nall over with messages of joy, the sky seemed full of the angels of God.\n\nThen I became possessed of a feverish anxiety to return home.  I must\nnot lose a minute, but great difficulties lay in the way.  I was\nthousands of miles from England, and there were no civilised ports we\ndared enter.  Piracy on the high seas is a crime, and so there would be\ngreat difficulty in landing at any port from which I could sail for\nhome.  But the difficulty must be managed somehow.  Ruth wanted me, and\nI would go home.\n\nI must speak to the captain at once, he could sympathise with me; he\nwould help me.\n\nThen I saw a streak of gold shoot across the waters, and soon the sea\nwas flooded with glory.  The king of day rose, triumphant, grand.  The\nnight was over, and I felt the light of day in my heart.\n\nI turned to the gangway and saw the captain wistfully watching the\nglowing sea.\n\nWithout hesitation I went to him, and began my story.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nAFTER LONG YEARS\n\n\"I wish to say a few words to you, captain.\"\n\n\"Say on, Tretheway.\"\n\n\"I have never told you the history of my life, now I wish to do so.\"\n\nHe nodded his head as if ready to listen.  Accordingly I began, and\nrelated in some detail the story of my life.  He listened attentively;\nevidently, he was interested.  Step by step he followed my narrative,\nuntil I came to the previous evening.  Then as I told him of the dream\nand the call I had heard, his face became pale as death, and he\nclenched his hand nervously.\n\n\"It is the voice of God, or of the mother of God.  You must go,\nTretheway,\" he said.\n\n\"Yes, I feel I must, and that soon,\" I replied.  \"But how?\"\n\n\"Last night I told you that I was tired of this life,\" he said.  \"This\nmorning I feel I must leave it.  I have been a wild, lawless fellow,\nTretheway; but I have been more sinned against than sinning, and I want\nto go home, where, by gifts to the Church, prayers, and penances I\nshall surely receive forgiveness.\"\n\nFor an hour we talked together.\n\nIt was all settled at length.  The vessel should sail under his\ndirection with all speed to the coast of France, where we were to make\nover the whole cargo and ship to the crew, and then leave it for ever.\nAccordingly we altered the course of the vessel, and after a few days'\nfast sailing reached the desired position.  Then the captain called the\ncrew together and appointed officers to command, ordered a boat and\nprovisions to be lowered, and told them he meant to leave them for ever.\n\nAt first the men demurred, they could never agree under another captain\nthey declared, but when Salambo (the captain) told them that the vessel\nand all its belongings were theirs, and that he should make no claim\nupon it, they became pacified.\n\nWe were now a few miles from land, at the nearest point between France\nand Spain, and we could see the lights of St. Sebastian in the\ndistance.  It wanted but an hour to daybreak, and we wished, if\npossible, to land without attracting any attention.  To me this seemed\nalmost impossible; but the captain was confident, so I trusted him.\n\nWe left the pirate vessel at length, I feeling a great load lifted off\nmy mind.  All the time I had been with the crew I had seemed to breathe\nfoul atmosphere, and when I was once rid of them a new life opened\nbefore me.  We had drifted, perhaps, a mile from the vessel when\nSalambo hoisted a small sail, and the wind being favourable we were\nwafted quickly towards land.  This being done, he opened a box, which\nhe had taken care should be lowered into the boat, and took from it two\ncomplete suits of gentlemen's attire.\n\n\"I always like to be ready for emergencies,\" he said, coolly.  \"If we\ngo on shore dressed as we are we shall be objects of suspicion\nimmediately.\"\n\nHe changed his clothes, which completely altered his appearance, after\nwhich he bade me follow his example.\n\n\"Now,\" he said, when I had finished, \"you look more like a civilized\nman; but there is a pirate's fire in your eye even yet.  I don't know\nthat I should like having you for an enemy, for I think you would still\nmake short work of the man you disliked.\"\n\nInvoluntarily, I thought of my brother Wilfred, and clenched my hands\nnervously.  Salambo watched me with a curious look on his face, and\nthen continued:\n\n\"But we must get rid of these things, or they will not fit in with my\nstory when we land.\"\n\n\"Why, what are you going to say?\"\n\n\"Say!  Why, that I am a Spanish gentleman from Santiago, that you are\nan English friend of mine, and that we have for a freak come over here.\nI speak the Spanish language perfectly, of course, while you speak it\nwith an English accent.  Leave all to me.  I'll manage it.\"\n\nWe landed at St. Sebastian in the early moming without difficulty.  The\nchange in Salambo's clothes had not only altered his appearance, but it\nhad apparently made a different man of him.  He was no longer the wild\nsea robber, but a refined, courteous gentleman.  Instinctively the\npeasantry saluted him with respect, and we were soon installed in the\nbest place of accommodation in the town.\n\nI was anxious to get away, and feverishly asked him as to my best means\nof getting to England.\n\n\"I have been thinking whether we shall ever meet again,\" he said,\nwithout answering my question.  \"We have been together nearly two\nyears, and we have come to regard each other as friends.  Should we\never settle down, which I doubt in spite of our desires, I hope we\nshall be able to meet--meet in peace as brothers.\"\n\n\"Why not?\" I said, boldly and confidently, \"nothing would give me more\njoy than to welcome you in my old Cornish home.\"\n\n\"Ah, Senor Trewinion,\" he said, for I had told him my true name, \"we\nhave both been away ten years, and when we get to our respective\nbirthplaces we shall find things much changed.  And--well, my heart is\nsad, and I have many doubts.\"\n\n\"I feel that my Ruth is alive,\" I said, confidently, though my heart\nsank within me.\n\n\"She may be alive, and yet who knows if she loves you?  Ah!  Senor, do\nnot build your hopes too high.  A woman is for ever a woman, a puzzle\nto themselves, and an unfathomable mystery to men.\"\n\n\"Well, I'm going to see if all is well, anyhow,\" I said.  \"What are you\ngoing to do?\"\n\n\"Trewinion, I feel I have acted wrongly,\" he said.  \"I came away\nleaving my Inez unprotected.  The man who stole her from me is dead;\nbut what has become of her I know not.  Methinks I never loved her\nwell, or I should not have left her because of fear of pursuit.  She\nwas guilty of nothing, and she loved me, and I have left her all these\nlong years.\"\n\nI was silent, for I felt it would be useless to speak.\n\n\"But I shall try to find her,\" he went on, \"and--who knows?--it may be\nthat she will forgive me and we shall be happy.  I trust so, I pray it\nmay be so.\"\n\n\"And if you do, how shall I know?\" I said.\n\n\"I have been thinking of this ever since we decided to leave,\" he\nreplied, \"and this is the plan I have marked out.  You had better go\nfirst to Bordeaux.  From there you will be easily able to get a vessel\nfor England.  I, on the other hand, shall go across The Pyrenees to my\nhome at Barcelona.  If I am alive, this address will find me,\" and he\nput a piece of paper in my hand.\n\n\"Will you be safe there?\" I asked.\n\n\"I think so.  You know my people are wild and passionate.  They easily\nforgive such sins as mine when they remember my provocation.  Indeed, I\nhave known the perpetrators of similar deeds lauded as heroes.  My only\nthought is, if I shall find Inez--if I do not I shall not care to live;\nbut if I do, the past will be forgotten, and I shall be happy.\"\n\nThe tears stood in his eyes as he spoke, and then I realised that all\nhis sinful deeds had not destroyed his heart.\n\nI left that same afternoon for Bordeaux, while Salambo made\npreparations to go to Barcelona, where he hoped to find his Inez.\n\nIn spite of all my eagerness and anxiety it was one month from the\nnight on which I received my summons home to the time I landed at\nFalmouth.  Without waiting an hour I made preparations to hurry on to\nTrewinion Manor.  I shall never forget my feelings when, after ten\nyears of absence, I first saw the Cornish cliffs.  At one time it\nseemed as though the past ten years were only a dream, and that I had\nnever left Cornwall at all, and again I felt as though my life prior to\nmy leaving home was an unreality.\n\nI found a coach at Falmouth that would take me within a few miles of my\nhome, so I quickly took my place, and then fretted and fumed as we\nslowly rumbled on.  It was towards afternoon when the coach arrived at\nthe spot where I could be set down, and there with fast beating heart I\nwatched the retreating conveyance, while I stood not far from my\nbirthplace.\n\nHow quiet it was to be sure!  There were no houses near, save one\nlittle wayside cottage and a small farmhouse among the fields.  All the\nfeatures were as familiar as if I had never left them.  Hill and dale\nalike were known to me, I had roamed over them all long years since.\nAll these rich green meadows were mine.  I, who had been an alien and a\nwanderer on the face of the earth, was the lawful master of all I saw,\nand yet nothing was mine, for had I not renounced them long years ago,\nrenounced them for the sake of the woman I loved?\n\nI set out for the old homestead and walked rapidly.  Eagerly I passed\nby every landmark which told me I was nearer home, and when at last\nonly one little hillock stood between me and the sight of the place\nthat was ever dear to me I almost lost control over my actions.\n\nUp I rushed, heedless of everything, until nothing hid it from my gaze.\nI was like the old Israelites who travelled towards Jerusalem, and\nanxiously waited for the last hill to be reached in order that they\nmight see the place they loved best in the world.\n\nAnd this was the place I loved best.  There it stood, grey, rugged and\nstern as in the olden days, its sturdy tower still braving the wind and\nweather.  Long I stood and looked at it.  My home!  The place where my\nfather had taught me to love him, the place where he had died, blessing\nme!  Eagerly I watched for signs of life, but I could seen none; all\nwas silent and lonely.  I looked seaward and saw the smooth, glittering\nwaters as they played around the base of the \"Devil's Tooth;\" I watched\nthe yellow beach, which sloped up towards the witches' cave; I saw the\nrugged cliffs and the rocks over which I had helped Ruth years before,\nwhen Wilfred had left her alone.  And, as I stood, memory after memory\nflashed through my mind, old sayings came back to me, and scenes which\nI had not thought about for years excited my mind, until my whole being\nwas moved to the very centre, and in spite of all my hardships and\nbuffetings I sobbed like a child.\n\nI was surprised that no signs of life appeared.  I looked at the fields\nand saw not a single soul.  I looked at the little cove.  A few boats\nwere rocking idly on the waters, but no human being was near.  Was the\nplace deserted?  Then I began to think.  The day of the week was\nMonday, and it was the third Monday in September.  Yes, that was the\nfeast day of Trewinion parish.  Yesterday the parish church would be\ncrowded; to-day the parishioners would meet at the Churchtown, where\nthere would be great festivities.  It was a general holiday for the\nwhole parish, and the people had congregated on the village green over\nby the church.\n\nStill, I expected a few servants would be at home, and mother, and,\nperchance, Wilfred.  He would never mix with the rowdy villagers, as he\ncalled them, and would probably be in the library following some\nfavourite literary pursuit.  What should I do?  Go home and proclaim\nmyself as Roger Trewinion, owner and master of everything?  No, I did\nnot like to do that--yet I must know how things stood.  I must know\nabout everything, where Ruth was, and what position she held!\n\nAnd still I stood gazing on the old house on the cliff until I saw a\nman come out and slowly saunter down the drive.\n\nIt was Wilfred.\n\nI started to go forward and speak to him, but stopped immediately\nafter.  Long years of foreign travel and passing through dangerous\nscenes had made me careful.  I knew not how I should be received, and I\nmust not give Wilfred the whip hand of me.  No, I would find out what\nhad happened at home during the intervening years.  I would go on to\nthe village green, and there, perchance, I should see those who knew me\nin the past, and should give them a chance of recognising me.\n\nPassing near the church, however, I could not resist the temptation to\nenter.  To an ordinary sightseer, it would doubtless possess small\nattraction, but to me who accompanied my father there more than twenty\nyears before, and where I had received what little religious\ninstruction I possessed, it was of more than ordinary interest.\nBesides, my father was buried beneath the altar steps, and I longed to\nsee the place again.  Accordingly I entered the churchyard, and finding\nthe church door open, entered the sacred building.  Instinctively I\nfound my way to the eastern end of the church, and there experienced\none of the strangest sensations of my life.  On the wall just above my\nfather's tomb was a tablet erected to the memory of my father, giving\nnot only the year of his birth, but the manner of his death.  But this\nwas not what affected me.  I had expected to see some memorial of my\nfather, but what startled me was the sight of another tablet\nimmediately beneath it, on which were written these words:--\n\n  SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF\n\n  ROGER TREWINION\n\n  ELDEST SON OF THE ABOVE\n\n  WHO MET HIS DEATH BY DROWNING, AND WHOSE BODY\n  WAS DISCOVERED ON THE SANDS.\n\n  \"_Thy brother shall rise again!_\"\n\n  THIS TABLET WAS ERECTED BY HIS LOVING MOTHER\n  AND BROTHER.\n\n\nWhether wonder or anger were strongest within me I know not, but both\nstrove mightily.  For first of all it is a strange experience for any\nman to see his own tombstone, and in spite of myself I could not help\nshivering.  But strong as was this feeling, anger well-nigh overcame\nit.  It seemed to me that both my mother and brother were so eager for\nme to be dead, that they were glad of any excuse for making me appear\nso, and I determined that I would understand what it all meant.\n\nAccordingly I walked towards the village and soon found myself in the\nmidst of about two hundred people, which was regarded as a great crowd\nin that neighbourhood.  In one corner of the green was a wrestling\nring, and in another was a group of young folk dancing to the music of\ntwo or three instruments, which had evidently been specially obtained\nfor the occasion.  Some very coarse sweetmeats were being sold at the\nsweet stalls and a general holiday air pervaded the scene.  I saw as I\ncame up that I was curiously regarded.  My dress was of foreign make,\nand I was bronzed by years of exposure.  My beard, too, was long, and\nmy whole appearance was different from those whom the people would be\nlikely to see.  Moreover, it was very seldom a stranger visited that\nneighbourhood, and thus naturally I was regarded as a sort of curiosity.\n\nI looked from face to face, but could see no one that I knew.  During\nthese years middle-aged men seemed to have grown old, and children to\nhave sprung into men and women.  I made my way towards the wrestling\nring, where two youths struggled with each other, while the people\nlooked at them with open mouths.  Here I saw two or three farmers whom\nI knew, but I did not care to enter into conversation.\n\nIt was very strange.  I was home, and yet no one knew me.  The parish\nwas called by my name, the church was called Trewinion Church, and yet\nI, Roger, the oldest male member of the house, was a stranger, and\nlooked at curiously by the people.  Eleven years before I had been at\nthe feast, and then everyone had paid respect to \"Maaster Roger\"; but\nnow, the bronzed, bearded, foreign-looking man, was an alien.\n\nAt length one of the two men who had been wrestling was thrown, and\nthen I heard a voice which I thought I knew, saying, \"That's a feir\nvall.\"  It was spoken by the man who had been selected as umpire, and\nwhen I caught sight of his face I recognised Bill Tregargus, the man\nwho climbed the \"Devil's Tooth\" on the stormy night when Ruth was\nrescued.  I had always remained friendly with Bill up to the time I\nleft.  I determined I would speak to him.\n\nAs this was the last \"hitch\" of the day, the ring was broken up, and I\nsaw Bill going with the rest towards the village alehouse.\n\nI went up to him and touched him upon the arm.\n\n\"You seem to be a man of some importance here,\" I said.\n\nBill looked very modest, but nodded.\n\n\"I want to have a little talk with some respectable man in the parish,\"\nI said: \"one who knows the worth of land and one who knows the people.\"\n\n\"Wal, I think as 'ow I knaws everybody,\" said Bill; \"I've bin ere oal\nmy life, and don't owe nobody nothin'.  I've got three booats, and a\ndaicent little farm.\"\n\n\"I can quite fancy that,\" I said, \"by the way people regard you.  Is\nyour farm your own land now, or do you rent it?\"\n\n\"Nobody farms their own land in this ere parish,\" replied Bill, \"it do\noal belong to Squire Trewinion, but who be you and what do you want to\nknaw about the parish for?\"\n\n\"I'm a stranger,\" I said, \"and I used to know young Roger Trewinion;\ncan you tell me anything about him?\"\n\n\"Knaw young Maaster Roger, did 'ee?\" cried Bill, \"why he was a friend\nto me; ain't 'ee 'eard un spaik of Bill Tregargus?\"\n\n\"Bill Tregargus?\" I said; \"many a time! why, did you not go out with\nhim one night and rescue a young lady whose ship was wrecked upon a\ngreat rock?\"\n\n\"Why, iss,\" said Bill excitedly, \"ded a ever tell 'ee 'bout that?\"\n\n\"How should I know it else?\" I said; \"but now I want to know about him\nand the family.\"\n\nHe took me away from the people by a pathway that led through a meadow.\n\n\"You was a friend of Maaster Roger's,\" said Bill, \"zo I can tell 'ee.\nHe's dead, and there's been foul play.\"\n\n\"Foul play?  How?\"\n\n\"It's my belief 'ow 'e've bin murdered, zur.\"\n\n\"Murdered!  Why should you think that?\"\n\n\"When did you knaw Maaster Roger, sur?\"\n\n\"Oh, twelve years ago, just before he came of age, I think.\"\n\n\"Well, sur, ther've bin awful doin's up at th' House since then,\nthings, sur, as I'm amooast 'fraid to tell 'ee, 'cause----\"\n\nThen a frightened look came into Bill's eyes, and he looked round\nnervously.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nREVENGE!\n\n\"You doan't belong to this neighbourhood, do 'ee?\" said Bill, at length.\n\n\"I have not been in England for years,\" was my reply.\n\n\"Well, sur, I'll tell 'ee oal about it.  Perhaps you knaw that the\nyoung lady who was saved was stayin' at the house?\"\n\n\"Yes, I've heard of it.  Miss Morton was her name, wasn't it?\"\n\n\"Iss, that's it.  Well, Maaster Roger and Maaster Wilfred was boath in\nlove wi' her; and Maaster Wilfred he stood the best chance 'cause Mrs.\nTrewinion dedn't like Roger, and she amoast worshipped Wilfred.  Of\ncourse, we doan't know all about it, but we've heerd as 'ow there was\nsomethin' in Squire Morton's will which made Miss Ruth marry the Squire\nof Trewinion.  Anyhow the ou'll squire got killed, and jist after that,\naltho' Maaster Roger wur maaster of everything, he runned away and left\nWilfred to be the squire.  Of course, everybody wondered at that, and\ngrieved too, for Maaster Roger wur a fav'rit' with us all.  Then we\nheerd from the sarvents that Mrs. Trewinion and Maaster Wilfred had\nworked it out.  She had tould Miss Ruth that young Roger had been\nboasting that she would 'ave to marry him, although 'ee didn't care\nanything 'bout 'er, and we heerd as 'ow she tould Maaster Roger that\nMiss Ruth loved his brother, but couldn't marry him 'cause he was in\nthe way, and that the thought of marryin' him, that is Maaster Roger,\nwas drivin' her mad.  We doan't knaw 'bout oal these things, sur, but\nanyhow, Maaster Roger was missin' dreckly after his father's funerl,\nand hev never bin seed alive since.  Well, after he was gone, Miss Ruth\nnearly broke her heart.  You never see such a pale thing as she went\nto.\"\n\n\"But I think I heard that she liked Wilfred best; at least, Roger told\nme so.\"\n\n\"Ded Maaster Roger tell 'ee that, sur?  Well, everybody thought so.\nShe would go out a walking with Wilfred, but 'ardly ever with Roger;\nbut wimmin be curus critters, and it 'pears that all the time she wur a\ndyin' for 'im, only she wur too proud to let 'im know it.\"\n\nIn spite of myself my heart gave a great bound.  I saw it now.  I had\nbeen the tool of my mother and Wilfred.  I had spent long years of\ngrief because of them; my life was perhaps wrecked, but I kept calm\nbefore Bill, and bade him go on with his story.\n\n\"Well, sur,\" Bill continued, \"while everyone was talkin' 'bout Maaster\nRoger, and was wonderin' what 'ad become ov him, the body of a man wur\nfound at the bottom of the headland oal bruised and battered.  Of\ncourse, everybody said 'twas Maaster Roger.  In fact, Mrs. Trewinion,\nand the passon, and Maaster Inch swore to him, an' 'cordingly it was\ntook into the house, and in a day or two was buried in the Trewinion\nvault, under the Communion in the church there,\" pointing to the grey\ntower, which we could just see between the trees.\n\n\"But were proper steps taken to indentify it?\" I asked.\n\n\"Well, sur, you see, when a young fella's mawther sweers to 'im there\ncan't be much more zed.  Anyhow, everybody believed it but Miss Ruth.\nShe stuck out that 'twadn' Maaster Roger, and wudd'n go to the funeral.\nOf course, there were a lot of talk, but we people only heerd jist bits\nof gossip like.  For my oan paart, I 'greed with her.  I knawed that\nMaaster Roger knawed too much 'bout the cliffs not to vall over um,\nwhile as fur killin' hisself, he wadn't the sort of chap to do that.\"\n\n\"Did you say so?\"\n\n\"'Course I did, but people laughed at me, and zed I worshipped Maaster\nRoger, which wur purty nigh true.  But what vollied wur strange.\nPeople zed as ow a strange figure wur seed in the churchyard, and that\nit went wailin' up an' down, and then went in through the church door,\nand then up to the Trewinion vault, where it vanished.\"\n\n\"But how could anyone see it go through the door, and then up to the\nvault?\"\n\n\"Dunnaw, sir; but sperrits be curse things.  Any-rate, thur wur lots of\ntalk, fur 'twas seed not only in the church, and churchyard, but up at\nthe house.\"\n\n\"Who was it supposed to be?\"\n\n\"Well, some do say as 'twas this man that was buried that wasn't\nMaaster Roger.  Some do say as 'twas th' oull squire hisself, who come\nback to tell un that they didn' bury his son; while others do say that\nthe squire com back to tell Miss Ruth to marry Wilfred.  Anyhow, things\nwent on like that for a week till the passon was called up to the\nhouse, and was tould to lay the ghost.\"\n\n\"How do you know if that is true?\"\n\n\"Well, sur, that es what people do say.  They say that Mrs. Trewinion\nand the passon went first into the library and then to the church, and\nthere the passon ded read the funeral service over again, and took care\nto turn the Prayer-book upside down so that the ghost couldn't rise any\nmore.\"\n\n\"And was it seen afterwards?\"\n\n\"No sur, it weren't; but some don't think 'twas the passon laid the\nghost, but 'cause Debrah Teague had summin to do wi' it, and the passon\nhad a row wi' her.\"\n\n\"Well, what happened afterwards?\"\n\n\"Things went on quiet for a bit, sur; then we heerd as 'ow Maaster\nWilfred, who took 'pon him the place ov squire, was plagin' Miss Ruth\nto marry un, and she wudden, then it laiked out that she said she\nwudden marry un 'till ten year after Maaster Roger 'ad gone.\"\n\n\"My dream, my dream!\" I thought.  Surely the hand of God was in this;\nbut I did not know all then!\n\n\"Well, are the ten years up yet?\" I said, as quietly as I could.\n\n\"'Twas up 'bout a month ago, sur; and then, sur we've heerd as 'ow a\nstrange thing happened.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"I have to go up to the house a goodish bit, sur.  I take fish there,\nand I'm friendly weth the sarvents, too, and so I heer more'n anybody\nelse.\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"They do say as 'ow Mrs. Trewinion and Maaster Wilfred went botherin'\n'er again to marry 'im, tellin' her that the ten years was up.  They\nsay, too, that Maaster Wilfred got Miss Ruth's old steward Inch into\nsome scrapes, and can make un do moast what he've got a mind to.\nAnyhow they oal got at her, and got her to promise, when she screeches\nout 'Roger es ere; I see un!'  There were a sarvent in the 'all that\neerd her and she tould me!\"\n\n\"Merciful God,\" I thought, my dream again.\n\n\"What happened afterwards?\" I said, excitedly.\n\n\"Why, sur, Miss Ruth she fented away, and lyed like one dead for a long\ntime, and when she came to she looked oal dazed.\"\n\n\"And then?\"\n\n\"The next day she went to her own house.\"\n\n\"What for?\"\n\n\"To prepare for the weddin'.  She believed, so she tould her maid, that\nRoger must be dead, and so she went home tu fulfil her father's will,\nand prepare for the weddin'.\"\n\n\"What, did Wil--, that is, the other brother, persist in her marrying\nhim, though he knew she didn't like him?\"\n\n\"That he did, sur.  You see, he've bin livin' wild, and people do zay\nthat the whole estate es mortgaged up to its eyes, and he ded want to\nget Miss Ruth so as to kep Trewinion.\"\n\nMy heart grew hot with anger, but I only urged the man to go on with\nhis story.\n\n\"Well, I do'ant knaw much after that 'ow things went on; but I've heerd\nthat she pined and pined, and still Maaster Wilfred kept her to her\npromise.  The banes (banns) was called in church, and the day fixed;\nbut she got thinner and thinner, till 'bout a week ago she--she----\"\n\n\"She what?  Tell me?\"\n\n\"She died.  Goodness gracious, who be you?\"\n\n\"Ruth dead!  Died of a broken heart!  Wilfred, your cup is full!  You\nshall die for this!\" I cried wildly.  My brain was on fire, my heart\nwas breaking.  I had come home for this!  The message was a mockery,\nnothing was before me but despair and--revenge.\n\n\"Look you!\" cried Bill, \"you be--iss, good Lord--you be Maaster Roger!\"\n\n\"Yes, Roger,\" I said, \"come home for this!\"\n\n\"Oa, Maaster Roger, I wish I 'ad'n tould 'ee.  I'd a bite my tongue out\nfust; but I ded'n knaw, and yet I thought you was somebody I'd seed\nbefore.  Oa, Maaster Roger, do'ant 'ee give way so.  Oa, to think you\nshould 'ev bin dead, and come back livin', and that Bill Tregargus shud\nhev bin the fust to tell 'ee the bad news.  Ef I'd only knaw'd I'd ev\naltered it; but I ded'n.\"\n\nI conquered myself at last.  I had been in a hard school during the\nlast ten years, living almost without hope in life, and so I felt it\nless than if I buoyed myself up with joyful hopes.  Still, it was\nterrible, terrible.  If I had come home a month before it might have\nbeen different, but I was too late.  Ah, I was cursed, cursed with the\nTrewinion's curse!\n\n\"Bill,\" I said, after many wild questions on my part, and excited\nexclamations on his, for he could not realise that I was alive, \"tell\nme all about it, all about her death, and everything.\"\n\n\"Well, Maaster Roger,\" said Bill, \"what I knaw is through Jane Treloar,\nwho was Miss Ruth's maid, and she came back yesterday by the coach.\nShe do live here, you do knaw, sur.  Well, she tould me and the cook\nthat she only made one request when she got very ill, and that was that\nMaaster Wilfred shouldn't see her.  She got weaker, sur, very fast, and\nnever spoke to anybody, and died without a murmur.\"\n\n\"When was she buried?\"\n\n\"Two days agone, sur.\"\n\n\"Where?\"\n\n\"In the church, sur, near her house, in the vault under the Communion,\nso Jane Treloar said.\"\n\nFor a long time Bill and I remained together, until I saw the evening\nshadows fall, then I made up my mind I would go to the Hall.\n\n\"Bill,\" I said, \"did you know me at all while we were talking?\"\n\n\"Not until you got wild, sur, then it struck me who you was.  Nobody\nwould recognise you at once, sur, you've so altered.\"\n\n\"I don't want you to tell anyone you've seen me until you hear from me\nagain, Bill.\"\n\n\"All right, sur, I won't do nothin' you do'ant want me to do; you\nbe'ant goin' away, be 'ee, sur, y'll stay and be squire!\"\n\n\"I don't know what I shall do yet,\" I said, \"I'm almost mad; but you'll\nknow by and by.\"\n\nThen I went away towards the house.  I knew Wilfred was home, and I\ndetermined that we should meet, and that he should give an account of\nhis dealings with the woman for whom I had left my home.\n\nDaylight was nearly gone when I reached the headland so I went to a\nspot near the house, where I could watch.  It was a glorious September\nevening, and nature was on every hand beautiful.  The flush of summer\nhad gone; but the decay of winter had not set in, and the cornfields\nwhich had been shorn of their crops were by no means destitute of\nloveliness.  The fruit trees were laden with their crimson and golden\nclusters, and the first tinge of brown that was just beginning to\nappear only added to the beauty of the foliage I felt this rather than\nsaw it.  The spell of the night exists more in my consciousness than in\nmy memory.  The music of the waters comes back to me rather as a\nhalf-forgotten dream than as anything I distinctly remember.  My mind\nwas then too busy with other things.  I was thinking of Ruth, Ruth\nloving me through long years, and then dying of a broken heart.\nThrough the wilful deception of my brother and mother I had been bereft\nof everything I loved.  Through them I had sacrificed love, hope and\ncomforts; through them my darling--who loved me all the time--was\nmurdered.  Oh!  If I had but known.  If I had but known we might have\nbeen happy--so happy!  But no, they had remorselessly pursued their\ncourse, until they had killed my darling.\n\nIf I felt hatred on the morning I left home, I felt it ten times more\nnow.  Then my hatred was blind hatred without knowing the reason, now I\nknew that it only foreshadowed what should come after.  It was a\nprophetic power in my soul, which told me vaguely perhaps, but truly,\nwhat my brother would do; now I realised it.  Then, if I may so speak,\nit was abstract, now it was concrete.  What I had only dimly feared was\nbecome a fact.  Ruth, who had loved me, loved me without my knowledge,\nhad been killed, murdered, as truly as if an assassin had used a knife\nor cudgel for his devilish work.  Nay, it was worse, it was a slower\nand more cruel death.  She had died because of the fear that her life\nwas to be linked to a man she did not love.\n\nI was very calm I remember, even though the fires of hell burnt in my\nheart.  After all, the anger which is most dangerous is not that which\nraves and cries aloud, but that which makes no noise.  Calm as I was, I\nfelt my muscles grow hard, and I had a kind of savage joy within me as\nI pictured the death agony on his face and heard the death rattle in\nhis throat.  Nevertheless, I would not act foolishly, and I set myself\nto thinking how I could bring my desires to pass.\n\nHow should I enter the house?  How should I be able to get Wilfred away\nalone?\n\nSurely, the powers of darkness were on my side, for while I waited and\nwatched I saw him come out of the tower entrance, and walk in the\ndirection of the gate that led out to the headland where I was.\n\n\"Ah!\" said I, \"God is going to give you into my hands.  He is a just\nGod!  He will not grant me love, but He will grant me hate, and He will\nfind a means of vengeance.\"\n\nHe came out of the gate and wandered slowly on.  I was too far away to\nsee his face clearly in the evening light, but could see he moved with\nthe old, careless swing.  Ten years had scarcely altered his\nappearance.  He was still the elegant, handsome Wilfred.\n\nHe walked towards the vicarage, and took the coast path.  So much the\nbetter--it was the most lonely path in the countryside.  It suited my\npurpose exactly.  I followed silently.  No sound of footsteps could be\nheard, for the grass was soft and spongy; the grass on which we had\noften played together as boys.\n\nHe wandered along aimlessly as though he had come out to be alone.  He\ndid not look back; but every now and then stopped and gazed at the\n\"Devil's Tooth,\" the five great prongs of which could be clearly seen\nin the evening light.\n\nPresently I thought we had gone far enough for my purpose, and so I\nwent up to him.\n\n\"I desire to speak to you,\" I said.\n\nHe turned round sharply, and looked straight at me.\n\n\"Who are you?\" he cried.\n\n\"Look and see,\" I said.\n\nThe moon had risen, the sky was clear, and my features could be plainly\nseen.\n\nHe looked at me steadily with his sharp brilliant eyes, and spoke again.\n\n\"I do not know you.\"\n\n\"I think you do,\" I said.  \"You and I have often played on yonder\nheadland, often wrestled there; look again.\"\n\nThen he gave a great start, and trembled.\n\n\"My God, it is Roger!\" he cried.\n\n\"Ah, you remember at last, do you?  Yes, it is Roger.\"\n\nHe seemed to detect something fearful in my voice, for he asked harshly:\n\n\"Where do you come from, and why are you here?\"\n\n\"I am come from silence, and from mystery, as far as you are\nconcerned,\" I replied, \"and I am here in the name of righteousness and\njustice.\"\n\nSomething in my answer seemed to startle him.\n\n\"Alive?\" he said, with a gasp.\n\n\"Yes, alive,\" I said.  \"When I left I told you to be careful, or Roger\nmight come to life again.  I told you to be kind to the one for whom I\nsacrificed my all, or the dead would arise.  Let your own memory answer\nthe question whether there is cause for me to come back.\"\n\nHe caught my meaning, and began to stammer.\n\n\"But, Roger, I--I have done nothing, and----\"\n\n\"Stop,\" I cried, \"I know all.  You know that I was deceived into\nbelieving that Ruth loved you, and that I was the hindrance to her\nhappiness.  And I know now that it was a lie concocted by my mother and\nyou.  I know how you have imposed upon and deceived her.  I know that\nyou have tried to frighten her into marrying you, and I know, too, that\nby keeping her to a promise that her soul abhorred, you have murdered\nher!  I know all this, and now I have come back for revenge.\"\n\n\"What will you do?\"\n\n\"I do not know as yet.  First of all confess to me this; did not you\nand my mother deceive both Ruth and me to get me away, so that you\nmight have what was mine?\"\n\n\"You said you knew, why do you ask?\"\n\n\"I wish to hear what you say; answer me!\"\n\n\"Mother put in into my mind, and I thought that--that--you didn't care,\nso I--I----\" he stopped in confusion.\n\n\"Coward! to put the fault on your mother.  Now another question.  Did\nyou villify me to Ruth, did you wear away her life by trying to get her\nto marry you, even when you knew she loved me?\"\n\n\"Roger, I wanted her so, and you were gone, and we thought you dead,\nand our affairs got entangled so----\"\n\n\"You killed her,\" I said savagely.  \"But for your accursed cunning and\ngreed she would be alive now.\"\n\n\"I didn't know, Roger.  I knew she didn't like me after--after--you\nwent away, but I didn't think I should----\"\n\n\"Did you hold her to her promise to the last?\"\n\n\"Yes--that is, I thought she might get better again and so----\"\n\n\"You drove her to her death, and now my turn has come.\"\n\n\"But you will not hurt me, Roger; you will not hurt your brother!  What\nwill you do?\"\n\nThis touched me to the quick, and for a time I felt I could not hurt\nhim.\n\nIs there unspoken communication of thought?  Is there a subtle\ninterchange of mind which is instinctively felt?  I think so, for no\nsooner did I feel that I could not harm Wilfred than his evident fear\nleft him.  He acted on the aggressive immediately, and spoke boldly.\n\n\"Yes, what will you do?\" he said.  \"I refuse to know you.  I refuse to\nrecognise you.  My brother Roger is dead, and was buried long years\nsince.  You are some impostor come here to claim what is not your own,\nunder the paltry pretence of revenge.\"\n\nMy brother's villainy was now manifest, and my old hatred came surging\nback.\n\n\"Roger is not dead, and that you will soon find out,\" I said.  \"All\nyour authority and power are gone, the son and heir has come; but\nRuth's avenger is come too!  'An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a\ntooth.'  You shall suffer as she has suffered, you shall die as she\ndied.  I have a long score to pay.  I have ten years of misery in the\npast to account for.  I have a blackened future from which you are not\nfree.\"\n\nWe were standing near the cliff as I said this, but I had my eye upon\nhim, and it is well it was so, for he jumped at me savagely, and, had I\nnot been prepared I should have fallen from the dizzy height to the\nragged rocks below.\n\n\"Curse you,\" he cried; \"but you have not a child to deal with, or the\npuny boy whose weakness you used to take advantage of.  I am not going\nto let Trewinion go.  I have not enjoyed it for ten years to lose it\nnow.  If Roger did not die ten years ago he shall die now.\"\n\nWith that he sought to drag me nearer the cliff, while I gripped him\nfirmly.  He did not fight defensively now.  For him, everything\ndepended on the struggle.  To rob me of my love, and to rob me of my\nmoney, he had schemed to get me away, and now that I had come back he\ndetermined to hold by all he had stolen.  Nor did I fight defensively.\nI felt I had lost Ruth, ay, I had lost my life itself through him, and\nI gripped him with a grip of iron.  I thought of misery, and revenge;\nhe of disgrace and the loss of what he held dear.\n\nI soon found out that, as he had said, I had not a child or a puny boy\nto deal with.  His muscles seemed of iron, and he coiled around me like\na serpent.  If I hated, he hated still more, and with the malignity of\na demon he sought to master me.  I was, however, the bigger and the\nstronger man, while the past ten years of my life had developed my\nphysical strength greatly.  Toil and exposure had given me power of\nendurance unknown to him, and soon I felt his grasp weaken.  Little by\nlittle I mastered him, until with the grip of a giant I crushed him in\nmy arms.\n\nHe looked up at me despairingly.\n\n\"You will not kill me, Roger?\" he gasped.\n\n\"Would you not have killed me if you could?\" I said, for there was\nmurder in my heart.  \"You have killed my Ruth, and now----\"\n\nI did not finish the sentence, for, in spite of myself, I felt him\ndragging me nearer the edge of the cliff, nor was I able to stop him\nuntil we were within a foot or so from the awful precipice.  Then I\nlifted him from the ground and held him.  His strength seemed gone,\nwhile mine was unabated.\n\nWhat should I do with him?  He was the destroyer of my life's\nhappiness, he had killed my love, he had filled me with despair; but he\nwas my brother.  Should I destroy the venomous life that wrought only\nevil? or----\n\n\"Hurl him over!\" said the devil within me, \"he is your blight, your\ncurse!  Show him no mercy, let him be dashed to pieces, and thus you\nwill avenge your misery, and avenge Ruth's death!\"\n\n[Illustration: \"'Hurl him over!' said the devil within me.\"]\n\n\"No, no, he's your brother, forgive him!\" said another voice.\n\nAll this passed through my mind in the moment, that I felt him struggle\nagain, then, with an awful shriek, he fell from me.\n\nI stood alone on that dizzy height--alone!  I was the conqueror.  I was\navenged.  Ruth's murderer was dead.\n\nI looked around me, and I remembered where I stood.\n\nLong years before I had gone to the vicarage, and on this spot I had\nseen a shadowy, shapeless figure in white!\n\nOn the night my father had died I was standing on this place when I saw\nbetween the prongs of the \"Devil's Tooth\" the omen of darkness.\n\nNow, standing there alone, I realised what had been done on this place\nof evil memory.\n\nI stood on the edge of the cliff and looked down I could see nothing,\nbut below me I heard the waves break upon the rocks, and they seemed to\nlaugh with fiendish glee, and mock me in my black despair.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nHELL!\n\nI cried to God, \"Oh, I am so weary.\"\n\nGod said, \"You have not seen half hell.\"\n\nI said, \"I cannot see more, I am afraid.  In my own narrow little path\nI dare not walk, because I think that one has dug a pit for me; and if\nI put my hand to take a fruit I draw it back again, because I think it\nhas been kissed.  If I look out across the plains the mounds are\ncovered houses; and when I pass among the stones I hear them crying.\nThe time of the dance is beaten in with sobs, and the wind is alive.\nOh, I cannot bear hell.\"--OLIVE SCHREINER.\n\n\nFor some time I was conscious of nothing, but by degrees I realised\nwhat I had done.  An awful crime rested upon my soul, a crime only the\nshadow of which had rested upon me before.\n\nThe hatred of years had found expression at last.  The serpent that had\nlain in my heart, writhing and turning, and growing for years, had at\nlast lifted its head, the latent devil had asserted itself, and I was a\nmurderer.\n\nA murderer!\n\nThe ghastly, terrible truth pressed itself upon me more and more.  I\nwas alone on the weather-beaten cliff, around me all was still; beneath\nme was the ever sobbing sea telling me of what I had done.\n\nA murderer?\n\nOh!  The terror of that thought.  Even now, after long years, I\ntrembled at what I then realised.  I, Roger Trewinion, trained by a\ngodly father, surrounded during my early life with every good\ninfluence, was a murderer.  In my madness I had arisen like Cain and\ntaken away my brother's life; in my hatred I had wrought desolation.\n\nAlone! alone; with only the mocking sea to speak to me from without;\nwhile within I felt the fires of hell.\n\nI saw, as in a lightning flash, the events of the past twenty years.  I\nsaw myself and Wilfred playing, rollicking on the cliffs, I saw us\nrushing home from school, and nutting among the woods.  Again we were\ntogether in the waving cornfields, or swimming in the shining seas.  We\nwere reared in the same home, and had through our childhood slept in\nthe same room.  We both bore the same name, and the same blood ran in\nour veins.\n\nAnd I remembered more than that.  Thousands of incidents concerning the\nhappy days of childhood flashed through my memory.  Then we had few\ncares and many joys.  I saw us sitting in the old family pew in church,\nand the lines of the old hymns we had sung came back to me, hymns about\nthe love of God and the Cross of Christ.\n\nAnd I had murdered him!  Never, in my wildest moments, did I dream that\nmy hatred of Wilfred would ever take outward form in actual killing.  I\ndid not mean to kill him when we stood together, and held him in my\narms.  But he fell from me--fell from that awful height, down, down,\namong the cruel jagged rocks, and would be dashed to pieces, while the\nmocking waves would sweep over him.\n\nNow, where was the purpose of my hate, my revenge?  They had not won\nback the lost years of my life, they had not given Ruth back to me.  My\nevil deed had only made the evil more evil; had poisoned my own soul\nwith a poison more deadly.  What right had I to visit vengeance upon my\nbrother's wrong-doing?  Was I perfect?  Had not hatred mastered my life\nfor years?  Had I not allowed my lower nature to conquer my higher?\nYet I had dared to avenge my wrong.  I had dared to take the work of\nGod into my own hands.  \"Vengeance is Mine, I will repay,\" said the\nLord.\n\nBitterly now did I feel the truth of this, for God was taking His\nvengeance on me!  I--I had broken His laws, I had yielded to the devil,\nI had hurled the crown of my manhood from me.\n\nAnd I still stood alone, with bare head and burning eyes, while in my\nheart burned a scorching, tormenting, yet non-consuming fire.\n\nThen a more terrible thought came.  What I had done could never be\nundone.  Never!  Age upon age might pass away, but that fact, ghastly\nand black, would remain!  It might be possible, I did not think He ever\nwould, but it might be possible that in the far-off future God would\nforgive me.  But then, even God could not undo the fact that I had\nkilled my brother.\n\nBut I had not intended to throw him over the cliff.  His death was due\nto an accident; I had not altogether yielded to the strivings of the\ndevil.  True, true, and yet murder was in my heart, for did I not hate\nhim and had I not hated him for years.\n\n\"Whoso hateth his brother is a murderer.\"  So said the disciple of the\nSon of God, and I had hated him, and now neither God nor eternity could\nundo what I had done.\n\nI thought of my mother.  Soon she would learn that Wilfred was dead,\nand then her sky would be black, and it would be I, Roger, who had\nblackened it.  The deed which would bring her grey hair with sorrow to\nthe grave, had been done by me.\n\n\"Ah,\" I thought, \"if I could only cease to be, cease to think,\" but\nthat, I knew, could never be.  Had I hurled myself from that dizzy\nheight, so that my battered body might be beside my brother's, the\nawful thing I had done would remain, and I should remain.  I might kill\nthe body, but I could not kill the soul; and self-murder would make my\ncrime greater, not less.\n\nOh, how desolate the world was.  The summer sky had no beauty; the\nfields, which I could still dimly see, were shorn of every loveliness.\n\nThen I looked seaward, and the only visible object was the ghastly rock\nwhich was ever a nightmare to my soul.\n\nWhat was it I saw there?  It was a light, like the light I had seen on\nthe night of my father's death, a weird, ghostly light, moving between\nthe great grey prongs.\n\nI remembered then of what that light was supposed to be the omen, and\nmy senses seemed to leave me.  Everywhere, everywhere, I could hear\ntaunting voices crying \"Murderer!  Murderer!\"  The winds as they swept\nby said it, the sea playing with the pebbles on the beach said it, and\nthousands of voices all around me uttered the same dread word.  I put\nmy fingers in my ears to keep away the hideous sound; but not so could\nI silence conscience.  The word came not from without, but from within.\nIt was my guilty soul that repeated it, until I longed to have the\npower to flee from the self which I loathed.\n\nNot only did my ears hear the word; my eyes saw it.  Everywhere it was\nwritten.  On the broad sky I could see it written from end to end.  I\nturned to the sea, and on its silvery waters the same awful word was\ntraced, in letters that were black as the blackest night.  I turned my\neyes landward, and it was there, and when I closed them I saw it still.\n\nYet I was not sorry for what I had done!  I suffered the pains of hell,\nbut I was not sorry, nor did I hate my brother the less.  Could I have\nshed one bitter tear or realised one true feeling of repentance I\nshould have suffered less; but I could not, and this made my hell\nharder to bear, it made my hell a hell of the blackest kind.  Dives did\nnot feel the burning so keenly as I, for in his pain he could still\nlove his brothers and long for their salvation; but I was in worse\nstraits than he.  I hated all, because of my hatred of one.\n\nAnd all the time I felt this, I stood on the verge of the cliffs\nhundreds of feet above the ever-sounding sea.  My loneliness was\nterrible!  I longed to hear some voice, to feel the grasp of some\nfriendly hand, yet I dreaded the approach of any one.\n\nMy eyes and ears were, after a while, delivered from the terrible word,\nand looking again I saw the mysterious light moving among the prongs of\nthe \"Devil's Tooth,\" then I saw a form approaching me, a grey, bent,\nungainly form.\n\nTrembling I waited as it approached, until it stood close by my side.\n\n\"What do 'ee zee?\" said a croaking voice.\n\nI did not reply.  I felt that I could not.\n\n\"Es it the light you be lookin' at?  That's Betsey Fraddam's lantern,\nthat es, and that do'ant tell'ee of any good luck.\"\n\nI knew now that it was old Deborah Teague who spoke.  The years had not\nsoftened her harsh features, nor did she seem older than when I had\nleft Trewinion, save that she stooped more.  My blood curdled when I\nknew it was she.  When I stood on this place last she had come to me\nand had repeated some lines of the Trewinion's curse; she had told me\nof the darkness that was approaching, and now on the night that I had\ncome back, the night on which I had been engaged in a deed of darkest\ndark on this same dread spot, she had come to me again.\n\nYet did I not reply.\n\n\"Who be you?\" she continued.\n\nI remained silent, looking again towards the \"Devil's Tooth,\" where\nangry flames leaped up.\n\nThe old dame laughed when she saw my evident fear, and continued in her\nhoarse, croaking voice:\n\n\"That's ou'll Betsey cookin' her broth, that es; and it was made where\nyou do'ant want to go.  I shudn't stay there much longer or ou'll\nBetsey 'll bring'ee some, and nobody ever refuses her.\"\n\nWith that she hobbled away, leaving me again alone.  But I did not stay\nlong.  A maddening desire came into my heart to get away, and with\neager feet I rushed landward.\n\nWhere should I go?  Somewhere, anywhere away from Trewinion, away from\nthis dark deed of my life.  For a mile I rushed blindly on.  Then I\nstopped.  I must make up my mind what was to be my destination.\n\nMorton Hall!  I had not been thinking of it, but that was the place\nthat impressed itself on my thought and memory.  I would go there.  For\nwhat purpose I did not know, but in my misery that one place seemed to\ninvite me.  I could do no good, for Ruth was dead, and laid in the cold\ntomb.  Dead, dead, and she had died loving me!  The thought softened my\nhell, and yet it made it harder to bear, for while it put tenderness\ninto my heart, it made me feel more than ever unworthy even to mention\nher name.\n\nI stopped in my journey again, for I had started in the direction of\nRuth's home, and, looking upward, I saw a star that was nearer to me\nthan any other, and it seemed to look lovingly upon me; then my heart\nwas subdued, and I sobbed like a child.\n\nAgain a mad frenzy possessed me, and I rushed away in the direction of\nRuth's home as though the powers of darkness pursued me.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\nTOWARDS RUTH'S GRAVE\n\nBut if you look into it, the balance is perfectly adjusted, even here.\nGod has made His world much better than you and I could make it.\nEverything reaps its own harvest; every act has its own reward.  And\nbefore you covet the enjoyment which another possesses, you must first\ncalculate the cost at which it was procured.--FREDERICK W. ROBERTSON.\n\n\nMorton Hall was about thirty-five miles from Trewinion, in a\nsouth-easterly direction.  It lay on the opposite side of the county,\nand the country between was hilly, but fertile.  I did not know the\nroad well, but I knew it well enough for my purpose.  By travelling at\nthe rate of four miles an hour I could reach the Hall in nine hours.  I\ncould give no reason for going thither except that I was drawn by an\nirresistible power, a power by means of which I hoped to quench the\nawful fires in my soul.\n\nThe night was clear, and the stars shone brightly overhead.  These I\nhad studied through the long years of my seafaring life and so knew\ntheir location well.  Fixing on one which lay in the direction in which\nI desired to go, I followed it as my guide.\n\nTo analyse the feelings that possessed me that night would be\nimpossible.  One hears sometimes of a murderer \"escaping.\"  That may\nnever be.  The officers of the law may not suspect him, the hangman's\nrope may never come near him, but no murderer escapes.  He never\nescapes the terrible undefinable fear which constantly dogs him, the\nghastly gnawing which eats at his heart.\n\nAt every step I saw my brother Wilfred.  I constantly heard his voice,\nand every footfall spoke of what I had done.  The hedges were full of\ngrinning devils, which mocked me, while the stars that spangled the sky\nspelt the word that was dragging me deeper into hell.\n\nTime after time I tried to comfort myself with the thought that I did\nnot intentionally kill him, that it was an accident which caused him to\nfall upon those cruel rocks hundreds of feet below, but I found no\ncomfort in the thought.  I could not get rid of the fact that I hated\nmy brother, and that whosoever hateth his brother is a murderer.  Even\nhad I not done the deed, even had Wilfred been alive, I was still a\nmurderer at heart.  I had hated him alive, I hated him still, and even\nnow I had no sorrow at what I had done.\n\nOn, on I went, wildly yet wearily; tired I was, but I never rested, nor\nabated my speed, and ever as I went ghastly thoughts tormented me.  Now\nI pictured him lying bruised and bleeding among the rocks, alive yet\nhelpless; and as he lay I saw the tide rising all around him, and\nlaughing at his cries for help.  Then I saw him a ghastly, mis-shapen\nmass, crushed and battered beyond all recognition, with eyes red as\nblood and bursting from their sockets.  Again I saw him, and the scene\nwas more terrible still.  He was entering a great gulf which I knew to\nbe the mouth of hell, and as he went I saw that he was attended by\nghastly, pallid creatures, who were cold and clammy in spite of the\nfires that burned in their breasts.\n\n\"Who sent you here?\" they cried, in harshly grating voices.\n\n\"My brother Roger!\" he answered.\n\n\"Breathe the prayer dearest to your heart!\" they grinned.\n\n\"May he wallow in a hell a thousand times blacker and more painful than\nthis,\" he said.\n\n\"Your prayer shall be granted,\" they screamed.\n\nThen I lost him amidst gloomy caverns, that burned with fires giving no\nlight, and I realised that I was still tramping madly on towards the\nsouth-east, but I knew his prayer was answered--my hell was blacker\nthan his.\n\nOh! the length of that awful night.  Every second seemed a minute,\nevery minute seemed a day, nay, a night, a thousand dark nights!  I was\nin eternal punishment!  I had died into eternal death!\n\nHow many hours I had tramped on I knew not, when I saw in the eastern\nsky a red tinge which made the whole horizon seem a wall of heated\nsteel, set in diamonds.  North and south the sky appeared more blue\nbecause of the brighter colour in the east, and it looked more distant,\nmore unfathomable.  Of what moment was this earth of ours in this vast\nspace which separated it from the nearest star?  It was but as the fine\ndust of the balance, and yet I, the loathsome thing that walked the\nearth, could feel--could suffer--I was something more than the earth!\n\nSlowly the day dawned, brighter and brighter became the flush in the\neast, one by one the stars sank out of sight, and suddenly I saw a\ngolden streak of light flash across the hills, then another, and still\nothers, until a disc of the king of day became visible.  A minute more\nand it was day!  Day! and yet I was still in night, the gloomy fires of\nmy heart were still unquenched, the darkness of my soul was still\nunillumined.\n\nI now began to think about what my mother would say, what she would\nfeel.  When Wilfred did not come home a search would naturally be made,\nand in time he would be found.  And what then?  I dared not think of\nthat!\n\nPresently I saw a labourer with hedging tools on his shoulder.  I would\nspeak to him, it would relieve my feelings to hear the sound of a human\nvoice.\n\nCloser and closer we came until we were within a few yards of each\nother.  I could not speak to him.  I was ashamed.  I was a guilty\nwretch, and could not look an honest man in the face, so I passed by\nwithout looking at him or speaking a word.  Another mile I tramped,\nthen I saw a farmer coming in his cart; evidently he was going to some\ndistant market.  I would speak to him.  I had now got over the shock\nwhich the sight of the other man had given me.\n\n\"Could you tell me,\" I said as he came near, \"how far Morton Hall is\nfrom here?\"\n\n\"Morton Hall,\" he replied, \"I' sh' think I cud.  I ain't a lived in\nthis ere neberhood for vive and vorty year wiout knawin' that?\"\n\nI waited for him to go on, but he did not speak another word, and then,\nlooking at me strangely, prepared to drive on.\n\n\"_Will_ you tell me, then?\" I said.\n\n\"You asked me if I _cud_,\" he said, \"not ef I _wud_.  Es, I'll tell\n'ee, tes nine mile'n haaf,\" and the farmer drove on.\n\nNine miles and a half!  I had walked twenty-five miles then, and more.\nI was very tired, and I knew not why I should go there; but, impelled\nby a strong power, I hurried on.\n\nBy this time the day was quite warm, and soon I began to feel the\nperspiration ooze from my forehead, so seeing a stream of clear water\nrunning by the roadside I stooped down and washed myself.  It helped\nand refreshed me much, and enabled me to think more calmly.  Then I\nremembered that many a long hour had passed since I had tasted food.  I\nfelt hungry and faint, but I walked on, for there seemed small hope of\nobtaining food for some time.  Happening, however, to pass near a\nfarmhouse I heard some one singing.  It was a milkmaid sitting among\nher cows, singing as she worked, and her song was the expression of a\nlight heart free from guilt.  Jumping over a stile I made my way\ntowards her, and seeing me coming she stood up and curtsied.\n\n\"Can you sell me some milk, Mary?\" I said.\n\n\"No sur, I can't sell any, and my name edn't Mary but Em'ly, but I can\ngive 'ee zum.\"\n\nWith that she ran to the house, and soon appeared with a quart jug,\nwhich she dipped into the bucket and filled, then handed it to me.  I\ndrank it greedily, and I did not take my lips from the jug until I had\nnearly emptied it.  To me it was both meat and drink, and it gave me\nnew life.  I offered the girl money, but she refused it indignantly.\n\n\"As thoa,\" she said, \"anybody cud taake money vur a drap a milk.\"\n\nI had no difficulty in accomplishing the remaining distance after this,\nand soon after I came to the park gates of Morton Hall.  Then the real\ndifficulty of my position was revealed to me.  What should I do now I\nhad travelled these thirty-five long miles? what object could I have in\nvisiting the house? what should I say if any one asked me my business?\n\nAlthough I could not settle this in my mind, I opened the gate and\nstrode up the long drive.  It was a fine house, and had been kept in\ngood repair.  Great trees bordered the way, but hid not the colossal\npile that was plainly to be seen at the end of the widening avenue.\n\nWithout waiting a second, or being able to give a reason for what I was\ndoing, I went to the main entrance and rang the heavy bell.\n\nAn old, grey-headed servant appeared, looking exceedingly solemn, and\nasked my business.\n\n\"I want to see the owner of this place,\" I said, speaking on the\nimpulse of the moment.\n\n\"There is no owner,\" was the reply.\n\n\"How is that?\" I asked, abruptly.\n\nHe looked at me keenly for a minute, as though to sum up my social\nposition and qualities before answering.  Evidently he was an old and\ntrusted servant.\n\n\"It is not a matter for strangers,\" he said, \"but if you have any\nbusiness I will convey it to the person who is at present in charge.\"\n\n\"My business is of importance,\" I said, speaking from secret impulse,\nand not knowing what I should have to say next.  \"I can only entrust it\nto the owner.\"\n\n\"But the owner is dead,\" he replied, \"and who the new owner will be is\nnot known yet.  There are many claiming to be next-of-kin, and Mr. Inch\nand the lawyers are busy at work.\"\n\n\"Mr. Inch is the steward, I suppose?\"\n\nThe man nodded, but did not speak.\n\n\"The late owner was a lady,\" I said, speaking more calmly than I had\nthought myself capable.  \"I used to know her.  Miss Ruth Morton was her\nname.  I have a message of great importance; but you say she's dead.\"\n\nAgain the servant looked at me keenly.\n\n\"I know Mr. Inch too,\" I went on, \"and I must see him.  Perhaps he was\nnot as faithful to his mistress as he should have been; he must answer\nme that.\"\n\nThis I said as one in a dream, for I had not thought of it before.  It\ncaused a light to flash from the man's eyes, however, and he spoke more\nfreely.\n\n\"I will tell Mr. Inch you are here,\" he said, \"and I will answer any\nquestion I can.  I have been a servant in this house all my life, and I\nloved Miss Ruth like as if she were my own child.\"\n\n\"Did she ever live here after her father's death?\" I asked.\n\n\"Not until she came of age; then she used to come here through the\nsummer months, but returned to Trewinion, I believe, because of her\nfather's wish.\"\n\n\"What did your mistress die of?\" I asked, abruptly.\n\nThe old man was silent.\n\n\"Can you not tell me?\" I urged.\n\n\"I cannot,\" he said, stiffly.  \"I dare say you could know by applying\nto the doctor.\"\n\nI could not help noticing a strange look in his eyes as he spoke, but I\nsaid quietly.\n\n\"Then you will, perhaps, tell Mr. Inch I wish to see him.\"\n\n\"Yes sir.  What name?\"\n\n\"No name.\"\n\n\"No name?  He will not see you.\"\n\n\"Tell him a friend of the Trewinion family wishes to see him.\"\n\nHe gave me a searching look and then went away, and in a minute more\ncame back and showed me into a room, telling me that Mr. Inch would see\nme immediately.\n\nI had not to wait long.  Soon I heard a slow, measured step along the\nhall; then the handle of the door turned, and Mr. Inch and I were\ngazing steadily into each other's face.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX\n\n\"VISIT HER TOMB\"\n\n  O, how blest are ye whose toils are ended!\n  Who through death have to God ascended!\n                Ye have risen\n  From the cares which keep us still in prison.\n          --LONGFELLOW.\n\n\n\"I am at your service for a few minutes,\" he said stiffly; \"but our\ninterview must be short, for I have much to do.\"\n\n\"And I have much to speak to you about,\" I said, still confused as to\nthe issues of our interview, but dimly feeling that he was in some way\nresponsible for Ruth's death.\n\n\"I am ignorant as to what it can be,\" he said, looking at me curiously,\n\"for certainly I do not remember ever seeing you before.\"\n\n\"You do not remember,\" I said, \"but you have nevertheless seen me.\"\n\n\"Yes?\" he said, still questioningly.\n\n\"Yes!\" I replied.  \"I am at present travelling like that ancient god of\nnight whom men call Nemesis.  I was for years lost to the earth, now I\nam come back, if not to restore the righteous to their true position,\nat any rate to punish betrayers and oppressors, and you are both a\nbetrayer and an oppressor.\"\n\n\"Do you know to whom you are speaking?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Then I will call a servant and see that you are shown off the\npremises.\"\n\n\"No, you will not.\"\n\nHe looked at me strangely.  \"A friend of the Trewinions,\" he murmured,\n\"surely he must be mad.\"\n\n\"Yes, I am nearly mad,\" I replied, \"but I am sane enough to know that\nRuth Morton was not fairly treated, and although there is nothing but\ndarkness for me in the world, and although every deed I do leads me\nfurther into the thick darkness, it shall be my work to unmask\nvillainy.\"\n\n\"Unmask villainy?\" he said, as if in surprise, and then made a movement\ntowards the door.\n\n\"No,\" I said.  \"Think one minute before you call a servant.  Let your\nmind go back a few years.  Remember a dark, wild night many years ago,\nwhen you and your mistress were shipwrecked upon a rock on the northern\ncoast.  Think of who saved you.\"\n\n\"It cannot be!\" he said, staring amazedly at me.\n\n\"You did not like him, did you?\" I said.  \"You cared more for the\nyounger brother, and played on the elder's trusting nature and helped\nto get him away.  You swore that a body which was washed on the shore\nwas his, although in your heart you knew it was not.  You persecuted\nyour mistress by constantly trying to make her marry the man she did\nnot love, and on the tenth anniversary of his departure you appeared\narmed with her father's will and drove her to the promise which killed\nher.\"\n\nHe grew as pale as a sheet.\n\n\"You are Roger!\" he gasped.\n\n\"I am Roger,\" I said.\n\n\"But what will you do?\" he said, his face ashy pale.\n\n\"Do?\" I cried.  \"I will destroy Ruth's destroyers, and then destroy\nmyself.  I will sift your dealings to the bottom and then----\"\n\n\"Stop, Roger,\" he cried; \"stop!  I have sinned, but I have also been\nsinned against.  I loved Ruth, ay, loved her like my own child; but\nWilfred got me into his power, and then, like the devil he was, he made\nme do his will.  Oh, I have suffered as well as you, more than you!  He\nfound out the one weak place in my life, as he found out everything\nelse, and then he held me fast.  Oh, I have waded through the blackest\nslime for him.  But for his power over me I should have scorned to do\nwhat I did; I would have died before I would have taken advantage of\nher loyalty to her father's slightest wish; and now----\"\n\n\"Now, because you had no mercy on her or on me, I shall have no mercy\non you,\" I said.  \"Everything shall be made known, all your deeds shall\nbe dragged into the light of day.\"\n\n\"No, no, Roger; she would not have done that.  She forgave me\neverything, for at the last I confessed to her all that had been done.\nShe suffered terribly at your departure, and more, I believe at the\nthought of wedding Wilfred, and yet she forgave me.  Oh, I wish you had\nseen her at the last, so calm, so patient, and so beautiful.  She loved\nyou to the last, Roger, and one thought that cheered her in the hour of\ndeath was that she would soon see you again.\"\n\n\"Did she think I was dead?\"\n\n\"She believed you died soon after you left home,\" he replied.  But I\ndid not believe him.\n\n\"And she loved me; did she confess it?\"\n\n\"Not to me, but to the maid who was with her; her whole life and being\nseemed to be gone over to you; and thus it was that the thought of\nobeying her father's will killed her.\"\n\nAnd I had been away from her all these years; I had been robbed of what\nwas most dear.  I was glad I had been revenged on Wilfred now, and the\ngladness was fiendish.  This man, too, should reap as he had sown; as\nhe had helped to make me suffer I would make him suffer.  I knew that\nsooner or later my struggle with Wilfred would be made known, and that\nI should be suspected of his death; but I did not care, madness was in\nmy heart again.\n\nI burst forth with expressions of hatred and determinations of revenge,\nthe old man still cowering meanwhile before me.  Then he spoke.\n\n\"Roger, who are you that you should seek revenge?  Is your life wholly\npure and free from stain?  Think, you, if you ruin my life by bringing\nme to disgrace, or if you destroy your brother Wilfred, that Ruth could\nwelcome you to Heaven, if God should even allow you to go there?  She\ndied with the look of a glorified angel on her face; I wish you had\nseen her, you would not talk of revenge.\"\n\nAll the time I had been living as in a dream.  A vague feeling of\ndarkness and revenge possessed me.  I felt drawn on by unknown\ninfluences--whither, I could not say.\n\nThese words of the old steward and friend to the Morton family aroused\nme.  Who was I, indeed, that I should seek revenge?  I was the murderer\nof my brother, I had yielded to as low impulses as they, and yet I\ntalked of myself as Nemesis.  How, indeed, should I dare to meet Ruth\nagain with such a sin on my soul?\n\nWithout a word I left the house, Mr. Inch staring amazedly after me.  I\nstrode down the drive towards the park gates, and had gone, perhaps,\nhalf the distance, when I was chained to the earth by the memory of the\nold man's words:--\"She died with the look of a glorified angel on her\nface; I wish you had seen her.\"\n\nNo sooner had these sounded in my memory than another voice seemed to\nspeak.\n\n\"Go and see her,\" it said.  \"Visit her tomb.\"\n\nAt first I was almost stunned by the thought.  To see my Ruth again\nwould indeed be ecstasy, but even as I so thought I heard another voice\nspeaking in cruel mockery.  That which I should see would not be Ruth,\nshe would be far away, where I might never go.  Yet the idea still\nhaunted me.  I would go.  It might ease the terrible madness of my soul\nif I could see even in death the lips that had confessed their love for\nme.\n\nHow should I accomplish my object?  I remembered Bill Tregargus's\nwords, \"She was buried in the vault under the Communion.\"  To the\nchurch then I would go, and I would see her face again, although it was\nthe face of the dead.\n\nMy first work was to go to the village sexton and get the church keys,\nso when I arrived at the village I enquired for his house.  I\ndiscovered that he was a bachelor, and lived alone on the outskirts of\nthe village.  I quickly made my way thither, and, on arriving, found\nthe door locked.  Evidently he was out.  On making further enquiries, I\nfound that he had that day gone to the nearest market town, and\nprobably would not be home until dark.  It was now about noon, and,\nfaint and hungry, I found my way to the village alehouse, where, after\nhaving had something to eat, I tried to think.\n\nSince yesterday, I had lived a lifetime.  Yesterday at that time I had\nnot arrived home, I had not seen Bill Tregargus, I knew nothing of what\nhad occurred.  Now I was branded with the brand of a murderer.  The\nwild deeds I had done when I sailed the seas as a pirate scarcely\nweighed on my conscience at all; but this deed, though I did not\nrepent, and though my hatred remained unabated, made life unendurable.\n\nHour after hour I sat in the parlour of the village inn, thinking,\nwondering and fearing.  Would the landlord be so obliging, I wondered,\nif he knew what I had done; would he not loathe my presence, and\ndeliver me to the justice of man?\n\nYet who are the murderers of the world?  Are they to be found among\nthose only who do actual murder, or are murderers a class of people who\nare capable of murder?  Is not every man who is not filled with Divine\nlove capable of murder, and are not many free from the stain of\nmurderous deeds merely because they have never been provoked, tempted?\nWho shall judge as to who are real murderers?  None but God alone!\n\nNight drew on at length, and full of the thought which became dearer\neach hour, I found again my way to the sexton's house.  This time he\nwas at home.  He stared at me in astonishment when I told him what I\nwanted.\n\n\"Want to go in th' oul church after dark!\" he said.  \"You must be\nmazed.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Why!  You cudden git more'n two people in the parish to do it.  Me and\nthe passen be the only two that be'ant afraid.\"\n\n\"But I don't want you to go with me,\" I said.  \"I simply want you to\nlend me the keys, and I'll bring them back to you again.\"\n\n\"And you we'ant want me to go in the churchyard nuther?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"I must'n do it,\" he said.  \"The passen 'ud give me the sack straight\noff ef 'ee was to knaw it.\"\n\n\"No one need know,\" I said.\n\nFor a long time he held out.  I could see that he would willingly have\nlet me enter the church at daylight, and would himself have gone with\nme; but at night he was afraid to do so, and was also afraid to let me\nhave the keys.\n\n\"I ca'ant 'ford to lose my place,\" he said; \"not that the burryin' es\nwuth much.  I ain't a berried a livin' soul for a long time, so times\nes bad in that way; but I git a goodish bit for clainin' the church.\"\n\n\"How much do you get a year?\"\n\n\"I make so much as ten shillen a week oal the year round,\" he said.  \"I\ndo'ant knaw how much that es a year.\"\n\nI took fifteen guineas from my pocket, and put them before him.\n\n\"There is more money than you would get in a whole year,\" I said.  \"If\nI don't bring back the keys in safety, you'll have that money to take\nyou where you like to go, and if I bring back the keys you shall have\nfive of them for your trouble in lending them to me.\"\n\n\"You'm sure you won't do no harm.\"\n\n\"Perfectly.\"\n\n\"Then take 'em,\" and going to a little recess in the room he took the\nkeys from a nail and gave them to me.\n\n\"I expect you to be waiting for me here when I come back,\" I said.\n\n\"Oa, never fear, I sha'ant steer out of the 'ouse,\" was his reply.\n\nI took a lantern, in which the old man had placed a candle, and\nprepared to start.\n\n\"You'm sure you beant goin' to do nothin' wrong,\" he said.\n\n\"Perfectly,\" I replied.  \"You will not regret it for an instant.\"\n\nHe looked at me again, then, as if they were an enormous fortune, at\nthe guineas that lay on the table, and seemed reconciled.\n\n\"Tha's the kay of the church,\" he said, pointing to the biggest in the\nbunch, \"the churchyard gates is allays left unlocked.  And I'll be\nwaitin for 'ee when you come back.  How long shall 'ee be?\"\n\n\"I don't know; perhaps an hour,\" and with a beating heart I went away\ntowards the church.  It was a great, grey, gloomy pile, the four\nsteeples on the square tower at the western end reminding me of the\nprongs of the \"Devil's Tooth.\"\n\nI entered the churchyard gates.  All was silent as death.  I had\nexpected it to be so; no one ever dared to enter there after dark,\nunless it was a cluster of worshippers gathered together in church\ntime.  Even this did not happen often, for rarely was an evening\nservice held there.  Like many other country churches in Cornwall, the\ntime of worship was morning and afternoon.  Had I got into the church\nin the afternoon I should not have been free from observation, for the\ncountry folk are courageous in the daytime, and often prowl around the\nchurchyard; but at night I knew if I entered I should be left\nunmolested.\n\nSlowly I wended my way down the churchyard path.  I began to realise\nnow what I was going to do, and for the first time the thought struck\nterror.  Yet did I not hesitate in my purpose.  I remembered every\nsuperstitious  association of my early childhood.  Stories of the\ntroubled dead roaming around their graves came back to my mind.  I saw\nthe grey tombstones grim and lonely, as if inviting those in whose\nmemory they were erected to bear them company through the silent night.\n\nA lonely churchyard is an awful place, and this one seemed more awful\nthan others to me, who was about to visit the dead!\n\nHow plainly my footsteps sounded as I went down the gravelled footpath.\nI felt as though I were disturbing the dead in their graves.\n\nWhat was that dark grey form moving among the tombstones?  Was it the\nvillage witch gathering the nettles that grew on the suicide's grave,\nin order to work her mystic spells and secret charms?  Was that sound I\nheard her dark laughter, as she plucked the mugwort of evil repute?\n\nNo; it was only my excited imagination conjuring up dread objects and\nnoises.\n\nI stood at the door of the belfry tower.  It was grey, and iron\nstudded.  Should I enter this way?  No; my passage among the bell-ropes\nmight set the bells jangling in ghastly discord, and quickly I hurried\nto the church porch.\n\nI stood and listened; but could hear no sound.  The stone seats around\nthe porch looked very cold, and the parish notices that were pasted\naround its walls looked to me like the letters of departed spirits.\n\nI lit the candle in my lantern, and fumbled among the keys, my hands\ntrembling as I did so.  I found the right key at length, and placed it\nin the door.  I tried to turn it, but it would not move.  I pushed it a\nlittle farther and tried again.  The lock was very stiff, it was but\nseldom moved--once or twice a week at most, and even more seldom oiled.\nIn spite of the rust, it at length yielded to the strength of my hand,\nthe bolt shot back with a rough grating sound, the great door swung\nback on its rusty hinges, and I entered the silent church.\n\nI withdrew the keys and shut the door.  It closed with a bang that\nsounded terrible in the great building, but I did not heed.  I went\neastward towards the Communion, under which was the tomb of the Mortons.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI\n\nTHE VAULT UNDER THE COMMUNION\n\nThere are certain themes of which the interest is all-absorbing, but\nwhich are too entirely horrible for the purposes of legitimate fiction.\nThese the mere romancist must eschew, if he do not wish to offend or\ndisgust.  They are with propriety handled only when the severity and\nmajesty of truth sanctify and maintain them.  We thrill, for example,\nwith the most intense of \"pleasurable pain\" over the accounts of the\nPassage of the Beresina, of the Earthquake at Lisbon, of the Plague of\nLondon, of the Massacre of St. Bartholomew, or of the 123 prisoners in\nthe Black Hole at Calcutta.  But in these accounts it is the fact--it\nis the reality--it is the history which excites.  As inventions we\nshould regard them with simple abhorrence.--EDGAR A. POE'S _Tales of\nMystery and Imagination_.\n\n\nI stood alone in the old church.  How silent everything was!  The great\ngrey granite pillars, surmounted by circling arches, appeared in\nghostly array before me; the high-backed pews seemed to be peopled by\ndim, shadowy figures, who had come back to watch me as I looked on the\nface of my loved.  Everyone of the tablets on the wall was to me a face\nof warning.  My footfall echoed and re-echoed, until I fancied the\nsilent church peopled by innumerable visitants from the spirit land.\n\nA dim light which caused weird shadows to fall across the old building,\ncame in through the small windows, while the light of my lantern made\nother shadows more dark, more forbidding.\n\nI wended my way towards the Communion, for even there Bill Tregargus's\nwords came back to me.  \"She was buried in the vault under the\nCommunion,\" and there I should see all that remained of the only woman\nI had ever loved.  I passed by the reading desk, then came to the\npulpit, but I did not pause either to examine the curious carvings on\nits front or the ancient worm-eaten wood of which it was made.\n\nAt length I stood by the Communion, and a great fear laid hold of me.\nTremblingly I looked around the church.  All was silent save the night\nwinds as they moaned in the tower at the western end.  Then an owl\nhooted dismally, and soon after I heard three distinct raps at a\nwindow, as though a large bird had tried to break the glass and thus\nenter the church.\n\nWhat did it mean?  Deborah Teague had spoken of three raps as a sign of\ndeath.  To whom could it apply?  To me?  I was not anxious to live, and\nyet I shuddered.\n\n\"Perhaps I shall die,\" I thought, \"and see my darling again; but how\ncan I meet her?  Have I not a murderer's hand and a murderer's heart?\"\n\nI turned the light of my lantern upon the altar table, and on it I saw\na cloth, on which was embroidered a cross, the symbol of the Saviour's\ndeath, and this made me remember how He had spoken to a dying thief.\nFor a moment the thought gave me comfort, but in the next I recollected\nthat the thief was penitent, and that I had no proof he was, as I was,\na murderer.  And I was not penitent; I still hated Wilfred.  He had\nrobbed me of earthly happiness here and Heaven hereafter.  I hated him;\nand I was a murderer.  After that the cross brought me no comfort.\n\nBefore going to the sexton's I had provided myself with a short pointed\npiece of iron.  It was the only instrument I could procure with which\nto open the vault without attracting suspicion.\n\nI quickly found the burial place of the Mortons.  A tablet was on the\nwall, on which were written these words:--\n\n  \"Under this stone, and waiting for a joyful\n  resurrection, lie buried all the mortal\n  remains of\n\n  JOHN MORTON,\n\n  OF MORTON HALL,\n\n  Who lived and died in the fear of the Lord.\n  He was hated by none, and beloved by all.\"\n\n\nThen followed a eulogy of his life and works, his gifts to the church,\nhis kindness to the poor, together with many other things.\n\nI looked beneath the tablet on the floor of the Communion, and saw that\na large slab had been lately moved.  No doubt, then, that Ruth had been\nburied in the family vault.\n\nWith trembling hands I placed my piece of iron beneath the joints of\nthe floor, and with but little difficulty lifted it up; then I slipped\nmy hands beneath the stone and lifted it still higher.\n\nAir, stifling, unwholesome, came from underneath, and again I felt like\nleaving my purpose unfulfilled; but a stronger impulse urged me to\nproceed, and I moved the stone still farther.  A minute later I had\nturned it back, and Ruth's grave was opened.\n\nFor a minute my heart ceased to beat; then it seemed as though my bosom\nwere not large enough to contain it.  Not that I feared the dead, at\nany rate not Ruth.  Had I not been guilty of that awful deed the night\nbefore I do not think I should have been so moved; but with murder on\nmy heart, to look on the face of my beloved was terrible.  And yet I\nfelt I could never rest until I had seen her.\n\nI stared into the vault.\n\nAt one end were steps by which I could descend.  At the other was a\ndark object.\n\nMy blood seemed to freeze in my veins, yet I went down the steps,\nslowly and steadily, until I stood in the abode of the dead.\n\nNever shall I forget how I felt.  Never while consciousness remains\nwill the awful sensations that possessed me be altogether taken away.\n\nAround me was the dust of departed generations of the Morton family,\nwhile close to me was the face of one whom ten years before I had seen\na bright and beautiful maiden.  Ruth, whom I had ever loved, and who\nhad died of love for me, was there!\n\nVague thoughts of how she would look floated in my brain, and in my\ndelirium I fancied that her spirit had come back to watch me as I took\none last look at her dead face.\n\nThe coffin was placed in a recess in the tomb.  I knew it was hers, for\nit was new, and had been only lately placed there.\n\nI thought I had heard a sound above.  I listened for a second, but\ncould hear nothing save the wild beatings of my almost breaking heart.\nThen I placed my hand on the coffin.\n\nIt was fastened with what looked like golden clasps, large and strong,\nwhich pressed closely on the grey oak of which the coffin was made.\nMechanically I moved the clasps, and then lifted my lantern nearer.\n\nAgain I listened, but all was silent.  If the spirits of the dead were\nthere they made no sound.\n\nI lifted the coffin lid.\n\nFor a second I held it in my hand, then I turned it back.\n\nEven then I could not bear to look in and see my darling's dead face,\nand stood trying to gather together sufficient courage.\n\nI let the light fall upon the head of the coffin and looked.\n\nYes, it was Ruth, little altered from when I had seen her last, except\nthat she looked thin and pale, oh! so pale.\n\nShe was not like anyone dead; in spite of her stony stillness, there\nwas the shadow of colour upon her thin cheeks.\n\nI looked at her like one entranced, then glanced fearfully around the\nvault, which was only faintly lit by the flickering candle burning in\nmy lantern.\n\nA longing came over me to get away, but I felt I dare not, I must\nremain longer with Ruth.  I felt that she was glad I was there, and\nwould not have me leave her so soon.\n\nYet she lay like a beautiful piece of marble.  Her hands were folded on\nher breast, and she looked peaceful, so peaceful.\n\nHow I loved her, and how I longed for one word, one movement whereby I\ncould know she loved me!\n\nI do not know how long I stayed there.  I lost all thought of time as I\nstood gazing at the face of my darling.  Everything like fear passed,\nfor in spirit I was with her.\n\nI kissed her cold lips, as if to bid her good-bye, then seeing the\ncandle in my lantern had burnt low, I began to think in a dazed kind of\nway that I must go.  But it was so hard, so terrible!  If I could only\nhave some memento to take, something I might aways keep until I, too,\nshould be laid under the cold sod!\n\nWhat was that?\n\nFlashing from her finger that lay on her heart I saw a ring.  Dare I\ntake it?\n\nAt first I shuddered at the thought.  Robbing the dead seemed\nsacrilege, yet it did not seem like robbery.  And was I not sure that\nshe would wish me to take it?  It might comfort me during the little\ntime I had to live, for I could carry it everywhere with me.\n\nI took her hand in mine.\n\nSlowly I began to remove the ornament.  It was a thick gold circle, and\nthree large diamonds had been inlaid and flashed brightly.\n\nIt was rather hard to pass over the joint, but I was determined to\npossess it.  Then I stopped as if stunned, and trembled like an aspen\nleaf.\n\nI felt the hand move!\n\nYet I did not drop it.  I could not, it seemed welded to mine.\n\nWas it the judgment of God for seeking to rob the dead?  I looked at\nher face, as if expecting a curse, and my heart seemed to come into my\nmouth.\n\nHer eyelids began to quiver, her mouth to twitch,[*] and her whole body\nto give signs of life.\n\nTo say that I was awed would be but to hint at my feelings.  At first I\nthought it was her ghost rising to denounce me, but soon I saw it was\nphysical life, and then I thought God was working a miracle.\n\nAlmost unconsciously I went on rubbing her hands, while evidence of\nreturning life became plainer and plainer.\n\nThen I trembled lest the shock of seeing me there in that silent vault\nshould kill her, or do her serious injury, and yet I longed to hear her\nspeak, I longed for expressions of her love.\n\nStill more plainly did life appear, until I saw her open her eyes.\nThey were dull and had a blank expression, but by and by they became\nbrighter.  She looked around the vault as if in wonder, then her eyes\nrested on the lantern, and again she turned them towards me.  For a\nminute she gazed, then with a cry she sat upright.\n\n\n\n* Although the reader may regard the foregoing as wild and impossible,\nI can vouch for the truth of a story identical in many points with that\ntold by Roger Trewinion.  The wife of a nobleman of the West of\nEngland, whose name is well-known in Cornwall, was supposed to be dead,\nand was buried in the family vault situated in the old parish church.\nA valuable ring which was on her finger when she died was allowed to\nremain, and it was known by the servants and villagers that this\nornament was in the tomb with her.  The sexton determined to get it,\nand accordingly at midnight made his way to the church.  In seeking to\nremove the ring he caused the latent life to assert itself, and seeing\nthe lady move he ran out of the church, leaving the lantern behind him.\nShe became conscious, took the sexton's lantern, and found her way back\nto the hall.  She lived long enough to become the mother of a son, who\nafterwards became the heir of his father's estates.--_Note by the_\nEDITOR.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII\n\nTHE VOICE OF THE DEAD\n\n  Oh, one more kiss from your lily-white lips,\n  One kiss is all I crave;\n  Oh, one more kiss from your lily-white lips\n  And return back to your grave.\n            --_Old Cornish Song_.\n\n\nLong years have passed since the events I am now narrating, yet my\nflesh creeps as I write.  Imagine, if you can, the circumstances that\nsurrounded me; think of the position in which I was placed.  I had\nlearnt amidst anguish and despair that the woman I loved, and who I\nthought had called me home, was dead, and I had determined to visit her\ngrave and to see her dead face.  Then when I had found my way to her\ntomb, and uncovered her resting-place, I had seen the one whom I had\nthought dead move, and give other signs of life.  When she sat up in\nher coffin my blood froze in my veins.\n\nWas it my Ruth who lived?  Was her death only fancied after all?  Now I\nsaw a purpose in all my blind wanderings!  Now I understood the cry\nwhich I had heard sweeping across the weary waste of waters, \"Come home\nand save me, Roger!\"  Now I saw meaning in my mad impulse to come to\nMorton Hall, even when the fires of hell burnt in my soul!  Now I knew\nwhy I had heard the strange words, \"Visit her tomb!\"\n\nMerciful Heaven, from what had I saved her?  Suppose she had regained\nconsciousness while within the narrow confines of that narrow coffin!\nNo air, no room, no light!  The horror of the thought is enough to\ndrive one mad; what then must the reality be?\n\nThis flashed through my mind in a moment, but I did not stay to think\nof it.  How could I?  The dread \"might be\" had not become a reality,\nand my Ruth--the Ruth that I had been mourning as dead, Ruth for whom\nmy heart had been weeping tears of blood--was alive; she was sitting up\nin her coffin, she uttered a cry.  Ruth was not lost for ever.\n\nAnd still I did not know what to do; still I could not act or speak!\nMy mind was confused, my head was dizzy; the very vault in which I\nstood seemed to whirl around.\n\nFor a second we gazed into each other eyes; she with a fearful, yet\ncurious, wondering look, I with a look of madness, at once of joy, of\nfear, of dread!\n\nThen she spoke, slowly, tremblingly, but still clearly, and I\nremembered the voice.\n\n\"What is this?  Where am I?  Is this Heaven?\"\n\n\"All is well!\" I whispered.\n\n\"It must be,\" she said, in a dazed kind of way.  \"I am so rested, so\nfree from pain, and then your voice is so familiar.  Where am I, and\nwho are you?\"\n\n\"Think,\" I said; \"but do not be afraid; remember where you were last,\nand then know that all is well.\"\n\n\"All is well,\" she repeated slowly, as if trying to impress the thought\non her half-awakened mind, \"I am so glad.\"\n\n\"You are safe here,\" I went on, \"no one shall harm you in any way.  Do\nnot be afraid whatever you may see.\"\n\nShe looked around the vault, then a look of horror came into her eyes\nas she saw where she sat.\n\n\"I am in a coffin!\" she gasped.  \"Am I dead?\"\n\n\"No,\" I said, \"it is all a mistake; but all is well.  Think, try and\nremember the past.\"\n\nI saw that she made a mental effort, and then slowly light came into\nher eyes.\n\n\"I was very ill,\" she said, \"and so weak and weary.  I wanted to die\nbecause--because--what was it?  Oh, I remember now--because I was to\nwed--Wilfred, and I did not love him, and my wedding robe was made, and\nthe wedding day was fixed, and I gave up hope that he was ever coming\nhome.\"\n\nMy heart began to beat with joy.  Life and light came back to my heart.\nThat \"he\" meant me--Roger.\n\n\"And then?\" I said, almost unconsciously.\n\n\"And then I thought I was going to die, and I was glad, for I felt I\ncould not endure being wedded to another.\"\n\nShe spoke as if dreaming, or as if she unknowingly expressed the\nthoughts that dimly passed through her mind.\n\n\"Well,\" I said, \"you wanted to die; you grew weaker and weaker, until\nyour friends thought you were dead, and you were brought here.\"\n\n\"Here!  Here!\" and she looked eagerly around.  \"Where am I?  The light\nis so dim that I cannot see.\"\n\nThe candle was now very low in the socket of the lantern, and I\nscarcely knew what to do, but I tried to assure her that all was well.\n\n\"You need not be afraid,\" I said, \"It was all a mistake.  You were\nthought to be dead, and you were brought to the grave of your family.\"\n\n\"The grave, the family vault,\" she said, \"in the church, under the\nCommunion!  But how came you here, and who are you?\"\n\nThe time had come for me to tell her, and I trembled lest I should say\na mistaken word, or arouse a harmful feeling.  I felt that the\nslightest thing might unhinge her delicately-balanced mind, and I\nscarcely knew what to say.\n\n\"Can't you think who I am?\" I said at length.  \"You called me home when\nI was away on the distant seas.  I heard you say 'Roger, come home,'\nand I came, for I knew that you needed me.\"\n\n\"Roger!  Roger!\" she said; \"what! my Roger?\"\n\nThe words came out apparently unthinkingly.  She did not know what she\nwas saying.\n\n\"Yes, Roger,\" I said, \"your Roger.  I came back to find you, I heard\nyou were dead, and it drove me nearly mad.  I felt I must come and see\nyour dead face, so I came here and found you, not dead, but only\nasleep, and I--I awoke you.\"\n\nI watched her face as I spoke, still holding her hand in mine.  Slowly\nshe realised things as they were; slowly one fact after another passed\nthrough her mind, until she saw clearly.\n\nAt first there was an expression of horror on her face, then she looked\neagerly at me and I saw tenderness--love in her eyes.\n\nI dropped her hand and opened my arms.  She did not hesitate a moment,\nbut struggled to come to me, so I took her in my arms and pressed her\nto my heart!\n\nOh, how she clung to me, while I held her fast, my heart trembling for\njoy as I heard her whisper, \"My Roger come home to me!\"  Then I\nrealised how cold she was, and saw too, that she was wrapped only in a\nshroud.\n\n\"You are cold, Ruth,\" I said.\n\n\"So cold, Roger; but I do not mind now!\"\n\nThe light in the lantern became dimmer, and I had no more candle.  I\nthought of the candles in the church, and wondered how I could get at\nthem.\n\n\"Ruth,\" I said, \"could you bear to stay here while I go into the church\nfor another light?  Our candle is nearly out.\"\n\n\"No, Roger,\" she said, clinging to me, \"I could not bear for you to\nleave me,\" and she clung to me more closely.\n\nI lifted her out of her narrow bed and prepared to carry her.  I had\nnot much difficulty in this.  She was very light, very thin.\n\nTaking the lantern in my hand I bore her away from her dread\nresting-place.  With what a sense of relief I lifted my darling through\nthe narrow entrance!  With what gladness I realised that she was not\ndead!  When I went down my heart was cold and heavy as lead; now it was\nwarm; it beat with new life.  I went down in what seemed to be the\ndarkness of death; I came out into the light of Heaven!\n\nI seized a candle which stood on the Communion table and lit it from\nthe one in my lantern which had almost gone out.\n\nThen I tried to take off my coat to wrap her in, but this she would not\nallow me to do.  She was still unselfish Ruth, suffering herself rather\nthan let another suffer.  So I took the cloth that lay on the table,\nthe doth which was marked with a cross.  I wrapped her in that, and\nsurely I committed no sacrilege in doing so.  It was large and warm,\nand entirely covered her, all but her white feet that peeped out from\nunder her shroud.\n\nI took another look at her, a longing, loving look.  Her old beauty was\ncoming back; she was losing all fear as she realised my presence.\n\n\"Ruth,\" I said, \"it is your Roger who asks you, may I kiss you?\"\n\nA faint smile came into her face, something like the smile I had seen\nin the olden days.\n\n\"Dare you kiss me in my shroud, Roger?\" she said.\n\nEven then she could not repress the quaint, quiet humour I had loved\nyears before.\n\nDare I!  I covered her face with kisses, and as I did so I forgot\neverything, forgot all I had done, forgot where I was.  I only knew\nthat I held Ruth in my arms, and that her lips met mine!\n\nThen, in spite of her protests, I took off my coat and wrapped it\naround her little feet.\n\n\"What are you going to do with me, Roger?\" she said.\n\n\"I am going to carry you home,\" I said.\n\n\"Home!  Home where?\"\n\n\"Home to Morton Hall.\"\n\n\"Can you?\" she said.  \"It is a long way.\n\n\"Can I?\" I said with a laugh.\n\nShe looked at me as though she gloried in my strength, and was glad she\ncould trust herself to me.\n\nI carried her down the silent church; but no longer did my lantern\nthrow weird shadows on the floor; no longer were the pews filled with\nforbidding spectres.  For now the church was full of bright rejoicing\nangels.\n\nWhen I came to the church door, and saw the heavy clanging keys, I\nwondered what I was to do with them.\n\nThe old sexton would lose his senses if he were to see the precious\nburden I bore.  I locked the great door and took her out into the\nsilent night.\n\nI no longer needed the lantern; the light of the moon was clear and\nbright.  It was indeed a relief.  To me, after being immured in the\nchurch, the clear, pure air was welcome beyond expression.  And if it\nwas welcome to me, it was a thousand times more so to Ruth.  I do not\nthink she fully realised from what she had escaped until now.  She gave\na cry of gladness, such as a bird gives when freed from a cage.  Behind\nher were suspense, cruelty, doubt, despair, death and the grave; before\nher--ah, what?\n\nI bore her on, feeling no weariness, no pain, no sorrow.  The\ngravestones told me no sad stories, the shadows of the trees were only\nbeautiful pictures painted on the green grass.\n\nWhen I came to the churchyard gate I saw the old sexton.\n\n\"What have 'ee got there?\" he gasped.\n\n[Illustration: \"'What have 'ee got there?' he gasped.\"]\n\n\"Take your keys and lantern,\" I said.\n\nHe took them both mechanically, and then looked at Ruth awestruck.\n\n\"Where did 'ee take et from?\" he said, in a hoarse whisper.\n\n\"Her grave,\" I said.\n\nHe took a look at Ruth's face, which was clearly to be seen in the\nmoonlight, and immediately recognised it.\n\n\"Great Loard!\" he cried, \"'tes our dead lady's face, 'tes our dead\nlady, and the devil have got her.\"\n\nWith a cry which showed how real were both his fear and belief, he\nrushed away from us.\n\nI did not stop him: I did not think it necessary; soon the truth must\ncome out, and then all his fears would be allayed.\n\nNever shall I forget the journey from the village church to the home of\nthe Mortons.  My joy was so great that I did not feel Ruth's weight at\nall, and when she asked me anxiously, yet lovingly, if she wearied me,\nI only pressed her more closely to my heart, while she only nestled\nmore contentedly.  And small wonder?  Had I not brought her back from\nthe dead, and had she not found herself free from the terrible chain\nthat bound her, free to speak to the man she loved?\n\nNearer and nearer we came to her home, the home which all thought she\nhad left for ever.  We came within a few yards of the front entrance,\nwhen a great dog came bounding up with a furious growl.  I wondered how\nI should get rid of him; but Ruth spoke only one word, and he did not\nknow how to express his joy; he walked by our side and licked the\nshroud she wore.\n\nI seized the great bell, the bell I had rung that morning.  Soon its\nclanging voice echoed through the hall, and soon after we heard the\nsound of voices, and footsteps echoed along the corridors.\n\nA minute later we heard the bolts shoot back from the door at which we\nstood.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII\n\nTHE SHADOW OF EVIL'S REWARD\n\nAvenge not yourselves; but rather give place unto wrath, for it is\nwritten, Vengeance is mine, and I will repay, saith the Lord. . . .\n\nBe not overcome of evil; but overcome evil with good.\n          --_The Epistle to the Romans._\n\n\nWhen the door opened, I saw two men-servants, each bearing a candle,\neach looking as frightened as men could well look.  One I recognised as\nthe man to whom I had spoken in the morning, the other was evidently an\nunder-servant.\n\nEach stared at me and at the burden I bore in amazement.  The one\nrecognised me, the other evidently wondered who I was.\n\n\"May I ask what you want,\" said the old servant, \"and why you arouse\nthe house at this time of the night?\"\n\n\"Show me a room where your mistress can rest,\" I said.\n\n\"My mistress?\" said the man.  \"Great God, who are you?\"\n\nAs he said this he took a look at Ruth's face, and then with a shriek\nof fear he rushed away from us.\n\n\"Come back,\" I said, \"there is nothing of which you need be afraid.\"\n\n\"Afraid!\" he gasped, \"that is the dead body of my mistress.\"\n\n\"Your mistress is not dead,\" I said; \"she is alive; show me a room\nwhere I may rest her, and she will speak to you.\"\n\nTremblingly he led the way to a room, where I laid her down, and then,\nat my command, he went away to get food and drink for her.\n\nSoon after the other servants appeared.  The shriek of horror given by\nthe man when he caught sight of Ruth's face had aroused the household.\nNever shall I forget the expression on their faces as they looked at me\nas I sat by the side of the precious burden I had borne.  Evidently the\nyounger of the two servants had told them what I had said, for they\nwere afraid to speak, and kept gazing at us fearfully, yet wonderingly.\n\nRuth was now becoming exhausted.  After the scene in the church the\njourney home had been too much for her.  Perhaps, also, the awfulness\nof her position together with dread memories, were too great for her to\nbear, so I bade the servants hurry in getting refreshments for her.\n\nAfter taking some food she was, however, strong enough to sit up and to\ntalk.\n\nI will not describe what followed, nor how the servants crowded around\nher, weeping and trembling.  Some I found were on the point of leaving,\nhaving received their discharge, while others wondered what their\nfuture would be.  There had been every probability that the household\nwould be broken up, and those who had grown grey-headed in the service\nof the family grieved much at the thought of leaving.  And now, when\nall hope was gone, their mistress had come back, and their joy and\ntheir astonishment knew no bounds.\n\nPresently we heard a tottering step outside the door, and in another\nsecond Mr. Inch appeared on the scene.  For a minute I thought he would\nhave fainted; but by a great effort he mastered himself, and came\nslowly to the place where Ruth sat, looking at her steadily in the face\nfor, I should think, a minute.  Then he heaved a great sigh, and said;\n\"Great God, Thy ways are wonderful!\"\n\nI had been holding Ruth's hand all the while, and I felt her shudder as\nMr. Inch approached.  I was sure that she felt that he had not acted as\nher friend, and now, in spite of herself, she feared him, and\nunconsciously she came nearer to me.\n\nI think the old man saw this, for a strange look passed over his face,\nand he did not take her hand, as I was sure he had intended to do.  He\nturned towards me, however, and said:\n\n\"Tell me, Roger Trewinion--tell us all, how this great miracle has been\naccomplished.\"\n\nA look of intelligence passed over the servants' faces as my name was\nmentioned.  Apparently, it was well known to them, and all listened\neagerly for my answer.\n\nThen I told how, in leaving the house that morning, I had heard the\nvoice telling me to visit her tomb, and had determined to do so.  I\nwill not describe the excitement and wonder of those who heard my\nexperiences.  It would take a pen far more able than mine to convey to\nthe minds of my readers the terrible interest that was taken.\n\nPerhaps I ought not to have told the story before the servants; but we\nwere too excited to know what was right and seemly.  Indeed, so\noverwrought were we that Ruth had not been divested of her strange\ngarments, and soon after I had finished my narrative I felt how\nthoughtless I had been, and how neglectful of her comforts.\n\nWhen Ruth was taken to her room, however, with two of the maids to\nattend her, the excitement began to pass away, and the servants, with\nthe exception of the old man whom I had seen at my first visit,\nreturned to their rooms.\n\nFor a few minutes Mr. Inch and I were left alone; he still trembled\nwith fear and wonder, perhaps also because of a troubled conscience, I\nwith a strange joy surging in my heart, thinking only of the blissful\npresent.\n\n\"This will cause much talk, and necessitate much investigation,\" said\nthe old steward.\n\n\"I suppose so,\" said I, absently.\n\n\"A great lawsuit would have come on,\" he said.  \"Two parties were\nclaiming the property.  Lawyers are preparing the case on either side,\nand the matter has already become public.\"\n\n\"That will all come to an end now,\" I said.\n\n\"I suppose so; but it will be the wonder of the countryside.  I wonder\nwhat Wilfred will say?\"\n\nI had forgotten Wilfred.  The feelings aroused by seeing Ruth alive had\nfor the time quieted all my bitter memories of my struggle with\nWilfred, together with its awful ending.\n\n\"I wonder what Wilfred will say!\"\n\nThe words struck terror into my soul.  Wilfred, unless now discovered,\nwas lying bruised, battered, dead, on the great rocks beneath the\ncliffs.  Perhaps the fishes might know of his presence, and the great\nsad sea would sweep remorselessly over his lifeless body; but Wilfred\nwould never know of what had been done.\n\nMy heaven of joyful thoughts was gone now.  The hell of bitter\nmemories, the hell of a murderer possessed me.\n\nThe old man's remark was left unanswered.  It had dashed me down into a\ngreat gulf; it had led me to make what was to me a terrible resolve.\n\nA little while later Ruth came back to the room again.  The servants\nhad tried to persuade her to retire; but she declared that she could\nnot sleep and she wished to come to me.\n\nShe was Ruth again now, Ruth as I had seen her last.  She had got rid\nof her terrible garments, and except that she looked very pale, and was\na little older, I saw no difference in her.  But there was a\ndifference.  Love was shining out of her eyes, and she did not hide\nfrom me the fact that I was the king of her heart.\n\nBut this gave me no joy now, no heaven.  The ghastly form of my brother\nWilfred stood between us.  I took her hand as she came in, and tried to\nsoothe her, for I felt that she was still trembling, that she felt safe\nwith no one but me.  Then the old steward rose up and left us, and the\nservants likewise retired from the room.  They saw our relations to\neach other, and although it was night we were left in the room together.\n\nAgain for a time I banished my dark thoughts, for a time I allowed\nlove, rather than duty, to fill my world, and I yielded to the gentle\nwitchery of her presence.  I had made up my mind to tell her all; but I\npostponed it for a while.  \"Time enough yet,\" I said; \"let me have some\nhappiness before eternal night sets in.\"\n\nHow gentle, how kind, how loving she was!  Her every word told of the\nlove she bore me, and had borne me for long years, every word told me\nhow she believed in my goodness and purity.\n\nWhat we talked of, I may not recount.  I only know that for a few short\nminutes we lived in the blissful present.  The thought of her great\nlove was more powerful than the dread remorse which had possessed me a\nlittle while before.\n\nAnd was it any wonder?  Think, if you can, how I must have felt!  Ten\nlong years before I had left her, thinking she loved another, and all\nthose years I had roamed the world in misery and hopeless despair.  I\nhad come back at the summons of a voice which I had heard, or thought I\nhad heard, sweeping across the wide seas, and when I had arrived at the\nplace where I had hoped to see her I had heard she was dead.  Then,\nafter grief that amounted to madness, I had discovered her alive, and\nhad found that she loved me.  More than that, she was with me, we were\nalone, and I felt her hands in mine.  Was it to be wondered at then,\nthat darkness should, for the time, be driven away?\n\nSwiftly the time passed, sweetly her gentle voice sounded as she told\nme how happy, how safe, how contented she was, and, in spite of her\nterrible experience, how little weakness she felt; and then she asked\nme to relate to her my adventure since the night on which I left the\nTrewinion Manor.\n\nAgain I remembered what I had done, again the agonies of remorse, which\nhad been awakened by memory, began to eat into my soul.  But I would\ntell her all.  I would faithfully relate the tale of the years that had\npassed, I would faithfully tell her what I had done.\n\nAnd so I cast my mind back and told her what I have written in these\npages.  How I had gone away to sea, and how, for years, I had sailed in\nevery clime, and with men of different nationalities.  I recounted how\nI had been taken by the pirates, and how for two years I had been with\nthem.  I kept back nothing from her.  I told her of many wild deeds\nthat I had done, and of the wild life I had led.  By and by I came to\nthe night on which I had such a strange dream, or else had seen such a\nstrange vision, and here I hesitated.  It seemed so wonderful, and\nwithal so unreal.  I told it her, however, while she listened with\nwonder-lit eyes.\n\n\"Yes, Roger,\" she said, \"it all happened just as you saw it.\"\n\n\"And did you cry out, Ruth.  Did you say, 'Roger is here?'\"\n\n\"I did.  I felt you were there, although I could not see you.\"\n\n\"And then, Ruth; what did you do?\"\n\n\"I went out into the night.  I knew your habit of going out on to the\nheadland when you desired to be alone, and I felt I must go somewhere\nwhere you had been.\"\n\n\"Yes, Ruth, and afterwards?\"\n\n\"I went out and wandered for a long time, until I felt my heart was\nbreaking.  I seemed all alone in the world, with no one to help me, and\nI cried out in anguish, 'Roger, come home.'\"\n\n\"And I heard you, Ruth.  After I had seen you in my dream, or whatever\nit was, I went on deck, and while there I heard your cry, and I\nanswered back.  Did you not hear me?\"\n\n\"No, Roger, I heard nothing in answer to my cry, save a kind of wail,\nwhich, as it mingled with the splash of the waves seemed to be only a\nmocking echo of my words.\"\n\n\"And yet your words called me home.\"\n\n\"Thank God--and then?\"\n\nI told her how I had come home, and had met with the fisherman who had\ninformed me of her death, and how she had died because of Wilfred and\nMr. Inch, who had goaded her to do what was death to her.\n\n\"And what followed, Roger?\" she said, anxiously, as I hesitated a\nminute.\n\n\"I hated Wilfred as I never hated man before.  I felt that he was\ndeserving of the worst that could befall any man, and I determined to\nbe revenged.\"\n\nAgain I hesitated, and again she told me to go on.\n\nShould I tell her?  Should I with a few words blacken her life, should\nI destroy her every hope?  Yet the truth must out.  It always does, and\nI should but put off the evil day by refraining from telling her.  Yet\nit was terribly hard, the man must have a steady hand who writes his\nown death-warrant without shaking.\n\nShe saw, I think, how terrible was the ordeal, for she nestled closer\nto me and spoke gently.\n\n\"Dear Roger,\" she said, \"it must have nearly driven you mad to meet\nhim.\"\n\nI think this gave me strength, for I clenched my hands nervously, and\nbegan to tell her of our meeting and of the darkest deed that ever\nblighted my life, wondering in my heart what she would say and do when\nshe knew what I had done.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV\n\nCAIN\n\nAnd now art thou cursed from the earth, which hath opened her mouth to\nreceive thy brother's blood from thy hand. . . .  A fugitive and a\nvagabond shalt thou be in the earth.\n\nAnd Cain said to the Lord, My punishment is greater than I can\nbear.--_The Book of Genesis._\n\n\nAt last, I had told her.  The dread truth which I had trembled for her\nto know was made known.  Word by word, sentence by sentence, often\nhesitating, often stammering, I related our meeting, the awful struggle\non the cliff with its terrible ending.\n\nThen I felt her tremble.\n\n\"And Wilfred is dead?\" she gasped.\n\n\"Dead,\" I repeated.\n\n\"And you killed him?\"\n\n\"I--I killed him.\"\n\n\"Then you are a--a----\"\n\n\"Yes, I am.  My God, I am a murderer!\"\n\nI felt her shrink from me, I saw the blood recede from her face, and in\nanother second she lay motionless in my arms.\n\nI laid her gently down in an old settle, and ran into the hall shouting\nfor help.  The two women servants who had attended upon lier quickly\nappeared.\n\n\"Your mistress!\" I gasped.  \"Make haste.\"\n\nThey hurried to the room and found Ruth lying as one dead.\n\nI could not stay there while they tried to restore her.  I felt I had\nkilled her, and my head whirled so that I could scarcely stand.  Until\nthen I did not know what a man could bear and still live.  No tongue or\npen can describe what I suffered.  I had been in hell the night before;\nit was worse now.  Then only the death of the man whom I had hated\npressed on my conscience, now, I feared, I had by the same deed killed\nmy darling, whom only a few hours before, I had taken from a living\ngrave.\n\nPresently I heard the sound of horses' hoofs on the gravel outside the\nhouse, and in another minute the village doctor entered.  Unknown to\nme, Mr. Inch had sent for him, thinking Ruth might need his advice.\nEvidently, too, the servant who had been to fetch him had told him of\nthe strange event that had happened, for when he saw me he exclaimed:\n\n\"Great heavens, you did it, did you?  Well, its the most wonderful\nthing that ever happened.\"\n\nI think he would have stayed a few minutes with me had I allowed him,\nbut I hurried him quickly to the room where Ruth was, while I stayed at\nthe door and listened.\n\nAt length I heard a woman's voice say, \"She's coming to,\" and a great\nburden rolled away from my heart.  At all events, Ruth's death would\nnot lie at my door, and so far my mind was at rest.  By and by I heard\nmore whispering, and then I heard Ruth speak.  Was she not asking for\nme?  I thought so; certainly, I heard my own name.\n\nI entered the room, and found Ruth sitting up, while the doctor was\nwalking excitedly round the room, rubbing his hands with satisfaction.\n\nShe looked up and our eyes met.  Then I knew that a great gulf was\nbetween us, as great as the gulf that lies between Heaven and hell.\nShe could not come to me, I could not go to her.  We were divided, not\nby distance, but by my guilt.  We were in the same room, and yet, now\nthat she knew what I had done we could not be as we were.\n\nIn spite of this, however, I made a step towards Ruth as if to take her\nhand, but I saw as I came nearer a look of terror came into her eyes,\nand she shrunk from me with a cry of pain.  Now I knew my doom was\nsealed, and without a word I turned and walked away from her.  I loved\nher still; God only knows how; but I could not stay with her when my\npresence caused her so much pain.  Nay, I felt that if my love were\nworthy the name, she must never see me again.  Would she not feel that\nshe had loved a man whose hands were stained by his brother's blood?\n\nI did not even say \"good-bye.\"  I do not think I could have done so,\nfor weights seemed to hang upon my lips.  Yet it was terribly hard to\ngo.  We had been separated for more than ten long years, and then we\nhad met, as perhaps lovers never met before, met for a few brief hours\nonly to be again divided.\n\nI stood alone in the hall, as if waiting for some voice to recall me,\nbut I heard none, so I placed my hat upon my head to go out alone.  As\nI walked towards the door I thought of the sweet hours we had spent\ntogether, and of the Heaven of which my sin had deprived me.  But\nnothing could undo the past.  I must reap the harvest of my sin.\nBefore I had gone far, however, Mr. Inch stepped out of one of the\nrooms and met me.\n\n\"Are you going out,\" he said in astonishment.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"But why?  Surely there is no reason.\"\n\n\"Yes there is.\"\n\n\"But you are not going far?  You will soon return?\"\n\n\"I do not know how far I shall go; but I shall never return.\"\n\nHe looked at me in wonder; then a look of intelligence came into his\nface as though he had guessed the reason of my departure.\n\n\"Perhaps you do not know Miss Morton's feelings toward you,\" he said,\nwith a smile.  \"This wonderful night has doubtless made us all\nhalf-mad; but don't forget what it was that caused her illness and, as\nwe thought, her death.\"\n\n\"I know all,\" I said, \"but I must go.\"\n\nI placed my hand on the door handle when a thought struck me, and I\nturned to him again.\n\n\"But remember for all that,\" I said, \"that Miss Morton is not without a\nfriend.  Remember that I know how false have been your dealings with\nher, and now, if she be defrauded of one penny in the future, or if you\nin any way seek to take advantage of her, you shall be thrown into a\nfelon's cell.  Your past shall only be forgiven on the condition that\nyour future be blameless.\"\n\n\"Roger Trewinion!\" he cried, \"I know it may sound cowardly to shift a\nsin upon another's shoulders, but your brother is guilty of all the\nreal wrong.  I was only a weak tool in his hands.  But for the future,\nso help me God, I will serve my mistress faithfully.\"\n\n\"See that you do,\" I said, and then, leaving him half dazed, I went out\nof the house.\n\nThus I was alone again, alone in the night!  My sin had driven me away,\nand now I was cast upon the world again, with no one to help me, no one\nto love me.  For I could not for a minute think that Ruth could love me\nnow that she knew what I was, and of what I had been guilty.\n\nDown the long avenue I tramped, thinking all the time of what might\nhave been, and hating myself for what I had done.  For a time I went\nheedlessly, and then I began to decide which course I should take.\n\nI have heard it said that murderers are always possessed by the ghastly\ndesire to look on the face of their victim, to visit the scenes which\nare associated with the deed that cursed them for ever.  Whether this\nbe true or not I cannot say, but I had not gone far, before I was\nfilled with the dread longing to go back to the spot where Wilfred and\nI had struggled, and yielding to it I started to retrace the weary\nsteps which I had trodden only a few hours before.\n\nAfter walking two or three miles in a vague, half conscious sort of\nway, I felt a great desire to sleep, and seeing by the light of the\nmoon a haystack in a field close by, I clambered over the hedge and\nwalked, towards it.  I found it to be only half-built; evidently, there\nwas a late crop of hay being carried, and most likely the stack would\nbe finished the next day.  A pile of hay was lying on one side, waiting\nto be thrown on the stack, and on this I threw myself, and quickly fell\nasleep.\n\nWhen I awoke it was broad daylight, and from the sound of voices near\nme, the haymakers were evidently at work.  I rose up from my\nresting-place, and as I did so, those who had been partaking of\ncroust[1] gazed at me in astonishment.\n\nI was not dressed like an ordinary tramp, however, and so was treated\ncivilly.\n\n\"Will you tell me what time it is,\" I said, after some remarks had been\npassed.\n\n\"Nearly leben o'clock in the vorenoon,\" said one of the men.  \"'Ave 'ee\nbin slaipin' here oal night?\"\n\nI nodded.\n\n\"Then you must be awful ungry.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I said, \"have you anything to eat?\"\n\nFor reply, a basket containing a good deal of wholesome food was placed\nbefore me.  I ate heartily, for I was hungry, and after making a good\nmeal prepared to go on.\n\nThe men did not ask me who I was, or where I was going, but looked\nsmilingly on the few coins I gave them, and wished me a good journey.\n\nI went on in a dazed way the whole of the day, stopping only once for\nrefreshment at a little wayside alehouse.  I inquired of the landlord\nif he had heard any news, but he said, No, nothing had happened except\nthat his sister-in-law had got another, her eleventh baby.  As I did\nnot regard this of much importance, I trudged on again as soon as I had\nfinished my meal.  That I might be going in the teeth of danger did not\noccur to me; in fact, I never troubled about any punishment for my\ndeed, except the terrible punishment of my conscience.\n\nAbout eight o'clock in the evening, I entered the parish of Trewinion,\nand soon, as if drawn by a magnet, I found my way to the place where\nWilfred and I had met.\n\nHow vividly everything came back to me, and yet I seemed to have lived\nlong years since we met.  Only two days had elapsed; and I had seemed\nto have grown old in that time.  In my excited imagination I pictured\nhim coming towards me again; but soon my illusions were dispelled.\n\nI looked up towards my old home, wondering if I should see any signs of\nwhat had happened, but the house was quiet, and, except for a few\nlights that flashed from the windows, I saw no signs of life.  The\nprongs of the \"Devil's Tooth\" still lifted themselves in the air, but\nno light was there; evidently Betsey Fraddam was not visiting her old\nhaunt that night.\n\nAgain I stood on the place on which we had wrestled, again I looked\nfrom the dizzy heights on the rocks below, as if trying to see Wilfred,\nbut nothing was visible.  The rocks told no stories; the moaning sea\ndid not recount what had become of my brother's body.\n\nHad he been found, I wondered?  It could scarcely be otherwise.\nFisherman were constantly tramping along the beach, and when he was\nmissed search would certainly be made.  Still it might not have so\nhappened; I would go down to the beach to see.  The tide was ebbing\nout, and I could easily walk along the sands at the foot of the cliffs.\n\nI went to the place where a rough track had been made, and soon got on\nthe beach.  It was a glorious night; the sea shone beneath the silvery\nlight of the moon, and had I any melody in my heart the splash of the\nwater on the beach must have made music to me; but there was nothing\nbut remorse and despair within me, thus, what would have otherwise have\nbeen a song of gladness was only a wail of misery.\n\nWhen I came to the place beneath the point where we had wrestled, I\nlooked for a sign of Wilfred's body, but there was nothing to be seen,\nnor was there any marks on the sand, not even a footmark was visible.\nThis was not altogether strange, for the tide would have washed away\nany such marks, and yet I wondered at none being visible when such a\nterrible tragedy had taken place.\n\nNear here was a cave, and, scarcely knowing what I was doing, I entered\nit.  I spoke, but was frightened by the echo of my own voice.  I dared\nnot stay there long.  Every sound was magnified so, and as the waves\nbroke upon the shore their echo thundered around the walls of my grim\nresting-place, until it seemed filled with thousands of dark spirits of\nthe dead.\n\nI went out again into the night, and wandered on until I came to the\nwitches' cave.  I seemed drawn, as if by a charm, and for a minute I\nhad a strong desire to go where I had gone long years before, when\nDeborah Teague tried to make me promise ever to be her friend; but\nfancying I heard sounds within the dark confines of the cavern, I\nhurried away filled with superstitious fears.\n\nThen a new feeling possessed me.  I must get away from England and\nnever return.  There was no hope; no peace for me here.  Wilfred was\ndead--destroyed by my hand, and Ruth loathed me.  I would go away on\nthe wild seas again, and perhaps, although I could never know\nhappiness, I might find forgetfulness.  Here I should be ever haunted\nby fears; here, too, I was in danger of the law, once away I should be\nsafe.\n\nThe thought brought relief, it gave me something to do.  It was an\nescape valve for my feelings, and without waiting a second I started on\nthe road to Falmouth.\n\nA few days later I was sailing down the Bay of Biscay, bound for\nBarcelona, where I hoped I might find Salambo, who had been captain of\nthe pirate ship.\n\n\n\n[1] \"Croust\" is a corruption of the word \"carouse.\"  This designates a\nmeal which harvesters and haymakers have between ordinary meals on\naccount of specially hard work.--EDITOR.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV\n\nTHE VOICE OF A FRIEND\n\nThe journey to Barcelona was uneventful, at any rate for me.  During\nthe whole time I lived in a kind of hideous dream.  I was ever thinking\nof what I had seen and done during the little time I had been in\nEngland, but nothing was real save a horrible weight that oppressed me.\nI know that the captain sought to be friendly, while some of the\npassengers seemed to be interested in the sad, silent man who ever\nsought to be alone, but I paid little heed to their overtures.  How\ncould I when two ghastly passions, hatred and remorse, possessed me?\n\nSometimes I caught myself thinking of what Ruth had told me during\nthose two or three sweet hours we were together.  I remember asking her\nwhy she had seemed to love Wilfred the better, and why, when she saw\nhow I loved her, she did not in some way let me know that she cared for\nme.  And blushingly she told me that, besides the reports about my\nboasting that she would have to marry me, which she only half believed,\nshe was afraid I would think her forward and immodest.  This set me\nthinking how it had all ended.  How through misunderstandings our lives\nhad been ruined, until life seemed a tragedy, and Providence only a\ndream.  But no relief came to me, the burdens which I had myself made\nstill crushed me to the earth, and I could see no brightness in the\nfuture.\n\nWe reached Barcelona at length, and I set out to find Salambo.  I knew\nthat if all had gone well with him I should have little difficulty in\nthis.  He had given me instructions which were unmistakable as to his\nwhereabouts, so I started at once for the house at which he told me to\ninquire.\n\nI found that this house was occupied by his own parents, and no welcome\ncould be warmer than mine when I told them my name.\n\nI asked them if their son was well, and I quickly found that he was\nwell and happy, that he had found Inez, that they had been wedded, and\nwere living not far away from them.\n\nQuickly I found my way thither, and soon Salambo and I stood face to\nface.  Only one look at him was enough to convince me that his parents\nhad told me the truth.\n\n\"All is well with you, Salambo?\" I said.\n\n\"Ah, all is well,\" he cried, \"the saints have been good to me.  You\nmust see my Inez, she will be here directly.\"\n\nThis gave me a little hope.  Salambo had committed a sin similar to\nmine, and yet he was happy.  He had become wedded to the woman he\nloved, in spite of the terrible past.  Might there then be some chance\nfor me?  Not that I expected to wed Ruth, I gave up all thoughts of\nseeing her again; but I might find rest from the terrible pangs which\nnow made life almost unbearable.  I resolved before the day was over to\nhave a long talk with my old captain, and, if possible, to seek the\nsame means to obtain ease and happiness.\n\nPresently his wife came into the room.  They had only been wedded a\nshort time, and she blushed at being introduced as his wife; but I saw,\nin spite of everything, that she was happy.  Not that she looked free\nfrom pain.  There was a look in her great black eyes which told me that\nshe had suffered terribly in the past, and the silver streaks in her\nraven black hair told the same story.\n\nShe was very beautiful, and I did not wonder that Salambo loved her.\nFrom the way her eyes rested on him I knew that he reigned king of her\nheart.\n\nWe sat together during the evening, sometimes talking and sometimes\nlistening to Inez--for such Salambo would have me call her--as she sung\nsome sweet Spanish love songs, until the time came for her to retire,\nand then we two men, who had passed through many strange scenes, were\nleft together.\n\n\"You are very happy,\" I said, when she had left the room.\n\n\"Happy as man can be,\" he replied.  \"My Inez through all these long\nyears was faithful to me, and has ever been as pure as an angel.  And\nyou, Tretheway, or rather, Trewinion, how did you find affairs at home?\nnot well, I fear.\"\n\nI told him, just as I have written it in these pages, all that had\nhappened since I left him.  When I described my meeting with Bill\nTregargus, and how I had heard that Ruth had died of a broken heart,\ndriven to death by Wilfred, I saw the tears start to Salambo's eyes,\nand he eagerly asked what followed next.  Then I told him of my meeting\nwith Wilfred, what we had said to each other, and how we had engaged in\na deadly struggle on the cliff.\n\n\"And didn't you kill him?\" he cried, clenching his hands nervously;\n\"didn't you hurl the viper on the rocks beneath?\"\n\n\"Would you?\" I said.\n\n\"Would I?\" he cried, \"ay, and be proud that I had rid the world of such\na one.  The saints would sanction such a deed.\"\n\nI told him what had happened, at which he gave a great sigh as if of\nrelief, after which a scornful smile played around his mouth as I told\nhim of the terrible sufferings I had endured.\n\nHe did not speak a word during the recital of the visit to Ruth's home,\nbut gave a start as I told him of my determination to visit her grave.\nThen he sat like one entranced as I described my entrance into the\nchurch, and related how I lifted back the stone from the vault.\nBreathlessly he sat while I narrated how I had removed the clasps from\nthe coffin and looked on the still face of my darling; and then leapt\nlike a madman from his chair as I told how I felt her hand move.  After\nthat, while I related the remainder of my story, he walked up and down\nthe room excitedly, sometimes laughing and again giving a cry of\ngladness, until I came to that part where I told Ruth of my sins,\nwhereupon he sat down again, still staring at me wildly.\n\n\"And you left her because of that?\" he said in astonishment, when I had\nfinished.\n\n\"I could do no other,\" I replied.\n\n\"Ah, but you could,\" he cried.\n\n\"How?\" I asked.\n\n\"Why, that action of hers did not express her aversion of you, or if it\ndid it could be easily overcome.  You should have remained with her and\nshe would soon have forgiven you.\"\n\n\"How could she when I could not forgive myself?  Besides, if I had\nstayed in England I should have been arrested as a murderer, and that\nwould have brought her worse sorrow still.\"\n\n\"That need not have been,\" he replied.  \"You could have brought her\nhere, ay, and she would have gladly come, too.\"\n\nI dismissed this suggestion, for I knew it was not possible.\n\nFor three weeks I remained with Salambo, then I felt that I could stay\nin Barcelona no longer, and must be on the move.  Bitter memories still\nurged me to go somewhere, it mattered not where, in search of peace.\n\nI told Salambo this, and he did his best to persuade me to stay with\nhim, Inez adding her entreaties to his; but I felt I could not.\nSomething, I knew not what, impelled me to leave them, so I got a berth\non board a vessel, and went away again to follow the calling I had\nfollowed so many years.\n\nWe shook hands at the vessel's side; he to go back to his home and to\nhappiness, and I to sail down the Mediterranean, still in search of\nrest and peace.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI\n\nTHE VOICE OF GOD\n\n  Alone, alone, all, all alone,\n    Alone on a wide, wide sea!\n  And never a saint took pity on\n    My soul in agony.\n          --_The Ancient Mariner._\n\n\nFor a year I sailed the Mediterranean as a common seaman.  I thought,\nor rather, I hoped, that by hard work and mixing in the society of men\nwho had borne something of the brunt of life, besides visiting\ndifferent towns at which we had to call along the coast, I should\nbanish from my mind what became more and more terrible to me.  It was a\nvain hope.\n\nAt the end of the year I despaired of finding happiness or peace again.\n\"There is no such thing as forgiveness of sins!\" I said, \"and life is\nbut a bitter mockery.\"\n\nOfttimes I wondered what had become of them at home.  At night time\nespecially I found myself thinking of Ruth and how she bore her\nterrible trials, and this led me to wonder what had become of\nWilfred--had he ever been found, and, if so, had I been suspected of\nhis death?  Naturally, Bill Tregargus would think of me; but would he\ntell of his meeting with me?  Then again, would Ruth feel it her duty\nto denounce me as a murderer, even though I had saved her from the most\nhorrible fate imaginable?  I knew how great was her sense of right; I\nknew, too, how much she had loved me, and I did not know what course\nshe would take.\n\nBut never one ray of light, or hope, or comfort came in the thick\ndarkness.  Sometimes I was tempted to drown my troubles in drink, but I\nremembered my father's death, and refrained from doing so.  Again I was\ntempted to seek forgetfulness in what was unworthy, but I remembered\nRuth and was saved from that.\n\nOne day, about a year after I had left Salambo, the vessel in which I\nwas sailing arrived at Smyrna, where we had to stay some days.  Towards\nevening we were at liberty to go into the town, and I as usual strolled\naway alone.  I had not gone far, when, lying on the side of the street,\nI saw a little crippled child who had apparently lost its way, or was\nin some trouble, for it was sobbing bitterly.  I came close and lifted\nthe child to its feet, and as I did so caught sight of its face.  It\nwas a little girl about five years old.  She was by no means pretty, on\nthe contrary, her face was almost evil, and for a moment I felt like\npassing on without taking further notice, when the prayer which had\nconstantly been on my lips of late came to my mind.  Hitherto I had\nreceived no answer to it, but now I felt that I loved this little\ncrippled, ugly child.\n\nIn my constant visits to this coast I had picked up a smattering of\nGreek, so I spoke to the little maiden, and asked her where she lived,\nand without hesitation she told me.  With a strange feeling in my heart\nI took her in my arms, and carried her in the direction of her home.\nAs I walked on I met some of my crew, who laughed to see me with my\nstrange burden, but I did not mind, nay, rather, I rejoiced because of\nwhat I was able to do.  And all the while I continued to breathe this\nprayer, \"Lord, help me to love.\"\n\nWe reached her home at length.  A miserable place it was, and I found\nout that the little maiden had no father.  He had died a few months\nbefore, but she had a brother and sister, both younger than herself,\nwho lived with their mother.  I did not stay long, although I felt a\nstrange feeling of pity for the poor desolate ones, but I left some\nmoney with them and walked away alone.\n\nAs I did so I remembered the words I had heard often in our old church.\n\"Inasmuch as ye have done it to one of the least of these My little\nones, ye have done it unto Me.\"  \"Unto Me\"--unto whom?  I called to\nmind that they were the words of our Lord, and I asked myself what it\nmeant.  \"Ye have done it unto Me.\"  I repeated again and again.  \"How\nhave I done it unto the Lord?\"\n\nOne day while I had been in Barcelona, I had gone into a church, and\nhad made confession of my sins to a priest.  I remembered that Salambo\nwas a Catholic, and I wondered if by making confession peace would come\nto my heart.  The priest had told me that I must forgive every one, and\ndo penance.  But I was not able to forgive; as for penance, it seemed\nto me that no man could suffer worse penance than I had already\nsuffered.  Besides, I remembered that the priest was an enemy to the\nfaith which I had been taught to believe, and so, perhaps, prejudice\nhindered him from helping me.\n\nHis words returned to me that night, however, and I asked myself for\nthe hundredth time how it was possible for me to forgive Wilfred.\n\n\"He is dead, and I have killed him!\" I said to myself, \"and yet I\ncannot forgive him.  I hate him still.  He has robbed me of everything\nI hold dear.  How can I forgive him?  How can I find peace?\"  Then, as\nif in answer to my cry, came the words, \"Come unto Me all ye that\nlabour, and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.\"\n\nI do not know how, but the message of our Lord had a new meaning.  I\nhad heard it read a hundred times without ever thinking of its meaning,\nbut now my heart throbbed with a new hope as I thought of it, \"Come\nunto Me, Come unto Me, and I will give you rest.\"  I kept repeating the\npassage.\n\n\"Lord, how can I come!\" I cried, \"and how can'st Thou hear my voice,\nthe voice of a murderer?\" and then, as if in answer to my cry, I seemed\nto hear the words, \"Him that cometh unto Me, I will in no wise cast\nout!\"\n\nThat night for the first time for years I truly prayed.  I prayed for\nlight, for penitence, for forgiveness.  Ay, I did come to Christ as a\npoor penitent wayward sinner, and even as I prayed, I caught myself\nthinking of my brother Wilfred.  Without realising what I was doing, I\nremembered some of our boyish freaks.  I thought of the happy days we\nhad spent together and of the times we had knelt side by side and\nprayed; and then, I know not how, I realised that the hatred I had felt\nfor Wilfred was gone.  God had answered my prayer; I had learned to\nlove, and to love my enemy.\n\nDo not imagine that my burden was gone when I felt this.  The memory of\nthat terrible night became more vivid; but I was changed.  I was not\nthe man I was on the night when I madly wrestled with my brother.  God\nhad answered my prayer, and in doing so He had changed me.\n\nI went back to the vessel a new man, with new feelings, new desires,\nnew aspirations.\n\nNight came on again, and still the vessel remained in the harbour at\nSmyrna.  I sat on the deck alone, looking sometimes at the lights of\nthe town, and again at the moonlit sea, still longing and praying for\nrest.  Hour after hour I remained, until my heart grew so sad that I\nbegan to realise a misery as great almost as that I had known before\nthe hatred I had for my brother was taken away.\n\n\"Oh, God, what shall I do?\" I cried at length.\n\nWhat was it that answered me?  A voice from Heaven, or was it my own\nheart?  All I know is that, sounding from I know not where, I heard the\nwords, \"Go home.\"\n\nI felt I could not do this.  I could not bear to go back to the scenes\nof my misery and sin.  I should be ever seeing the dead face of my\nbrother; there would be less rest for me there than here.  Nor it would\nnot be safe to do so.  Perhaps even now the officers of the law were\nin--  But I would not think of that.\n\nAll through the night I struggled and prayed, but ever in answer came\nthe same dread message:\n\n\"Go home.  Confess your sins.\"\n\nAt length strength came; at length the battle was fought.  I made up my\nmind to go home, to give myself up to the officers of the law as my\nbrother's murderer, and in a moment the burden was gone, and I was a\nfree man.\n\nI will not try to describe with what feverish anxiety I made my way\nback to England.  I only know that some secret power seemed to be\nurging me back, and although I felt I was going to my death, I was glad\nwhen I landed in Falmouth harbour.\n\nOnce on my native soil my love for life became strong, and I had to\nfight my battle over again, or I should have had to do so if I had\nallowed myself time to think of it; but I stifled all thoughts of\nescape, and hurried on to my old home.\n\nWhen I arrived within a mile or so of Trewinion, I paused, and began to\nponder as to what course would be best.  Should I go to the village\nconstable, Philip Pinch?  I knew him well as a lad, and had seen him\nwhen I had been home the year before.  Or should I go straight to the\nold house on the cliff, and there, before my mother and servants,\nconfess my sins.\n\nThe desire to see the old place was so strong that I determined to take\nthe latter course.  If I surrendered myself to Philip Pinch I should be\ntaken at once to the lock-up, and thence to Bodmin gaol, while if I\nwent home I should have one more sight of the old rooms which I had not\nseen for more than eleven years.\n\nAnd so, with fast-beating heart and limbs trembling, I hurried onward.\nFeverishly I opened the postern door which admitted me into the grounds\nsurrounding the house, and then, with a pain at my heart which no words\ncan describe, I went up to the tower entrance and rang the bell.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII\n\nWITHIN THE OLD HOME\n\nEleven long years.  Yes, it was that since I had last stood by the hall\ndoor.  I had left it with a mad passion in my heart, with fierce grief\nraging within me; I returned saddened by sin, stained by crime, yet\nsubdued and repentant and hopeful.\n\nI could not help thinking of this as the bell clanged within the wide\nhall and echoed through the silent house, while memories of the old\ndays flashed like lightning through my excited brain.\n\nHow singular it was, that I, the rightful owner, should stand ringing\nfor admission like a stranger, and more singular still it seemed at the\ntime, that I should for long years have been a wanderer away from the\nhome of my fathers.  And I stood there as a culprit.  I was about to\nenter my home, only to come out a prisoner, a man accused of an awful\ncrime.  I was not sure if they would hang me, for his death was an\naccident.  I did not hurl him from me; he slipped from my hands in\nspite of me, and yet murder was in my heart.\n\nAnd thus I stood at my own door after eleven years of weary wandering,\nof lonely agony, of God-forsaken life, waiting excitedly, yet with a\nnumbing pain at my heart, for the meeting with my mother.  Ah, how\nshould I look her in her face when she asked me for her son; how should\nI withstand her withering scorn, her terrible wrath?  It was eventime,\nand the October winds had shorn much of the foliage from the trees,\nwhat remained being russet brown.  The wind, too, as it played amongst\nthe shivering leaves, told only a tale of decay and death.\n\nAt length I heard a step along the stone, corridor, an aged step, as\nthough the one who came was weary and tired.  All this I noted as I\nstood waiting while the door opened.\n\nIt was Peter Polperrow, who had been servant of Trewinion long before I\nwas born.  He looked at me with some astonishment, not unmixed with\nfear.\n\n\"Whom do you want to see, sir?\" he asked.\n\n\"Mrs. Trewinion,\" I said.\n\nHe eyed me from head to foot, as if afraid that by admitting me, he\nshould be doing wrong.\n\n\"I cannot admit a stranger,\" he said at length, \"and I cannot let you\nsee my mistress until I know who you are.\"\n\n\"Is she well?\" I asked.\n\nAgain he seemed to wonder why I should ask such a question, and he\nanswered sadly:\n\n\"Yes, considering all things; but what is that to you?  Who are you and\nwhat do you want?\"\n\nI suppose I was not of a very prepossessing appearance.  Like most of\nmy race, I was large and strong, but my clothes were somewhat coarse,\nand my hands were brown and bare.  Then my face was covered with a huge\nbrown beard, and I was tanned by long years of exposure to sea air.\n\n\"Take me to some room where we can talk together, Peter Polperrow,\" I\nsaid.\n\n\"Peter Polperrow!\" repeated the old man; \"Who are you that you know my\nname?\"\n\n\"I will tell you soon, Peter,\" I answered; \"meanwhile lead me to Mr.\nRoger's old room.  I will promise you no harm.\"\n\n\"Master Roger!\" repeated the old man; \"he has not been here for long\nyears.  He has gone away, God only knows where for that matter; nearly\neverybody believes him to be dead, and so I suppose he'll never return\nany more.  But what do you know of Master Roger?\"\n\n\"Lead me there and I'll tell you.  I can tell you many things you would\nlike to know.\"\n\nHe seemed to be staggered at my words.\n\n\"Do you know him?\" he asked.\n\n\"Yes; I have seen him, and spoken with him.\"\n\n\"What!  Seen Mr. Roger!\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nNew life seemed to come into his withered, aged form, a new interest\ncame into his aged face.\n\n\"Seen him!  When, oh when did you see Mr. Roger?\"\n\n\"I have been with him to-day.\"\n\nStill the simple old man did not catch my meaning.  He evidently could\nnot think that I was Roger.\n\n\"Where did you see him?  Is he coming home?\" he asked anxiously.\n\n\"Take me to his room and I'll tell you.\"\n\nWithout another word he led me to the room I used to call mine, I\nfeeling a kind of shiver as I stood within the walls of the old house.\n\nAt length we were alone, but it was dark there; we could scarcely see\neach other's faces.\n\n\"Get a light, Peter,\" I said.\n\nHe hobbled away, and soon returned with a candle, revealing the\nfurniture of the room just as I left it years before.\n\n\"No one has slept here since Mr. Roger left,\" said Peter tremulously.\n\"I don't think that anyone dare that knew him, and certainly no one\nshould with my consent.\"\n\n\"No one but me, Peter,\" I said.\n\n\"What do you mean?  Who are you, and--and when did you see Mr. Roger?\nTell me quickly.\"\n\n\"Peter,\" I said, \"does nothing tell you?  Hold the light to my face and\nthen think.  Have you never seen me before?\"\n\nThe old man held the candle as I had desired him, and looked steadily\nat me, but there was no flash of recognition, no look of joyful\nsurprise.\n\n\"I doan't remember; I never seed 'ee before.\"\n\nHe said this dreamily, and in so doing relapsed into the old Cornish\nvernacular.\n\n\"Look again, Peter.  Remember how Wilfred and I used to wrestle on the\nheadland.  Remember how I frightened you by telling you that Deborah\nTeague had ill-wished you.  Think of an awful storm, and that wreck on\nthe 'Devil's Tooth,' and of the young lady I saved.  Can't you\nrecognise me now?\"\n\nThen old Peter knew me, and tears rolled down his wrinkled cheeks.\n\n\"Oh, Master Roger,\" he said, \"thank God you've come home; but to come\nlike this, to come home as a----\"  But he could say no more, he sobbed\nlike a child.\n\nHe had heard then.  Somehow it must have been rumoured abroad that I\nhad killed my brother, and so my presence was painful to him.  Perhaps\nBill Tregargus had told that he had seen me, and heard me vow\nvengeance.  Perhaps Ruth had in a moment of madness revealed the\nterrible truth!\n\n\"Do you think my mother will see me, Peter?\" I said to the faithful old\nservant as gently as I could.\n\n\"Oh, Mr. Roger,\" he sobbed, \"you was so young, so beautiful, so happy\nin the old days, and I always looked forward to you becoming master,\nand servin' you till I died, and now to see you come home like this, a\nringin' at the door, when you should have walked straight in, and to be\nasked questions by me when----when----\"\n\n\"Never mind, Peter,\" I said, \"it cannot be undone now, but still you\nwon't mind doing something for me now, for the sake of old days.\"\n\n\"Do!  I'll do anything,\" he cried.\n\n\"I'm going down to the library,\" I said; \"will you go and tell my\nmother to come there? but don't tell her it is I who want to see her.\nSimply say that a stranger is asking for her.\"\n\nI found my way into the library.  Candles which cast a flickering light\nwere placed on the table, making the room ghostly enough.\n\nHow well I remembered the old place, and how memory after memory came\nback to me as I waited there.  I often thought of the time my father\nhad led me there on my fifteenth birthday, and told me of the curse of\nmy race, and many other things which seemed to have cast a shadow over\nmy life.  Then I thought of how terribly his words had been fulfilled.\nThe story of the curse was no meaningless jargon.  It contained awful\ntruths, which had been fulfilled in me.  And yet I was not sure.\nPerhaps what had happened was the simple outcome of broken laws;\nperhaps Trewinion's curse was an old wives' fable.  Still, the truth\nthat my life was cursed was ever before me.  I felt that even then I\nwas, humanly speaking, branded with the hand of Cain.  God had forgiven\nme, but man never would; the sin of my life could only be wiped out by\nyielding myself up to the hands of justice.\n\nAnd this I had come home to do.  I was waiting there to tell my mother\nthat I had murdered her dearest son, that I had taken all joy and\nbrightness from her life, and then, having brought the greatest sorrow\na son can bring upon a mother, I would go to meet my righteous judgment.\n\nPresently I heard the sound of footsteps, and soon my mother entered\nthe room.\n\nI had no difficulty in recognising her.  Ten years had worked but\nlittle change in her appearance.  Certainly her hair was tinged with\ngrey, and the lines on her face were deeper, but otherwise there was no\ndifference.  There was still the cold expression--which was ever the\nsame, except when her eyes rested on Wilfred--still the same stately\ncarriage.\n\nShe glanced at me for a second, and then asked my business.\n\n\"Mother,\" I said, standing up.\n\nShe looked at me keenly for a few seconds, then she cried hoarsely, \"My\nGod, what brought you here?\"\n\n\"Mother, forgive me,\" I said.\n\nI thought she recoiled from me as if in abhorrence.  I know that she\nstepped back from me.\n\n\"Why have you come?\" she said, and I saw fierce hate gleaming from her\neyes.  \"Have you not caused misery enough?  Are you not content with\nthe lives you have poisoned?  You went away; why did you ever come\nback?\"\n\n\"I could not rest, mother,\" I said, humbly, for I felt I deserved her\nreproach.  \"I wanted to tell you all; I wanted your forgiveness.\"\n\n\"Tell me!\" she cried, \"as though I did not know.  Forgive you, how can\nI forgive you when but for you my boy might have been----\"\n\n\"Let me tell you everything, mother,\" I cried.  \"God knows I have\nsuffered much for what I have done, but He has forgiven me, and I\nwanted your forgiveness before I die.\"\n\n\"Do I not know?  Have I not heard?\" she went on.  \"Has it not been the\ntalk of the neighbourhood?  Have you not ever been my son's enemy?\nWhen you were children it was you who had your father's affections, it\nwas you who saved the life of the only one my Wilfred loved, it was you\nwho stood between Wilfred and his right position.  It was you who kept\nRuth from loving him, and although you went away you were ever the\nblack blot on his life.  And now you have come back again.  Why?  To\nbreathe more poison, to carry out more of your murderous designs.\"\n\n\"No, mother, I have come to atone for the wrong I have done rather than\nto do more wrong.\"\n\n\"That can never be.  You can never atone for the wrong you have done.\nYou were born to curse my son's life, and you have done it.  You have\nstripped my life of happiness, and now you come again, to take away\nwhat paltry right, I suppose, you claim.\"\n\n\"But, mother!\"\n\n\"Call me not 'mother,' you are no son of mine.\"\n\n\"Not your son!\" I cried, \"how can that be?\"\n\nShe did not answer me, and my memory flashed back to the time when\nDeborah Teague had hinted that she was not my mother.  Now her mad\njealousy of my position was explained.  Now I knew why Wilfred was all\nand I was nothing.  This woman was not my mother, and as a consequence\ntrue affection had not existed between us.\n\n\"Whose son am I, then?\" I continued, after a pause, \"and who is my\nmother.\"\n\n\"I shall not say,\" she said, \"it is enough that you are not my son.\"\n\n\"And my sisters, Elizabeth and Katherine, are they not really my\nsisters?  If not, who are they, and who are you?\"\n\n\"I shall not tell you,\" she said, and then stopped, as if in doubt.\n\"Yes, I will though,\" she continued.  \"You are not my son, for you are\nthe son of your father's first wife.  No one here knew that he was\nmarried before he married me, I made him promise none should.  He never\nbrought his first wife home here, for he married her privately.  He\nwould have brought her home when you were born had she not died.  A few\nmonths afterwards he married me, and I came home as his wife, and you\npassed as my child, it being given out that we had been married more\nthan a year.  When I had a child of my own I hated you, and when I saw\nyour father loved you best I hated you more.  Now you know why I have\nalways been your enemy.\"  This information stunned me.  I had not\nexpected this kind of meeting.  As yet no definite word had been spoken\nconcerning the real object of my coming all the way from Asia.  I\ndetermined, however, to do my duty and to confess my sin.  Only when I\nhad realised strength to do the right had I realised ease of\nconscience, and because Wilfred was only my half-brother was no reason\nwhy I should keep back the words that seemed to burn my lips.\n\nI was about to speak again and tell all when I saw a form in the\ndoorway which made me think my senses must have left me, and I had\nbecome a madman.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII\n\nTREWINION'S CURSE\n\nI rose from the chair on which I had been sitting during the latter\npart of my conversation with my mother, and made one step forward.\n\n\"Wilfred!\"\n\n\"Roger!\"\n\n\"You here!\" I exclaimed bewildered.\n\n\"Ah, my presence surprises you, does it?\" he said, and every tone of\nhis voice told of vindictiveness--hatred.\n\nFor a moment I could not think; my head whirled and I staggered to my\nseat as though I were a drunken man.  Wilfred was not dead, the guilt\nof his murder did not rest upon me, I was free--free!  I had not hurled\nhim to his death on that awful night; my gloomy forebodings had no real\nfoundation.\n\nHow had he managed to escape?  I had stood with him alone on that dizzy\nheight, and as far as I remembered the cliff was perpendicular there;\nhe had I felt slipped from me, and I had heard the sound of a falling\nbody.\n\n\"What do you here?\" he exclaimed, after a minute of silence; \"how dared\nyou return to your native shore thinking as you did.\"\n\n\"I thought you dead,\" I gasped, \"dead by my hand, and I could not rest.\nI wandered from place to place, but I found no peace, until I\ndetermined to confess what I thought I had done.\"\n\n\"And you came home for that?\"\n\n\"For that.\"\n\n\"Fool, fool that I was not to think of the idiot's conscientiousness,\"\nhe muttered, \"then all might have been arranged even yet; but now he\nknows all, and I am undone.\"\n\n\"But how did you manage to escape?\" I asked, still in a dazed kind of\nway.\n\n\"I will tell you,\" he replied, with a bitter, mocking laugh, \"for\nnothing can be altered now.  You thought you knew more than anyone\nabout our coast, but I had found a place of which you knew nothing.\nThere is a crevice and a broad ledge beneath that place where we\nwrestled, and finding that you were stronger than I, I determined to do\nby cunning what I could not do by brute force.  So dragging you to this\nplace I slipped from you, fell down upon this ledge, and allowed you to\nthink you had murdered me!\"\n\nHe spoke with all the bitterness and cruelty of which any one could be\ncapable, and as I thought of what I had suffered, of the hell in which\nI had lived through long months, I realised something of the old\nfeeling which I had entertained for him on that awful night.\n\n\"And after all, I have served you out,\" he went on.  \"I have enjoyed\nTrewinion's wealth for eleven years, and I have made the most of it.\nYou may claim possession if you will; but precious little you will\nhave.  I have mortgaged it up to every farthing it is worth, and if you\nhadn't come soon you would have found another family here.  Even now\nyou will have a difficulty in keeping the house above your head,\" and\nhe laughed mockingly.\n\nAs he said this, it struck me that he was trying to make me angry, and\nas I saw the wickedness and meanness of his heart, I felt a great\nbitterness rising within me.  Then I remembered what I felt at\nSmyrna--how I had prayed that God would help me to love, and in a\nsecond the bitterness was gone, and all harsh feelings were turned to\npity.  I saw the veil torn aside, and I knew that, much as I had\nsuffered, he had suffered more; that deep as I had been in hell, he had\nbeen in a hell yet deeper.  I did not remember the deceit, the fraud,\nthe treachery he had practised towards me, I only thought of the\npossible Wilfred, the Wilfred as he might have been, and as God\nintended he should be.\n\n\"And what do you intend to do?\" said my mother, for such I shall\ncontinue to call her.\n\n\"Do, mother,\" I said.  \"I shall do nothing.\"\n\n\"Do!  What can he do?\" laughed Wilfred.  \"His hands are tied.  I am\nglad on the whole that he has come, for the place is accursed.  It has\nnever given me anything but misery.  I have been in a constant fever.\nAnd Roger will suffer more, I am glad to say.  As for you, mother,\nserve you right if you never have another day's happiness.\"\n\n\"Wilfred, my boy,\" said mother, \"how can you say so?\"\n\n\"Say so,\" repeated Wilfred, \"because you have been my real curse.  Who\ntaught me first to envy Roger?  You.  Who taught me to hate him\nafterwards?  You.  Who was ever at my elbow seeking to make me\nmisrepresent his every action?  You.  Who taught me how to deceive\nRuth?  You.  But for you I should have been content to be the younger\nson, content to be the vicar of the parish; but bitterness was\ninstilled into my heart as a child, until I hated him as I hate all the\nworld.  I wish he had killed me a year ago, for then I would have\nhaunted him until life should be such a ghastly possession that he\nshould seek death.  But, never mind.  Trewinion's curse is fulfilled in\nhim; he has suffered, and he will have to suffer.\"\n\n\"How?\" I said, with pain at my heart.\n\n\"How?\" he said, \"You have broken every condition of happiness, you have\nviolated every law of our people.  It is a law that Trewinion's heir\nshould never be away from the homestead for more than six months at a\ntime, and you have been away eleven years.  It is written in the curse,\nat which you have reason to tremble, that if you stray from God's pure\nlaws you shall be cursed and crushed by a younger brother.  The curse\nof our people ever rests upon the heir who hates, and you hate me.\"\n\nI did not believe in the \"curse\" at this time; I felt that Wilfred had\na purpose in speaking thus, and yet a strange awesome feeling crept\naround my heart as he spoke.  Did Wilfred really believe in this legend\nof our people?  I did not know.  Certainly all our family had believed\nit in the past, and strange things had happened to our race.  Was\nill-luck ever to follow me?   Was a dark pall ever to rest upon my life?\n\nAll this time I had been living in a sort of dream.  I had as yet\nscarcely realised that Wilfred was not dead, as yet the awful weight\nthat had so long rested upon my shoulders was scarcely lifted.\n\n\"Wilfred,\" I said at length, \"why you speak thus I do not know.  For my\nown part I have ceased to believe in that old story which has been\nhanded down from generation to generation.  Or if I believe it, I\nbelieve that it is as applicable to the rest of the world as to me.  If\nwe sin we suffer, if we hate we live in hell.  I have sinned, and I\nhave suffered, I have hated and I have been in hell.  But I trust it is\nover now.  I have repented of my sin, and I believe God has forgiven\nme.  I do not believe a curse can rest upon those whose hearts are full\nof love.\"\n\n\"But that does not free you, for you hate--you hate me.\"\n\n\"No, Wilfred, no, I love you.\"\n\n\"Love me!  You do not know.  I have always schemed to ruin you.  All my\nlife I have hated you; all my life I have sought to thwart your every\npurpose.  All the misery you have had has been through me, your years\nof homeless wandering have been due to me.  It was I who sought to take\naway the love of the woman to whom you had given your heart, and since\nyou left the last time, and she believed that you did not intend to\nkill me, I have been to her and told her that you used the basest means\nto kill me, and that I only escaped by a miracle.  I tell you I have\nblackened your life at every possible opportunity, I have robbed you of\nthe best part of your manhood, through me you will die lonely,\nforsaken, despairing; do you hate me now?\"\n\n\"And does Ruth believe you?\" I said.\n\n\"Yes,\" he shrieked, \"and she shudders at the mention of your name.  You\nare the terror of her life, and I have made you so.\"\n\nAgain I had to struggle or I should have hated him again.  Ay, I began\nto hate him in spite of my trouble, and then I prayed as I had prayed\naway in Smyrna, \"Lord, help me to love,\" and even as I prayed all my\nbitter feelings passed away, as they had passed away then.\n\n\"Brother Wilfred, I love you still,\" I said.\n\nHe seemed staggered at my words, and he turned to his mother as though\nin astonishment.\n\n\"Are you going to be a fool?\" cried she, \"are you going to yield to his\nfolly?  Surely, if he is a fool you need not be one.  He believes that\nTrewinion's curse is an old wives' fable--let him believe it.  But you\nare the younger brother, and according to it you have the power to\ncurse him.  Curse him, then; let all the darkness that can befall a\nTrewinion fall on him.  If he be married, let curses fall on him and\nhis wife.  If he has children, let curses rest upon them.  While he\nlives let darkness ever be in him and around him, and when he dies may\npowers of darkness attend him even as they attended his father's\nfather.\"\n\nMy mother spoke in a voice full of passion, and I knew if such a curse\ncould take effect she would hurl it at me.  Her words, too, seemed to\nfan Wilfred's hate into a flame, a hatred which, I thought, lessened\nwhen I told him I loved him.\n\n\"Ah, yes,\" he cried, \"you do not believe in those lines our father\nshowed you on your fifteenth birthday They have become to you but an\nidle tale, but you will know they are true, and you will know, too,\nthat Wilfred cannot be thwarted without making you suffer.  Listen to\nthem:--\n\n  If from God's pure laws he stray,\n  Trewinion's power shall die away,\n  His glory given to another,\n  And he be cursed by younger brother.\n  Then this son, though born the first,\n  By the people shall be cursed;\n  And for generations three,\n  Trewinion's heirs shall cursed be.\n\nI tell you you cannot escape, and if there is any power in the curse of\nthe younger brother, I call it upon you now.\"\n\n\"Doan't'ee be a vool no longer,\" said a voice at the door; \"Stop!\" said\na strange, croaking voice, and turning, I saw the form of Deborah\nTeague, more bent and more wrinkled than when I last saw her.\n\n\"I seed Maaster Roger comin' up here,\" said the old dame, \"and I\nvollied un.  You've a gived me a good dail of liberty in this ere\n'ouse, and so no noatice was took of me when I stopped and 'arkened at\nthe door.  I knaw every word that ev bin zed, and this I can tell 'ee,\nno curse can hurt Maaster Roger now.\"\n\n\"Why?\" asked my mother.\n\n\"Why?  Because you ca'ant hurt nobody who's heart es vull of love.\nCurse hes cheldren you may if ever he do 'ave any, ay even to the third\ngeneration; because you be a Trewinion, but he you ca'ant curse, for\n'ee do love hes enemies, and he do bless them that do curse him.  Ef he\nwere ere with hes heart full of revenge and hatred, then 'twould be\ndefferent, but you ca'ant hurt un now.\"\n\n\"Then,\" cried Wilfred, \"if there is truth in this story, I curse his\nchildren and his children's children, for he has robbed me of\neverything that makes life worth the living.\"\n\nWhen the old woman had gone I turned and looked at my mother's face.  A\nmarked change had come over it in the last few minutes.  She seemed to\nbe making a great resolve.\n\n\"Mother,\" said Wilfred, \"what are we to do?\"\n\nBut she did not speak; a stony stare had settled on her face.\n\n\"What is the matter with you?\" asked Wilfred, anxiously; \"tell me?\"\n\nStill she did not answer him, but instead stepped out into the hall,\nwhere old Peter Polperrow stood waiting as if he expected some\nwonderful transformation.\n\n\"Tell every servant to come at once into the library,\" she said quietly.\n\nMeanwhile Wilfred and I waited, wondering what she intended to do when\nher order was obeyed.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX\n\nMOTHER AND SON\n\nA few minutes later all the servants assembled in the library.  Most of\nthem were old and trusted, and had been in the house for many years.\nThere was a look of eager expectancy on their faces, as though they had\nheard strange news.\n\n\"Do you know who this is?\" said my mother, pointing towards me.\n\nEvidently Peter Polperrow had told them of my arrival, for without a\nmoment's hesitation they answered:\n\n\"It's Mr. Roger.\"\n\n\"You recognise him, then?\"\n\n\"Ay, that we do.\"\n\nMy mother looked at Wilfred with a yearning look, and then turning\ntowards them said,\n\n\"Mr. Roger left this house eleven years ago.  Many of you were servants\nhere then, and since then you have served my son and me faithfully; but\nyour rightful master has come home, and now I resign all authority and\ncommand to him.\"\n\n\"But mother----\" I interrupted.\n\n\"Stop,\" she went on, \"I must do my duty.  It will not be much\nlonger\"--turning to the servants--\"that I shall be with you, but this I\nmust confess; I have been the means of Mr. Roger being away from you;\nthrough me you have been deprived of your rightful master.\"\n\nIt must have cost her a terrible struggle to say this, for she was a\nproud woman, and regarded servants as inferior beings to herself, and,\nas with blanched face and trembling step she left the room immediately\nafter, I realised that she had come to some resolution which as yet was\nunknown to me.\n\nMeanwhile all the older servants crowded around me, each expressing\ngladness because of my return, and gladly acknowledging me as master.\nAnd all the while Wilfred sat like one entranced, never moving, never\nuttering a word.\n\nThey left us at length and thus Wilfred and I were alone together.  For\na time neither spoke, then I held out my hand to him.\n\n\"Wilfred,\" I said, \"let us shake hands and be brothers once more.\"\n\n\"You are no brother of mine,\" he said, without moving.\n\n\"We are both blessed with the same father, Wilfred,\" I said.\n\n\"But not with the same mother.  You know that.  Has she told you?\"\n\nI nodded.\n\nFor a minute he did not speak, but looked at me with such a stony stare\nthat his face seemed entirely changed; then he said slowly, but\ndistinctly:\n\n\"I hate you.\"\n\n\"Come, Wilfred,\" I said, \"let the dark past be buried.  We can make\nsome arrangement about the property, if any remains, that will be\nagreeable to us both.  I have no heart to quarrel about money.\"\n\n\"Share with you, when I have been master and have had entire control?\"\nhe said.  \"Never!\"\n\n\"Nay, Wilfred, be not so hard.  Don't let us remember those things that\nwill cause bitter feelings, but think of what is bright and pleasant.\"\n\n\"Bright and pleasant,\" he answered; \"what is there bright and pleasant\nfor me now you have returned?  Nay, nay, I am accursed; but, by\nheavens, so are you.\"\n\n\"And you will not shake hands?\"\n\n\"Never.\"\n\nAt this moment a servant entered the room with the message that our\nmother wanted to see us both in her private sitting room.\n\nNeither of us delayed in answering her summons, and in a minute more we\nwere seated near her.  I thought I detected a change in her face as I\nentered; something of her harshness had gone, and a look of tender\nlonging had taken its place.\n\n\"Mother,\" I said, as naturally as I could, \"I have been very forgetful\nand unbrotherly, but I have heard nothing of my sisters, are they well\nand happy, can you tell me anything about them?\"\n\n\"Both are married and both are happy and well,\" she replied absently;\n\"but we can talk of them on some other occasion.  I want us to speak of\nsomething else just now.\"\n\n\"Yes, mother.\"\n\n\"Roger, will you give us an account of what you were doing and where\nyou went during those years you were absent from us.\"\n\nI told her all, not in such great detail as I have written it here, but\nI told her enough to give her the information she desired to know.  It\ntook me a long while, but she sat patiently during the whole time,\nlistening attentively to every word, while Wilfred sat with the same\nstony stare upon his handsome face.\n\nWhen I had finished she rose and took Wilfred's right hand in her left\nhand, and my right hand in hers and tried to draw us together.\n\n\"Roger and Wilfred, shake hands,\" she said.\n\n\"Gladly,\" I replied.\n\n\"Never,\" cried Wilfred, drawing his hand away.  \"Mother, do not think\nthat the hatred of a lifetime can be destroyed in a moment of weakness.\nIt took you years to teach me to hate Roger; you cannot make me love\nhim in a minute.  I will never take his hand.  I will be his enemy as\nlong as I live.  In my heart of hearts I have cursed him, and I will\nnot be friendly now because of a whim of yours.\"\n\n\"Wilfred,\" she said, \"as you value my happiness, as you value your own\nhappiness, here and hereafter, do not refuse.  Roger,\" she continued,\nturning to me, \"great as has been your misery and loneliness, it has\nnot been nearly as great as mine.  Oh, if you have suffered for your\nsin, I have suffered a thousand times more for mine.  Morning, noon and\nnight, I have had no rest, no comfort.  When I married your father I\npromised that, God helping me, I would do my duty by you, but as soon\nas Wilfred was born I hated you, and I vowed that he should be\nTrewinion's heir and not you.  No one but Wilfred knows how I have\nschemed, deceived, sinned for him, and now, when I am getting old and\nam yearning for love, he, my only son, has turned against me.  Oh, I\nmight have known that the harvest of my sin could not bring happiness;\nbut I loved him so, and trusted him so fully.  Oh, Wilfred, you can\nnever have anything but misery while you are your brother's enemy.\nLearn to love him, Wilfred, and even yet all may be well.\"\n\n\"No, I cannot, and I would not if I could,\" he cried, savagely.  \"Both\nof you have helped to blacken my life.  You taught me to hate and\ndeceive, and he, in spite of all we have done together, has thwarted\nour every purpose.  And now why should I love him, or you either.  Nay,\nI hate you both.\"\n\nNever shall I forget the cry she gave, so full of anguish and despair.\n\n\"Hate me, Wilfred!\" she gasped.\n\n\"Yes!\" he cried, harshly.  \"You taught me to be greedy, and selfish,\nand deceitful, but you did not tell me of the futility of money and\nposition to satisfy, nor yet of the terrible power which they have, no\nnot even when you knew they would mock me.  But for you I should have\nbeen poor perhaps, but still happy, while now there's nothing but\nmisery for me here, and hereafter.  I tell you I believe we both sold\nour souls to the devil to get rid of Roger and obtain Trewinion, and\nnow he is chuckling over his bargain.\"\n\n\"But have you no love for me, your mother?\" she cried in anguish.\n\n\"None,\" cried he, cruelly, \"I love nothing but myself.\"\n\nNever before have I witnessed the payment in full of the ghastly wages\nof sin as I did then.  Never shall I erase from my memory the awful\nlook upon her face.\n\n\"Then, Wilfred, for your own sake, if not for mine, learn to love, to\nforgive.  Naught but misery can come from sin, I know it too, too well.\"\n\n\"I care not,\" he answered.  \"There was only one that I ever really\nloved, and that love you cankered.  But I did love her, more than aught\nelse, and she has been taken from me, and he has done it.  With her by\nmy side I could have forgiven you, I could have learned to forget my\ngreed; but now it can never be, and although I believe that I have at\nlast made her hate Roger, she still despises me.  And now what have I\nleft to live for?  Nothing but this; I will be a curse to him.  Roger\nsays he believes that the old stories about our house are false, but\nstrange things have happened, and they say that the younger brother can\ncurse the elder.  I know what Deborah Teague said; but I repeat it, if\nI cannot curse him I will curse his children and his children's\nchildren.  If ever I wed and have children I will teach them to hate\nall that is near and dear to him.  You told me to do so this very\nnight, and although you have suddenly changed your wishes, I will abide\nby your command.\"\n\n\"Oh, God,\" my mother cried out in agony, \"my punishment is greater than\nI can bear.  My own son, for whom I have sacrificed everything, has\ndiscarded me, spurned me.  My daughters have left me, no one loves me\nnow.\"\n\nNo man with any manhood left in him could have refrained from pitying\nher, so helpless, so forsaken.  My heart was strangely stirred within\nme, and tears started to my eyes.\n\n\"Mother,\" I said, \"I love you, will you let me be your son?\"\n\n\"You, Roger!  Why I have always been your enemy, it is I who has caused\nyou all your misery and pain.  You cannot really love me?\"\n\nHow fondly she looked at Wilfred even yet, as though she hoped for some\ntender word or look, but he only walked up and down the room, muttering\nsavagely, yet casting furtive looks towards us.\n\n\"I cannot love you as I love Wilfred,\" she said; \"he has discarded me,\nbut I shall love him as long as I live.  I am a poor, weak, selfish\nwoman, but I want your love, Roger, and your care; if you can forgive\nme, and love me.\"\n\nI laid her poor, weary, aching head upon my breast, where she seemed to\nfind ease in sobbing out her grief.\n\nNo sooner did Wilfred see this than, with a mocking laugh, he walked\nout of the room, leaving us together.\n\n\"Will you kiss me, Roger, my son?\" she said, presently.\n\nI kissed her, while the tears trickled down my cheeks, and I wondered\nmuch to see her who had been so haughty, so cold, become subdued and\npenitent.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX\n\nTHE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT\n\nNo words can describe how strange I felt when I stood again in my own\nbedroom alone.  There was the old bed at the corner of the room, just\nas I had left it long years before.  Indeed, nothing in the room had\nbeen changed, and it seemed at times as though I had never been away at\nall, that the past eleven years were only a long dream, and that I was\nstill the gay young Roger who sported on the headland with his younger\nbrother.\n\nI was very excited, and although I had not slept for many hours, I did\nnot feel at all like retiring to rest.  I was glad to sit alone, and\nlisten to the roll of the waves on the beach, and think of the strange\nevents which had taken place.\n\nAnd then there was Ruth.  Although I had scarcely mentioned her name\nsince I had arrived she was ever in my mind.  Could I now ask her to\nwed me?  My hands were free from the stain of blood, and hatred was no\nlonger in my heart.  Surely I might go boldly to her now, and tell her\nall I desired her to know, yet on the other hand I remembered her look\nwhen I last saw her face, the shudder with which I was sure she had\nrecoiled from me.  Besides, Wilfred had told me that he had more than\never poisoned her mind against me.  And yet I loved her so much!  All\nthe experiences during the eleven years of my wandering life had but\nstrengthened my love for her, and that love for her was, I believe, the\nonly link that held me to Heaven, the only power that saved me from\nfalling into hell.  And thus I mused on, when--\n\nWhat was that I heard?\n\nAt first it seemed like a stealthy step, but I was not sure; then a few\nseconds later I thought I heard someone whispering.  I opened my door\nand listened, but could detect nothing.\n\n\"It is my fancy,\" I said, \"or else the servants are preparing to get\nup.\"\n\nI did not know the time, but I knew that morning must soon be breaking.\nA drowsy sensation was now creeping over me, so I prepared for a few\nhours' rest, but as I lay down on the old bed I had used as a boy I\ndistinctly heard the sound of horses' hoofs; They seemed a good way\noff, but I was not sure, as the night was still, and the sound would\ntravel far and fast; but there was nothing to trouble about, so with a\nsweet feeling of restfulness I fell asleep.\n\nWhen I awoke it was broad daylight, and with a glad feeling at heart I\ndressed quickly and looked out of the window.  Yes!  I was home at\nlast.  The long bitter years of hatred and remorse were behind, the\nfuture, though cloudy, could never be as dark as the past had been.\n\nI heard a knock at the door, and on opening it found my mother standing\nwith a look of expectancy on her face.  She gazed up into my eyes, as\nif in doubt about her reception, and then allowed herself to be folded\nin the arms of her rough sailor son.  I knew all the time it was not my\nlove she craved for, but she was glad even for that, so hungry was her\nheart.\n\n\"Roger, do you know it is past mid-day?\" she said, with a sad smile.\n\"I thought something was the matter with you, but on listening at the\ndoor I heard you breathing regularly, and so let you sleep on.  But\ncome to the breakfast-room, I'm sure you must be hungry.\"\n\nWe went down the broad staircase together arm in arm, while the\nservants flitted around excitedly at the advent of Mr. Roger.  How\ngladly, how proudly they waited on me, while my mother told me that the\ninhabitants of the parish had arranged to have a bonfire, and that a\nlot of festivities had been arranged in honour of my arrival!  I seemed\nto be living a new life, to be breathing a new atmosphere, and so kind\nwas my mother to me that by and by I broke down and sobbed like a child.\n\nThen we went out on the headland together, she holding my arm, while\nthe servants smiled and whispered one to another that it was \"somethin'\nlike.\"\n\nBy and by, after talking of many things relative to what had happened\nin the years of my happiness, she said:\n\n\"Roger, you still love Ruth?\"\n\n\"More than ever, mother.\"\n\n\"I shudder when I think of the dreadful fate from which you saved her.\"\n\n\"You heard of that, then?\"\n\n\"Heard of it?  Why, it was the talk of the county.  The more so as you\nso suddenly disappeared.\"\n\n\"Did no one know why?\"\n\n\"No one except Wilfred and I, unless you told Ruth, I fancy you did\ntell her, for when Wilfred and I went over to see her she seemed amazed\nat the sight of him.\"\n\n\"And Wilfred told her of our struggle?\"\n\n\"Yes, Roger.\"\n\n\"He deceived her.\"\n\n\"He tried to.  I do not know if he succeeded.\"\n\nI saw this turn in the conversation pained her, so I was silent.\n\nAfter a few minutes she spoke again.\n\n\"Are you going to Morton Hall?\"\n\n\"I do not know.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"I am afraid she hates me, loathes me.  I could not bear to see her\nturn away from me in terror.\"\n\n\"I wish you would go, Roger.\"\n\n\"Why, mother?\"\n\n\"Because I love her, and I think, I am sure, you will never be happy\nunless you do.\"\n\n\"But, mother, do you think that----\"\n\n\"Nay, Roger, I would not tell you if I could.  It is for you to\ndiscover that.\"\n\nI could not bear to talk any more about it just then, so to change the\nconversation I asked her if she had seen Wilfred.\n\n\"No,\" she replied, \"but I am not surprised at that he has gone away for\nweeks together sometimes, and I have had no idea where he has been.\"\n\nI was about to ask another question when I heard a voice behind me.\n\n\"Right glad to see 'ee, Maaster Roger.\"\n\n\"Bill Tregargus,\" I said, \"and I am glad to see you.\"\n\nThere was an uneasy look on his face, however, and although he touched\nhis hat to my mother, and made many remarks about his happiness at\nfinding me home once more, I saw that something was wrong.\n\n\"Cud I ave a vew words in private with 'ee?\" said Bill, at length.\n\n\"Certainly,\" I said, and my mother, evidently thinking that Bill had\ncome relative to some matter connected with the estate, left us.\n\n\"Ave 'ee seed yer brother, sur?\" said Bill, as soon as she was gone.\n\n\"Yes, last night.\"\n\n\"'Scuse me, sur; but was 'ee friendly?\"\n\nI did not resent this question, for Bill knew of our past relations, he\nknew what I had said when I heard of Wilfred's cruelty to Ruth.\n\n\"No,\" I said.\n\n\"You'll forgive me, Maaster Roger,\" went on Bill, \"but I've got a\nraison for axin'; was anything said about Miss Ruth?\"\n\n\"Nothing definite.  Why?\"\n\n\"Maaster Roger,\" said Bill, as if feeling his way, \"people do zay as\n'ow he will never stand no chance wi' Miss Ruth now, but do 'ee think\n'ee wudd'n try to kip you from 'avin' 'er?\"\n\n\"I think he would,\" I cried.  \"But what then?\"\n\n\"Maaster Roger, I'm afraid he'll bait 'ee after all, ef you doan't\nmaake haste.\"\n\n\"I don't understand; tell me what you mean quickly.\"\n\n\"Well, Maaster Roger, yesterday I was over to Polcoath Downs.  As you\nknaw, 'tes 'bout fifteen mile from here.  I've got a brother as do live\nthere, the waun younger'n me.  You remember Daniel, doan't 'ee?\"\n\n\"Very well.  Go on quickly.\"\n\n\"Well, I 'adn't seed un for a long time, so I stayed till nearly\nmornin', and as I was comin' on the road 'bout an hour afore daylight I\nheerd the sound of hosses.  I was goin' down a steep hill when I heerd\nit, and I wondered who twas comin' at that time.  In a minute more I\nseed two men comin' ridin'.  They wa'ant goin' very vast, so I could\nhear 'em talkin.  When I got to the bottom of the hill I sed to meself,\nI wan't let those chaps zee me, so I gets under a bush cloase to a pool\nbeside the road.  As luck wud 'ave it, they got off their 'osses right\nagainst where I was, so as to let um drink, and then I seed that one of\nthem was yer brother, and tother a strange chap, as Maaster Wilfred\n'ave got very thick wi'.\"\n\n\"Who was he?\"\n\n\"I don't knaw, 'cept 'ee's a bad un.  'Ee don't do nothin' but loaf\naround the Manor and the kiddley-wink (beershop).  I'm told as 'ow he's\nterrible thick wi' Maaster Wilfred, who do kip un to do all soarts ov\ndirty jobs.  I've 'eerd 'ee's from Plymouth, and he goes by the name of\nJake Blackburn.\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"Well, Maaster Wilfred wur sayin' somethin' about his brother comin'\n'ome again and wishin' he knawed he wur comin', as then Jake cud 'ave\nstopped un from comin' home.  Then, Maaster Roger, I 'ad a sort o'\nnotion 'ow that you'd come 'ome again, and I wur glad.\"\n\n\"What then?  Tell me quickly.\"\n\n\"Then your brother said as 'ow he'd pay you out now, and that, though\nyou might get the old estate, which was mortgaged, you shud never 'ave\nthe girl you loved.\"\n\n\"Why?  How?\"\n\n\"I couldn't rightly make out, but I heerd Maaster Wilfred zay that he'd\nkill yer weth hes own 'and rather than you shud ever 'ave her.  Then I\n'eerd Jake Blackburn ax what 'ee'd got to do wi' that, and your brother\ntold 'im that ef Miss Ruth didn't come down from 'er 'igh 'oss, there'd\nbe some work for 'im to do.\"\n\n\"You don't mean to say that Wilfred would use this villain to kill\nRuth?\"\n\n\"I don't say nothin', sur, but I knaw Maaster Wilfred wur awful mad,\nand wur tellin' Jake that ef 'ee ded'n do as he was told he'd put a\n'angman's rope round es nuddick.  I 'eerd un zay, too, that he wud tell\n'er you was dead, and that it wur 'er place to 'ave him, and if she\nwudden--well, and then they was whisperin' one to another.\"\n\n\"And are you sure they were going there?\"\n\n\"As sure as I can be, sur.  I 'eerd em zay they'd git to Morton Hall by\nten o'clock.\"\n\n\"And now it's after two.  Why did you not tell me before?\"\n\n\"I've bin three times this mornin' sur, but they zaid they wudden wake\n'ee.  I've told 'ee as soon as ever I cud.\"\n\nI could not believe in what Bill had said, it was too terrible, but I\nhurried madly back to the house, he keeping by my side.\n\n\"Do you really think he is capable of such a thing as you hinted at,\nBill?\" I said.\n\n\"I'm sure 'ee's capable of doin' any devilish thing,\" said Bill;\n\"beside, 'e've bin drinkin' 'ard lately.\"\n\nThe thought was ghastly in the extreme, and yet as I remembered the\nlook on his face the night before, when he said he would ever seek to\ncurse my life, I felt the truth of Bill's words.  He had tried to\nmurder me in order to retain wealth, would he not murder her rather\nthan see her make me happy?  Then the thought came to me--was this a\npart of the curse?  For the past eleven years I had never known real\nhappiness.  Before I had raised the cup to my lips it had been dashed\nout of my hand.  Was it to be now as it had ever been?  For a moment I\nbelieved that an evil power attended me, and that I could not rid\nmyself of the evil to which I had been born.  Then I thought of old\nDeborah Teague's words.  \"You ca'ant curse waun that do love everybody,\nand whose heart es full ov love.\"  This comforted me; not that I\nbelieved particularly in anything she might say, but because her words\nsounded true.\n\nAnyhow, if such were the case, I would resist my fate, I would struggle\nto the end, and God would help me.\n\nI rushed to the stables, where two or three men lolled around.\n\n\"Are the horses all in the stables?\" I asked.\n\n\"No, sur, there be two gone.\"\n\n\"Good ones?\"\n\n\"The best we've got, sur.  Brown Molly es a thora breed, sur, and will\nrun till she do drop; and Prince is nearly so good.\"\n\n\"Have you a good horse now?\"\n\n\"There's Bess.  She's a bra mare, jist brok in, sur.\"\n\n\"Saddle her at once for me, and stop!  Do you know who has the other\ntwo horses?\"\n\n\"No, sur; but Master Wilfred do often take hosses without we knawin'\n'bout it.\"\n\n\"Just so.  Bring Bess to the hall door immediately.\"\n\nI rushed into the house, where I found my mother.  I told her all Bill\nhad related to me.  As I did so I saw her face pale to the very lips.\n\n\"Oh, Roger, oh Roger!\" she cried, \"save him.\"\n\n\"Do you think Bill's surmise correct?\"\n\n\"Oh, Wilfred, Wilfred, you will kill me yet,\" she murmured.  \"Ride\nfast, Roger, ride for your life.  Don't wait a moment if you would save\nher, and save him!\"\n\nThe horse was brought up to the door at that moment, a powerful black\nmare, well fed and exercised.\n\nI kissed my mother and prepared to go, but she held my arm for a moment.\n\n\"Be careful and watchful,\" she said, \"he's very cunning; but, oh, my\nGod, save him from this!\"\n\nI jumped into the saddle, and in another minute was riding with a fast\nbeating heart towards Morton Hall.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXI\n\nTO THE RESCUE\n\nFor the first mile I rode almost without heeding the direction I was\ntaking, or thinking of what was the best way to proceed.\n\nMy mind was too full of terror.  Perhaps even then Wilfred with his\ndevilish cunning was weaving a net from which my darling could not\nescape.  Aided by the villain with whom he had been so friendly, he\nmight destroy my happiness for ever.  And so, unthinkingly, I allowed\nthe mare to carry me whither she would.  It did not matter, however.\nBy a strange instinct, which I am sure some animals possess, she seemed\nto divine the road I wanted to go, and plunged forward joyfully.\n\nI was no light weight to carry.  It is true that the past year's sorrow\nhad worn me very much, so that there was but little flesh on my great,\ngaunt frame; but I still weighed nine score pounds, and thus would tire\nany horse that had to carry me a long distance.  I could not have\nridden a more noble animal, however; I think she united all the\nqualities of strength and speed, and tore along the road as though she\nfelt my weight no more than if I had been a feather.  It was but little\nI had done in riding during the eleven years I had been away, but I\nfound I had not lost my old skill, and soon I was able to bring Black\nBess into entire subjection, and settled down into a good swinging trot.\n\nI longed to gallop the gallant animal all the way, so anxious was I to\nreach Morton Hall; but I knew that she could not hold out at such a\nspeed, so I patted her neck and gave her a few kind, caressing words,\nat which she whinnied a little and tossed her head proudly, as if to\ntell me she was prepared to go as fast as I liked.\n\nThirty-five miles.  It was a long stretch of land, and difficult to\ncover quickly.  In most places it was very hilly, which would often\ncheck our speed.  I calculated, however, to get to Morton village in\nfour hours.  It was just after two o'clock when we started; by six we\nshould get there if nothing was amiss.  It was in the month of October,\nso that the day would be nearly gone ere I should see the old village\nchurch, which a year before had been the scene of such a wonderful\nevent.\n\nAfter riding an hour I was able to think more clearly, and to form some\nidea as to the steps I should take.  I remembered that I had a cunning,\nunscrupulous man to deal with, one who, in his disappointment and\njealousy, would stop at nothing.  There were but little data on which I\ncould build my theories, or form my plans.  The first question that\nappealed to me was, What was Wilfred likely to do?  What steps would he\ntake?\n\nFrom what Bill Tregargus had told me I gathered that he was going to\ntell her that I was dead, and again press upon her his suit, and then\nif she would not listen to him to--well, I knew not what.\n\nBut I was sure he would not dare to harm her in her own home, where she\nwould be surrounded by so many servants and friends.  No, he would seek\nto lure her away alone; where I could not guess; but knowing Wilfred as\nI did, I felt sure that this would be his plan.  The execution of this\nplan would, however, be delayed till dark, so my hope lay in arriving\nbefore sunset.\n\nLet no one think, then, that I was riding on a scheme of vengeance; on\nthe contrary, my intention was to save.  I hoped to save Wilfred from\ncommitting a dark deed, I longed to save Ruth from becoming a villain's\nprey.  I had no desire to hurt either Wilfred or his accomplice.  No\ngood could come of that.  To meet evil with evil is useless for any\ngood purpose.\n\nAt length my heart began to beat loudly, for I knew I was nearing\nMorton Hall.  I passed by the farm where a year before a buxom maiden\nhad given me some new milk, and when I had ridden a little farther I\nsaw a great clump of trees which I knew surrounded Morton Church.  It\nwas well that the journey was nearly over, for Black Bess was covered\nwith foam, and by her spreading nostrils and hard breathing I knew she\nwould be glad to rest.\n\nKnowing nothing of Wilfred's schemes, I had no definite plans made; but\nI had been revolving a dozen in my mind, and determined, if necessary,\nnot to hesitate to take bold action.\n\nJust before coming to the village, I decided that it would not be wise\nto go to the inn.  My brother would very likely stable his horses there\nand for aught I knew might have watchers on every hand.  Where should I\ngo, then, so as not to be noticed?\n\nWhen last there, I discovered that there was no need for me to go into\nthe village in order to reach Ruth's house.  Perhaps it would be better\nto ride there direct, and make the necessary inquiries.  Perhaps--God\nknows how I hoped it--she was still in the house, Wilfred not having\nbeen able to concoct a plan sufficiently plausible to get her away\nalone.  If so, I should meet her, and be able to warn and protect her.\n\nThis I would do, then, but I dared not go dusty, dishevelled,\ntravel-stained as I was.  So I got off my horse, and washed myself in a\nstreamlet that trickled beside the road.  Then I picked up a wisp of\nstraw and rubbed down the mare.  It was but little I could do for her,\nbut I wiped the foam from her, and made her look less conspicuous than\nshe had been before.  This done, I mounted again and rode direct to the\nHall.\n\nHow my heart thumped as I neared the stately old mansion, and how I\nhoped and prayed that I might be successful in my mission!  I thought\nnot of myself now.  My one thought was to save Ruth, and to save\nWilfred.\n\nDaylight had begun to fade as I rode up to the Hall door.  A stable boy\nhad seen and followed me.  Without a moment's hesitation I flung myself\nfrom the faithful creature who had borne me so gallantly over those\nlong weary miles.\n\n\"Take this mare, rub her down well, feed her well, and wrap her up\nwarmly.  And, stay--don't give her too much water.\"\n\nHe looked at me in astonishment, then a look of recognition came into\nhis face.  Evidently he had seen me before, for he grinned and touched\nhis cap as he said, \"I'll zee to 'er proper, sur.\"\n\nI would have followed him and made sure that he did as I commanded;\nfor, brought up among horses as I had been, I had learnt to care for\nthem, and to see them properly provided for, but now, other matters\nwere more pressing.  So I threw him a crown piece, and hurried to the\ndoor.\n\nAgain the bell clanged through the old hall, again I stood with beating\nheart waiting for the answer, for now I was nearing the great crisis of\nmy life--at least, it seemed so to me then.\n\nThe old servant I had seen a year before met me, and despite the dim\nlight recognised me in a second--joyfully, I thought.\n\n\"Mr. Trewinion, sir,\" he said, quickly, \"walk in.\"\n\nAgain I entered the house and with a fast beating heart.\n\n\"Is your mistress at home?\" I said, hastily.\n\nHe looked up at me anxiously, I thought.\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" he replied, \"she is at home; that is, sir, she is not at\nhome now, but we expect her home every minute.\"\n\n\"Has she been far away?\"\n\n\"No, sir; oh, no, she's only gone to the village.\"\n\n\"Do you know why?\"\n\n\"Why, sir!\" he said, looking at me strangely.  \"She's not gone into the\nvillage exactly, but to a little cottage just outside.  You see, sir,\nshe's mighty good to the poor, and she do visit 'em and carry things to\n'em.\"\n\n\"Do you know the one she's gone to visit now?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, sir.  She's a bedridden old woman.  Mistress has been to see\nher many a time.\"\n\n\"Did she walk or ride?\"\n\n\"Walked, sir; you see, she couldn't ride to Mrs. Bray's, her cottage is\namong the fields, and there's no carriage road.\"\n\n\"She is not gone alone?\"\n\n\"No, sir,\" said the man, evidently wondering more and more at my\nquestions, \"one of the servants went with her to carry the basket.\n\n\"Have there been any callers here to-day?\"\n\n\"No, sir, no one has been but Mrs. Bray's little maid, who came to say\nthat her grandmother was worse.\"\n\n\"Ah!  You are sure it was Mrs. Bray's granddaughter; you know the maid?\"\n\n\"Know her, sir!  Of course, know'd her ever since she was a baby; you\ndon't think that----\"\n\n\"How long ago did this girl come?\"\n\n\"About two hours, sir.\"\n\n\"And how long since your mistress left?\"\n\n\"Directly after the little maid.\"\n\n\"And the servant who is gone with her is trustworthy?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, sir; why sir, you don't----\"\n\n\"Where is this old woman's house?  Tell me quickly.\"\n\nHe told me the direction, and assured me that by going across the park\nI could reach it in less than ten minutes.\n\n\"I'll go and meet her,\" I said, as calmly as I could, \"but if she\narrives before I do, say nothing of my being here.  I shall not be much\nlater than she.  But point out the road by which she will come.\"\n\nHe did so, and then wanted to send a servant with me; but of this I\nwould not hear.  I wanted no prying, gossiping servants to be around.\nThe truth was I feared Wilfred had succeeded in sending Mrs. Bray's\ngranddaughter on a false errand, or else had watched her and found out\nhers.  At any rate, I felt sure that he would be cognisant of the\nchild's visit, and would use it as a means to carry out his designs.\n\nI hurried across the park like a deer when the hounds are behind it,\ncleared the fence that lay at its utmost extremity, and struck into a\nfootpath that led to the cottage.  The way was very lonely.  A few\nstraggling houses formed the village and the cottage was some distance\nfrom them.  Two weak, defenceless women could easily be met and\noverpowered and without anyone being the wiser.\n\nWilfred was not likely to attempt to carry out his designs in daylight,\nso if the summons to Mrs. Bray's bedside were genuine, the chances were\nthat Ruth would be allowed to pay the visit first.  Perhaps she might\nbe there even now, and if I went a little faster I might be in time to\nsee her before she left the cottage.  Filled with this thought, I\nrushed rapidly on to the little thatched house, and knocked at the door.\n\nA little girl came, with a tallow candle in her hand.\n\n\"Does Mrs. Bray live here?\" I said, pantingly.\n\n\"Iss, sur, she do,\" replied the child.\n\n\"Is she alone?\"\n\n\"Iss, sur,\" wonderingly.\n\n\"Has any one been to see her this afternoon?\"\n\n\"Iss, sur.  Miss Murten 'ev bin.\"\n\n\"Miss Morton,\" I said, with a glad feeling at heart.  \"How long has she\nbeen gone?\"\n\n\"Not more'n 'bout vive or ten minutes, sur.\"\n\n\"Has she gone down the lane?\" I said, pointing to the one I took to be\nthat of which the old servant at the Hall had told me.\n\n\"Iss, sur,\" said she, timidly.\n\nWithout another word I rushed down the narrow lane which led to a\ndistant farm, then coming to a stile I jumped over it into a field.\n\nDaylight was now quite gone, and I knew that I must be careful.  True,\nI did not know that Wilfred and Blackburn had come to the village at\nall, but I must be ready for any emergency.\n\nI could dimly see the footpath by the hedgerow, so I ran noiselessly\nalong it, until I reached the end of the field, then I stood upon the\nstile and listened.  All was silent as death.\n\n\"Surely,\" I said.  \"My fears are in vain.  Ruth has gone quietly back\nto her home.  If I am quick I shall overtake her.\"\n\nWith this hope in my heart, yet feeling terribly anxious, I rushed\nalong the hedgeside, and had nearly traversed the length of the field\nwhen I heard what I thought was a smothered scream.\n\nThe sound was near me, too, it seemed to come from the other side of\nthe fence which was just before me.\n\nWith beating heart I went stealthily forward and looked over the hedge\ninto the other field.\n\nIn the dim light I saw four figures.\n\nBut there was no struggling.  They seemed to have only just met, and as\nI looked I heard a voice that set my every nerve quivering.\n\n\"Wilfred,\" said the voice, which I knew was Ruth's, \"how came you here?\"\n\n\"I came to see you, Ruth,\" said Wilfred in low, subdued tones.\n\n\"But why did you not go to the house?  I have been home all day, and my\ndoors are never closed to any one bearing your name.\"\n\n\"I have met you here because I want to see you alone, and because I\nhave some strange things to tell you.\"\n\n\"Well, speak on,\" she said, haughtily; \"here, Clara, come and stand by\nmy side.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Wilfred, hoarsely, \"I want no servants near; I must speak to\nyou alone, here, now.  Jake, take this jade a few yards away and stay\nthere.\"\n\nJake did as he was told, and the servant, having evidently seen Wilfred\nbefore, seemed to think no wrong.  I saw Ruth look around her as if in\nfear, however, while I, scarce knowing why, waited for what should\nfollow next.\n\n\"Wilfred,\" said Ruth, \"this is strange acting.  Never before has any\none dared to treat me so; but you are an old friend, or I should say\nperhaps that I have known you a very long time, and so I grant your\nrequest.  Speak, but speak quickly.  Meanwhile we will walk home.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Wilfred, \"I say what I want to say here.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Ruth, I am a desperate man, and I must use desperate means.  I am not\ngoing to be frightened out of my purposes; nothing shall stay my hand!\"\n\nHe spoke with the old intense tone of voice that I knew so well, and I\nknew, as he said, that he was desperate.\n\n\"Well, what have you to tell me, Wilfred?\"  There was no fear in her\nvoice.  Evidently, she felt she was on her own land, and that no one\nwould dare to molest her, where she was beloved by all.\n\n\"First of all, Ruth,\" he said hoarsely, \"I am come to tell you that\nRoger is dead.  News came last night of his death.\"\n\n\"Died!  How?\" she gasped.\n\n\"Hanged,\" he said, savagely.  \"The pirate vessel on which he sailed was\ncaptured, and he has been hanged.  One or two of the crew were granted\na reprieve, but Roger was the most bloodthirsty man among them, and to\nhim no mercy was shown.\"\n\nShe did not speak, and, after being silent a second, he went on.\n\n\"I came to tell you that first of all; I thought you might be glad to\nknow that he will plague you no more.\n\n\"Then, Ruth,\" he went on, \"I am come to tell you something else.  I\ncannot live without you, Ruth.  I have been mad for love of you for\nlong, long years.  Oh, if you only knew, if you only knew!\"\n\n\"Wilfred,\" she answered, \"say no more about that.  Surely you know that\nwhen I was nearly driven to marry you, the thought of it almost killed\nme.  You cannot come with that petition again.\"\n\n\"But, Ruth, Roger is dead, and now I have come to beseech you to have\npity.  I am dying for you, Ruth.  Oh, if you will only pity me, and if\nalthough you do not love me, you will fulfil my father's wish, and your\nfather's wish, and wed me, you will save me.  Save me from death\nhere--from death hereafter.\"\n\nHe spoke with passionate earnestness, which I can never forget.  He\npleaded for her love as a man fearful of death might plead for his\nlife.  But to all his petitions she gave no encouragement.\n\n\"I cannot do as you ask, Wilfred,\" she said, \"neither would my father,\nor your father, if either were alive, have me do it.  My eyes have been\nopened as to their real wishes, and I cannot marry you.\"\n\n\"But, Ruth,\" he continued, \"you do not know.  My very existence depends\non your answer.  Do not think I care for your money; but, driven to\nmadness by your constant refusal of my love, I have acted foolishly, I\nhave blindly engaged in speculation, until Trewinion estate is no\nlonger mine, except in name.  If you do not have pity on me it will\nbecome the property of strangers, and those who care nothing for us or\nours will possess it.  My mother will be homeless, and the old rooms,\nwhich were my father's and--Roger's will be desecrated by others.  For\nmyself I care nothing, but I cannot bear that my mother should have to\nleave the home of our people.\"\n\nShe seemed moved at this, for in her pure guilelessness I do not\nbelieve she ever thought that Wilfred was seeking her for her wealth\nalone.  Hence what he had said appealed to her, as my brother intended\nit should, as an additional reason for her to accept him.  Still, it\ndid not alter her determination.\n\n\"I will help you, Wilfred,\" she said, \"if it is in my power to do so.\nI will see that all shall be well with your mother, but I cannot do as\nyou wish.\"\n\n\"But why?\" Wilfred asked hoarsely.  \"Roger is dead, and even if he were\nnot you could never wed him when you know that his heart is full of\nmurder.  You know that he sought my life, and but for a fortunate----\"\n\n\"I do not know it,\" she said passionately, \"neither do I know that he\nis dead.\"\n\n\"What!\" he exclaimed, savagely, \"you believe that I----\"\n\n\"I know that you have deceived me about him in the past,\" she said.  \"I\nknow that you drove him from home.  I know that you have tried to make\nme believe that he sought to murder you, but let me tell you this,\nWilfred: If I believed he were dead, which I do not, and if he has been\nall you say he has, then, knowing you as I do, I cannot, will not, be\nwhat you ask.  Now, I will go home.  Stand aside, please?\"\n\n\"You refuse, then?\"\n\n\"Certainly, Wilfred.  And now that I have yielded to your wish for this\nunseemly interview, I wish it to be the end of all such scenes.\"\n\n\"Ay, and it shall be, for I have a few words to say.\"  His tone\nchanged, and he spoke with haughty insolence.  \"We are in a lonely\nplace,\" he said, \"half a mile from a house.  No one will molest us\nhere, and you are in my power.  I have begged you to grant my request,\nnow you will have to yield to one of two alternatives.  The first is\nthis: The town of ---- is ten miles from here.  You will ride there\nwith me this very night, quietly, and remain there until arrangements\nare made for our marriage.\"\n\n\"What!\" she exclaimed, \"you seek to force me?  You dare not do such a\nthing.\"\n\n\"I dare do anything,\" he said, \"for I am a desperate man.  Will you\naccede to this?\"\n\n\"Never.  I will die first.\"\n\n\"Then hear my other alternative.  There is a vessel lying in the cove\nyonder.  I have got it for this emergency.  You will come with me now,\nand to-night we shall sail for a port where my wishes will be carried\nout in spite of you.  Stop, if you scream or cry for help I will gag\nyou, and Jake will do the same by your girl.  He has my orders.  Choose\nwhich you like, but one of them you shall do.\"\n\nAll this time I had listened as in a dream.  For a time I seemed\nincapable of action.  I was stupefied by the villainy of my brother,\nwhile my blood surged madly at the sound of Ruth's voice.  It seemed so\nstrange that I should have come thus, and be listening to such a\nconversation.  At first I could not think it real, and yet I remembered\nI had ridden thirty-five miles to prevent whatever schemes he had\nconcocted.\n\n\"Choose quickly,\" he went on after a pause.  \"I have no time to waste.\nEither you come to the three bridges, where horses are waiting, and\nride to ----, and marry me as soon as it can be arranged, or you come\nto Pendugle Cove.  I care not which, but as I am a maddened, desperate\nman, it shall be one or the other.\"\n\nShe did not lose her presence of mind.  I do not think she realised her\ndanger.\n\n\"Wilfred,\" she said, \"I have long known that you were capable of much\nthat was bad, but I never thought you were as bad as this.  You have my\nanswer.  I will die rather than accede to either of your plans, and you\ndare not carry them into execution.\"\n\n\"But I will.  Then you will wish you had consented.  Jake, Pendugle\nCove, and gag the girl.  I will manage Miss Morton.\"\n\nHe laid his hand on her as he spoke.  She gave a slight cry for help,\nwhich was instantly choked.\n\nThen all my stupefaction left me.  With one bound I cleared the fence,\nand in another second I was by Ruth's side.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXII\n\nTWO HEARTS\n\nMore than eleven years of seafaring life had accustomed me to danger.\nDuring the two years I sailed in the pirate ship I had often been\nwithin the jaws of death, for as all the world knows pirates are not\ndealt leniently with.  I had been mixing with men of all nationalities,\nand had been engaged in all kinds of fray.  Thus, I was never\nunprepared for a struggle.  To be ready to meet danger was second\nnature with me.\n\nAlmost instinctively I settled on my plan of attack.  They were two to\none, so stratagem was required as well as strength.  Noiselessly as\npossible, and with no parleying, I seized Wilfred, mastered him, and\nbound him, before he was capable of resisting.  No sooner had I done\nthis than I saw Jake Blackburn coming towards me, as if wondering what\nwas the matter, but seeing a man almost twice as big as himself\nconfronting him he took to his heels.\n\nThe struggle was so soon over that Ruth scarcely realised what was\ndone.  Wilfred, however, understood only too well.\n\n\"Jake, Jake,\" he shrieked, \"help!\"\n\n\"Jake is gone, Wilfred,\" I answered.  \"He will not help you.\"\n\n\"Roger, Roger,\" cried Ruth, \"is that you?\"\n\n\"It is Roger,\" I said, as calmly as I could, \"but danger is not over\nyet.  Will you lead the way to the high road, and then on to the Hall\nas quickly as you can?\"\n\nThe servant came up just then.  She had contrived to free herself, and\nnow ran to assist her mistress.\n\nWilfred writhed and struggled, but I held him fast.  This I had little\ndifficulty in doing, as his hands were firmly tied behind him.\nMeanwhile Ruth, as if in a dream, led the way home.  Silently, yet\nswiftly, we went on, I wondering all the time, not whether Jake\nBlackburn would return with his accomplices, if he had any, to carry\nout Wilfred's design, but whether Ruth still loved me.\n\nI dared not speak to her.  My tongue seemed tied, while she moved on\nlike one in a trance.\n\nPresently we came to the churchyard gates, and as we did so I could\nscarcely help shuddering.  Like lightning the events of a year before\nflashed through my mind.  Vividly I remembered going down the\nchurchyard path and opening the old church door, in order to gaze on\nthe face of the dead.  But Ruth seemed perfectly unconscious of that\nwhich haunted me.  A look of expectancy was on her face, and by and by\nshe gave a glad exclamation as we heard the sound of wheels.  In a\nminute more a carriage drove up and stopped at our side.  I still held\nWilfred by the arm, and he, doubtless feeling that resistance was\nuseless, submitted quietly.\n\n\"Roger,\" said Ruth huskily, \"you will come home with me?\"\n\nIn reply I was about to enter the carriage with Wilfred by my side; but\nno sooner did she see this than she exclaimed as if in horror,\n\n\"Not him, Roger; no, not him.\"\n\n\"Then I will ride on the box by the driver,\" I said.  \"I will not let\nhim go yet.\"\n\n\"But will you be safe?\" she said, anxiously.\n\n\"Perfectly safe, Ruth,\" I answered.\n\nThen she allowed the servant to help her into the carriage as if she\nwere dazed, while I mounted the box with Wilfred.\n\nWe were not long in reaching Morton Hall, I realising more clearly each\nminute the position in which I was placed and the hopes dearest to my\nheart.\n\nThe old servant I had seen on my first visit was delighted as well as\nrelieved at our advent, but looked strangely at Wilfred, and at my\nrequest silently opened the door of a room, and left us together.\n\nI did this because, as I descended from the carriage, Ruth said:\n\n\"Say what you must say to him quickly, Roger, I cannot bear for him to\nbe in the house.  I cannot bear to see him again!\"\n\nAnd so he and I stood alone in the room into which we had been ushered,\nand in the flickering light I saw that his face was pale as death.\n\n\"You have won again,\" he said between his set teeth.\n\n\"Be thankful I have won, Wilfred,\" I said.  \"Supposing it had been\notherwise, and you had succeeded in your designs.  Would you have been\nany happier?  Would you not have been haunted with the thought that you\nhad ruined her life, besides condemning her to the hell of a loveless\nmarriage?\"\n\n\"And would I have cared for that?\" he retorted, \"My chief thought was\nto baulk you, to crush you, as the younger brother should crush the\nelder, when the elder has been unworthy of his name.  To do this I\nwould suffer hell, here and hereafter; to do this I would allow myself\nto be buffeted, scorned, hated; I would be as I have been, the vile\nplotter and cunning villain.  And why?  I hate you, partly because you\nhave stepped into the place I longed for, but more because my mother\ntaught me to do so.  Ay, and I will hate you, and I will curse you.\"\n\n\"Wilfred,\" I said, \"do not goad me too far.  I wish you no harm; nay, I\nonly wish you good.  I have in the past sacrificed much for you; but if\nyou plot against Ruth again, or if you lift a finger against her, I\nshall be obliged to crush you as I would an adder, not because I hate\nyou, but because I care for others.\"\n\n\"And that's your love for me, is it?\" he sneered.\n\n\"Yes, it is my love,\" I answered; \"for I will not allow you to be more\na devil than you are while I can prevent it.  Remember, Wilfred, there\nis a law in England, and to that law I will appeal, and if that law\nwill not give me justice, then, Wilfred, you know me, I will take you\nin hand, and I will lock you up as a fiend, a moral madman, that should\nnot be at large.  I will imprison you as I would a mad dog.  I want no\nrevenge, for I have no wish for it in my heart, although God only knows\nwhat I should have felt had you succeeded in your designs to-night.  As\nit is, I only tell you to beware.\"\n\n\"And what do you intend doing with me now?\" he said.\n\n\"Nothing,\" I said.  \"At first I held you to keep you from doing harm,\nbut when I saw the carriage I brought you here, that I might give you\nthis warning.\"\n\n\"And do you think I care for your warning?\"\n\n\"I do not know, Wilfred; but in roving round the world for more than\neleven years I have learnt to take care of myself.  Depend upon it, I\nshall use that knowledge, not only to care for myself, but for others.\nBe careful then.  Justice is sometimes as strong a feeling as revenge,\nand if needs be I shall take terrible means that justice may be done.\"\n\nUpon this I cut the handkerchief with which I had bounds his hands, and\nhe was at liberty.  He snapped his fingers in my face.\n\n\"You have given me warning,\" he said, hoarsely, \"Now I will warn you.\nFirst of all I thank you for what you have told me.  I will heed your\nwords, and you need not fear that I shall put myself within the reach\nof the law.  Experience has taught me wisdom.  But I tell you this\nagain.  If there is any power in evil, you shall suffer.  If it is\npossible to sell myself to the devil that I may make you accursed, I\nwill do it; if the curse of a man who hates can avail, your future\nshall be as black as hell, and your children and your children's\nchildren shall suffer too.  I have told you this before, and I tell you\nso again.  Not one penny of the money you can get out of Trewinion will\nI have; but I shall live, and you shall have reason to know it.\"\n\nWith that he went out and I did not seek to hinder him.  I saw two of\nthe servants, evidently under orders to do so, follow him as if to see\nhim safely out of the grounds, and thus I was left alone.\n\nI did not think of his words, nor did they have any effect upon me.  I\nseemed to be encased in an impenetrable armour.  Sorrow I did feel for\nhim, but fear entered not into my heart.\n\nFor some minutes I sat alone, wondering what I should do.  I had indeed\nfound Ruth, and yet I knew nothing of her feeling towards me.  I knew\nnot whether I might hope, or whether the events of the long weary years\nhad destroyed all her love for me.  I longed to go to her, and yet I\ndared not.  I longed to tell her of the great love that burned in my\nheart, but something hindered me from doing so.  What should I do?  I\nwas in the same house with her, I had again rescued her from terrible\nsurroundings, she had spoken kindly to me, and yet I remembered the\nlook she gave me more than a year ago, and I could not nerve myself to\nseek her.\n\nBy and by a knock came to the door, and a servant entered.\n\n\"Please, sir, your room is ready,\" he said, and led the way to a\nbedroom.\n\nI followed him bewilderedly, wondering what the end was to be.\nEverything was so strange that I scarcely realised what I was doing.\n\n\"Miss Morton told me to tell you that she would be in the library,\" he\nsaid as he showed me into the bedroom, and left me.\n\nIt will be remembered that I was more than thirty years of age, and yet\nno lover of eighteen could have felt more nervous than I.  For the\nfirst time during eleven long years I dared to hope that I might be\nhappy, and yet as I stood outside the door, longing yet not daring to\nenter, my limbs trembled like those of a woman in great fear.\n\nAt length I knocked timidly, and heard Ruth's voice telling me to\nenter, and in a second more we stood face to face.\n\nShe stood by the library table with an eager look upon her face.  For a\nminute we did not speak, but looked steadily at each other.\n\nHow beautiful she was in spite of the long years of trouble and\ndisappointment!  True, the first blush of maidenhood was gone, for she\nwas only four years younger than I, but she was beautiful beyond\ndescription.  Little of stature, yet perfectly moulded, her great, grey\neyes still possessed their old charm, while her brown hair made a\nfitting crown for so beauteous a face.  To me, the rough sailor, who\nfor more than eleven years had scarcely spoken to another woman, save\nSalambo's wife and my mother, she seemed like an angel.\n\nAll this flashed through my mind as her great eyes met mine.\n\n\"Ruth,\" I said.\n\n\"Roger,\" she sobbed, \"thank God you've come.\"\n\nI could not speak another word just then.  I could only open my arms;\nbut with a glad look on her face, and with a joyful cry, she laid her\nface on my bosom.  And I--I was in Heaven.  My happiness was beyond all\nthought, all hope.  It was joy unspeakable to feel her in my arms, and\nto know that no cloud intervened.\n\n\"Ruth,\" I said after a while, \"I have loved you all these long years,\nloved you when all was darkness, and when there was no hope.  When my\nheart was full of hatred for all else, I loved you.  Ruth, I have been\na sinful man, rejecting God's help, and breaking His laws, but I have\nloved you.\"\n\nShe did not answer, save to sob as though her heart were too full for\nutterance.\n\n\"Can you not speak some word, to me, Ruth?\" I went on.  \"I know you\nmust have hated me when I left you more than a year ago, for in my\nmadness I thought that I had----\"\n\n\"No, no, Roger, I never hated you,\" she said, quickly.  \"I loved you\nall the time.  I was mad, I think--and I did not know what I was doing,\nand I thought I should have died when I knew you were gone.\"\n\n\"And now, Ruth?\"\n\n\"Can you ask, Roger, after--after all you have--no, no I do not love\nyou because of what you have done, but because I cannot help it,\" and\nshe clung more closely to me.\n\nAfter that I remembered little that was said, and what still remains\nwith me I cannot write down, for such joy as mine comes to man but\nrarely, and cannot be told to others.\n\nBy and by the dinner bell rang, and Ruth and I entered the dining hall\ntogether, where we found Mr. Inch, still stately and upright, but\ngrowing very feeble.\n\nHe had heard of my arrival, and now gave me a hearty welcome.  I learnt\nafterwards that he had endeavoured to do all in his power to atone for\nthe past, and that no one could be more true and faithful than he,\nafter he had once shaken himself free from Wilfred's coils.  And I\nfound, too, that he had constituted himself Ruth's protector, and\nalthough she often had friends to cheer her in her loneliness, to the\nend she regarded him as her adviser and comforter.\n\nWhen Ruth and I were again alone in the library, she asked me to relate\nall that had passed since I had left her on that terrible night.\n\nThen I told her of the scene at my home on the night before, of\nWilfred's avowal of hatred, and then of what had happened in the\nmorning, and of Bill Tregargus's news.  I described the journey to the\nHall, and my inquiries of the servant, and at the cottage where I had\nbeen directed.\n\n\"He told me you were dead,\" she said hoarsely.\n\n\"I heard him,\" I answered.\n\n\"I did not believe him,\" she went on; \"I could not, something told me\neven then that you were near me, and so I was not afraid--but oh, I\nshudder at it now.\"\n\n\"Thank God I was in time,\" I said; \"and yet I cannot think he would\nhave dared to do what he threatened.\"\n\n\"I do not know, Roger; I dare not think of it; but what passed between\nyou after you came here?\"\n\nThen I told her all, told her of the curse which was said to belong to\nour race, and related how Wilfred had sworn that if it could reach me I\nshould never know happiness.\n\n\"Do you think it is true,\" I said, at length; \"or do you think these\nstories are only vague rumours and idle tales?\"\n\n\"I cannot say,\" she answered.  \"Your mother told me many wild stories\nwhen I used to live at Trewinion Manor, and I thought they were true.\"\n\n\"Then,\" I said, \"if it is true, I cannot allow you to link your life\nwith mine.  Why should I bring pain and sorrow on your?\"\n\n\"I do not know whether these stories are true,\" she repeated; \"but,\nRoger, I am yours always.  If you are to have sorrows, I intend to bear\nthem with you.  I do not believe a curse can fall on a heart that is\nfull of love like yours; but if you are to be cursed, Roger, I shall\nhelp you to bear it.\"\n\nAnd thus there was light, even on the one black cloud of the sky of my\nlife.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIII\n\nTHE DAWNING OF THE MORNING\n\nI would fain linger over that evening, and the days which followed.  To\nme a new life full of joy and pleasure began.  And yet I did not feel\nquite at rest.  A fear constantly haunted me that Ruth would be taken\naway from me, so I begged her that there should be no delay in\narranging for our wedding.\n\nWhen I left her the following morning, I made her promise that she\nwould not go out of the house, unless under sufficient escort, while\nshe in return made me promise that I would not for any length of time\nstay away from her.  With a sad heart I mounted Black Bess to ride back\nto Trewinion Manor, and watched her until we could no longer see each\nother as she stood with tearful eyes at the hall door, but it was only\nto be for a day, for on the morrow I determined I would return.\n\nI found my mother anxiously awaiting me when I arrived home.  She was,\nhowever, relieved beyond measure when I told her of the defeat of\nWilfred's schemes.\n\n\"And you, Roger?\" she asked anxiously, \"are you going to give me Ruth\nfor a daughter?\"\n\nI think my answer satisfied her, for a look of contentment came into\nher eyes.\n\nAs soon as possible I consulted the old family lawyer, and together we\ndiscussed the affairs of the estate.  They were quite as bad as Wilfred\nhad declared.  Everything he could turn into money he had sold or\nmortgaged, until there was scarcely any unencumbered property; but the\nlawyer told me that, with care and economy, I might in a few years\nreplace what Wilfred had so extravagantly wasted.\n\nI also visited my sisters, and found them delighted beyond measure at\nseeing their brother again, and looking forward with joyful\nanticipations to welcoming their new sister.\n\nAltogether my life was very happy, and as I constantly rode over to\nMorton Hall to see the sweet woman who had promised to be my wife, and\nwatched the gladsome smile that lit up her face whenever she saw me\ncoming, my cup of joy was full.\n\nA month later we were wedded in the old church, from which I had\ncarried her more than a year before.\n\nWhen I entered the gloomy building, I almost felt like shuddering, so\nawful were its associations, and when I saw the clergyman take his\nstand near the very spot from which I had turned back the stone, to\nenter the resting-place of the dead, I could not help picturing what I\nhad then seen.  I think Ruth must have felt it too, for her hand\ntrembled in mine.  Perchance she thought of the awful doom from which,\nby the mercy of God, I had rescued her; but when I heard the old\nclergyman pronounce us man and wife, and then repeat in solemn tones\nthe words that were full of meaning to me, \"whom God hath joined\ntogether let no man put asunder,\" my heart thrilled with a new joy, for\nI felt I possessed the greatest blessing on earth.\n\nAnd then as the bells pealed out, while with Ruth on my arm we\ntraversed the long nave, it seemed as though the angels of God were\nthere to smile on our wedding morn.\n\nAnd what of Ruth?  In her great happiness, she could scarcely grieve\nfor the long years of pain, and as she nestled nearer to me, on our way\nback to the Hall, she whispered that no joy could be as great as ours,\nbecause for years we had both despaired of ever meeting each other\nagain.\n\nAt the wedding festivities, my mother sat, pale and sad, perchance\nthinking of Wilfred, of whom we had heard nothing since the night he\nhad been disappointed of his hopes.  As soon as they were over, we went\nback to Trewinion, which we both decided should be our home.\n\nI shall never forget the scene as we returned and entered by the\npostern door into the grounds.  All the people in the parish had\ngathered together to do us honour, and with gladsome words and hearty\ncheers they bade us \"welcome home.\"  They lit great bonfires on the\nheadland, around which the village lads and girls danced with joy,\nbecause of the return and happy marriage of \"Master Roger.\"\n\nAnd yet amidst all the joy I could not help sorrowing for my mother.\nIt is true that both Ruth and I, as well as Katherine and Elizabeth,\nhad done all in our power to make her happy, but I saw that she brooded\nover the past, and was anxious about Wilfred.\n\n\"Mother,\" said Ruth, brightly, \"your sad days are over now; let only\nbright and happy things possess your mind.\"\n\nThis was after the crowd had gone home, and we sat around a huge fire,\nfor November had come, and the nights were chilly.\n\n\"How can I be happy,\" she answered, \"when, but for me, you might have\nhad happiness instead of misery these eleven long years?  How can I\nthink of gladness when my accursed selfishness has destroyed my boy's\nlife, made him hate his mother, and driven him into the world an\noutcast?  And, besides this, it is I who have led him to curse you and\nbe your enemy, and of this I am sure, if he can ruin your life he will.\"\n\n\"But he ca'ant,\" said a croaking voice in the doorway, and turning\nround we saw Deborah Teague.  She was ninety years of age now, and bent\nalmost double, but she had hobbled up from her cottage to speak to the\nnew squire.\n\n\"Maaster Roger,\" croaked the old dame, \"do 'ee remember that there\nnight when you come'd up to Betsey Fraddam's cave in the middle ov the\nnight?\"\n\n\"Very well, Deborah,\" I answered.\n\n\"People do zay as 'ow we ain't got no power,\" she went on; \"but ded'n\nus tell 'ee true?  We tould 'ee you'd 'ave to suffer; but there's no\ncurse can stand 'ginst love, and so when you larned to love everybody,\noal your darkness went away.\"\n\n\"True, Deborah,\" I answered.\n\n\"But take care o' yer brother still,\" she croaked, \"ef ever you do\nhate, or feel enmity to he, or to anybody else, well then--black days\n'll come.  And, Maaster Roger, ef ever you do 'ave cheldern, taich 'em\nto love, for love es the only power 'gainst curses, and as sure as\nyou'd live, yer brother es yer enemy, and aw, Maaster Roger, remember\nTrewinion's curse!\"  As she spoke she lifted her skinny hand, as I had\nseen her lift it long years before.\n\nSoon after the old woman left, and I sent one of the servants with her,\nto see her safely home.\n\n      *      *      *      *      *\n\nI have little else to write, for in narrating what happened during the\nyears that followed I shall not use many words.  My pen drags wearily,\nand my eyes begin to grow dim.\n\nAbout six months after our wedding we received the startling news that\nWilfred was married.  During the years of my absence he had made the\nacquaintance of a lady whose father's estate joined Ruth's, and whom he\nhad fascinated by his handsome presence and smooth speech.\n\nThe news made me glad at first, for I hoped that his marriage would put\nan end to his enmity and make us brothers again.  But when I went to\nsee him he at first refused to see me, and then he told me he had only\nmarried to gain wealth and power, both of which should be used to crush\nme and mine.\n\nAnd so, to my heart's deep sorrow, he still remained my enemy, the door\nof his heart continued to be shut towards me, and the one black cloud\non my sky continued to remain.\n\nAfter that two years passed quietly away, during which time my mother\ngrew weaker and weaker, and although I trust that her life was not\naltogether sad, yet she was constantly weighed down with the one great\ntrouble of her life.  At the end of two years she became too weak to\nleave her room, and after a few weeks passed away.  Before she did so,\nhowever, she asked us to send for Wilfred; but he refused to obey her\nsummons, and so she never saw him from the night on which he told her\nhe hated her for cursing his life.\n\nShortly after she died a boy was born to us, but he only lived a few\nweeks.  Then a little girl came; but she too was taken, and we began to\nfear the curse of my race.  After that two more years passed away\nwithout any event of importance, save that Deborah Teague died, and\nthen another boy came, whom we called Roger, and he is with us yet, our\njoy and our hope.\n\nAnd now what more shall I write?  I have told my story so that Roger,\nmy only son, may learn the lessons of my life.\n\nLooking back now over the days of my life, I cannot say whether I\nbelieve in the legend of my race, and so I know not whether my son may\nhave to suffer, and his children inherit a dreadful legacy.\n\nIt is true Wilfred still hates me, and has taught his children to hate\nme and mine.  In a letter he sent me not long since, he tells me the\ncurse of the Trewinion shall still fall on Trewinion's heirs, that they\nshall have blackened lives and terrible deaths.\n\nWhat is that?  It is Ruth asking me if my work is not almost done, and\nI answer, \"Yes, I have almost done.\"  And as I answer, I look up from\nmy paper and see my dear one who has been with me for long years, ever\nmy comforter, my counsellor, and joy.  She has lost the fresh bloom of\nher womanhood, but to me she was never so beautiful as now.  Never did\nI think that such a pure soul could exist on earth, or that a woman\ncould be so brave in difficulty, so hopeful in sorrow, so comforting in\nthe hours of darkness.\n\nI look forward with hope and joy.  Let the lamp of life burn dimmer and\ndimmer, I fear not.  Ruth will be near me, and her presence will make\nme strong.  But a few more years, and Ruth and I must enter the dark\nvalley from which we shall never return, but she will be by my side,\nand in her dear presence, I am full of hope.\n\n\n\nTHE END OF ROGER TREWINION'S CONFESSION.\n\n\n\n\nEPILOGUE\n\nI\n\nThus finished the story, a story of sin, and sorrow, and of a curse.  I\nmust confess that when I laid it aside the life of Roger Trewinion had\nbecome very real to me, and for a long time I sat thinking over the\nevents which were related.  Everything was more vivid to me, for I had\nfor days past been living in the atmosphere of superstition, and\nspeaking to people who still believe in many of the things about which\nRoger Trewinion spoke.  Moreover, I had seen the old house, I had\nrealised the rugged grandeur of the rock-bound coast, I had let my\nimagination brood over the great mass of rocks which are called the\n\"Devil's Tooth.\"  In spite of myself, too, I began to be influenced by\nthe story of the \"curse,\" which, although not clearly explained, was\nfearfully spoken about.  Yet I could not see why a man like the present\nRoger Trewinion should allow himself to become a misanthrope because of\nit.  Perhaps succeeding events had led him to shun society; but\nwhatever may have been the explanation of his attitude, I longed to\nknow more about himself and his family, and before I went to sleep I\nmade up my mind that I would go back to Trewinion Manor and see whether\nthe \"Trewinion curse\" had manifested itself since the time the\ngrandfather of the present squire wrote his confessions.\n\nIt was midday, when I left my apartment, and, on entering the reading\nroom of the hotel, I found my friend Will just on the point of sending\nto see if anything had happened to me.\n\n\"Well, have you read the confessions?\" grunted he, after grumbling some\nlittle time.\n\n\"I have, indeed,\" I answered.\n\n\"And found a lot of foolish jargon, I suppose?\"\n\n\"I found a strange story,\" I answered, \"and it has so interested me\nthat I am going to hire a conveyance and drive to Trewinion this very\nafternoon.\"\n\nWill muttered something about the man going crazy over silly stories,\nand then burst out laughing, but still showed considerable interest as\nI related to him the chief outlines of \"the confessions.\"\n\nAfter a meal, I started for a twelve-mile drive along the coast, and\nwas able to enjoy to the full the grand scenery that escaped my\nattention on the afternoon of the previous day.  As I drew near to the\nhouse, too, I was able to recognize many of the places Roger had\nmentioned, which made the events connected with them far more real.  So\nreal, indeed, were they that once or twice I felt like shuddering as I\nthought of the feelings that must have possessed him.  Especially was\nthis so when I traced the outlines of the \"Devil's Tooth,\" and when I\nthought I recognized the spot on which Wilfred and Roger had struggled\nfor life.\n\nAt length I reached the postern door, which had looked so formidable on\nthe previous day, and was again met by the same men I had seen before.\nThe place did not now seem nearly so strange, and I felt as though I\nwere a friend of the Trewinion family, and as if the old house had been\nlong familiar to me.\n\nRoger Trewinion welcomed me heartily, and I thought I saw in his face\nsome indications of expectancy.\n\n\"Well,\" he said, after I had been seated a few minutes, \"you have read\nthe confessions?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And what do you think of them?\"\n\n\"I found them so interesting that I could not leave them until I had\nread the last word.\"\n\n\"And now you understand why I live here like a hermit, and why such\nstrange stories are circulated about me?\"\n\n\"I can see why stories are circulated about you certainly, but I cannot\nsee why you live here so lonely and forsaken.\"\n\n\"But you read about the curse, and the way it worked itself out?\"\n\n\"I read what might easily be explained in the light of to-day.  Your\ngrandfather saw things through the glasses of the time he wrote.  Like\nall literature, it is a product of the age and surroundings of the\nwriter, and must be judged accordingly.\"\n\n\"Ah, but you do not know all that followed.  If you did you would not\ntalk thus.\"\n\n\"No, I am here to-day to hear more, so interested have I become.  I\nfound yesterday that you were a man of culture and intellectual power,\nand I cannot help wondering that such a story could so influence you.\"\n\n\"No, honestly, I do not think I am a fool, and, believe me, I have read\nand studied, as few men have, in order to free myself from the fear\nthat possesses me.  Look at me!  I look sixty years of age, and yet I\nam only fifty.  Fear and dread have made me old.  Naturally, I am fond\nof society, but an invisible presence, which always seems to confront\nme, makes me live alone, without friends, without companionship.\"\n\n\"Will you tell me the sequel of what I have read, then?\" I said,\nanxiously, for I was greatly interested.\n\n\"Yes, I will tell you as plainly as I can.  It is said that my\ngrandfather--the writer of the confessions--died a terrible death, and\nthat dread thoughts ever haunted him.  Of that, however, I cannot speak\nauthoritatively.\"\n\n\"I do not believe it,\" I said.  \"No one who reads the closing words of\nhis confession could believe such a thing.  Nay, I feel sure his end\nwas peace.\"\n\n\"Well, it may be so; I hope it is.  But directly after his death my\ngrandfather's brother, the Wilfred he speaks so much about, sent for my\nfather.  What he said to him I do not know, but from that time he\nbecame as one possessed of the devil.  He married, and although his\nwife was my mother, and it is hard to say it, she made his life\nterrible to bear.  They had several children, all of whom died at an\nearly age, excepting me.  Everything to which my father put his hand,\nseemed accursed, and every life he touched he blighted.  Although,\nbefore he died, my grandfather had put the property on a firm and\nsecure basis, my father, in spite of himself, let a great deal of it\nslip out of his hands.  Disappointed in life, he drifted away into sin,\nand died with his mouth full of curses, a raving maniac.  After his\ndeath I of course succeeded him.  True, I do not need money, but a\ngreat part of the estate is gone, while the whole of the Morton estate\nhas passed from my hands.\"\n\n\"To whom?\"\n\n\"To the other branch of the family.  Before my father's death, Wilfred\nhad secured the whole of my grandmother's estate, and a great deal of\nmine,\" as he spoke his eyes lit up with an angry flash.\n\n\"And does the enmity still exist?\"\n\n\"Ay, does it?  Man, I tell you the hatred is not one-sided now.  I have\nprayed to love, and I cannot; if hatred can make a man liable to come\nunder a curse, I am that man.  There is bitter undying enmity between\nus.  Our family has been looked on by them as robbers of their rights,\nand enemies of their peace.  Wilfred taught his children to look on us\nso, as he swore he would, and the feeling exists to-day.\"\n\nHe paused a second and then went on.\n\n\"And now they gloat over the fact that the old Trewinion Manor shall be\ntheirs, the place they have coveted so long, and that I shall pay for\nmy father's sins by dying an accursed death.  I am the last of the\nheirs, and, according to them, am of the third generation, my\ngrandfather being accounted by them as the first who really felt the\ncurse.  Do you see now why I fear?  I saw my father die, and the legend\nsays that my death shall be worse than his.  Even now I can hear\nshrieks of despair, and his unavailing cries for peace and comfort, and\nthat I am to die a death worse than that is maddening to think.\"\n\nI saw that he had been feeding his morbid imagination by brooding over\nthese things, and that living alone in that lonely old house of weird\nassociations must have led him to live such an unnatural life that he\nhad become a confirmed monomaniac.\n\n\"But why should you be the last of your race?  And why should you give\nway to these dread fancies?\"\n\n\"Why should I be the last of my race?\" he repeated--\"ah, man, you do\nnot know.\"\n\n\"I know that you could wed some pure-minded woman who would drive\nthoughts of the curse away, even such a one as your grandmother, the\nRuth whom I read of in the confessions.\"\n\n\"And do you think I could marry?  Let me tell you.  When I was about\nfive and twenty I determined that I would not succumb to dark feelings.\nI went into society, and I fell in love with an angel.  Ay, she was an\nangel, and it is she who makes me believe there is a heaven, for I am\nsure such a soul as hers could never die.  Well, my love was returned,\nand I laughed at all thoughts of the curse, and soon I was wedded to my\ndarling.  For three years I was in Heaven.  My life was full of joy and\ngladness, and Alice was as happy as I.  But at the end of that time\nevery hope was dashed to the ground, every joy was stamped out of my\nlife.  And why?  I have not spoken of this for many a long year, but I\nfeel a relief in being able to speak about it now.  A year after we\nwere married, a baby was born to us, a bright, bonny boy, and we called\nhim Roger, the old family name.  My joy knew no bounds, and I breathed\ndefiance against my enemies.  How could there be a curse, I said, when\nGod had given us such a boy?  Ah, how we loved him, Alice and I, how we\nwatched him as, day by day, he grew in strength of body and mind!  A\nyear passed by and all was well, still another passed and nothing\nseemed to darken our sky.  Our boy was now two years old, and was\nstrong and healthy, while my wife and I looked forward to long years of\nhappiness.\n\n\"But the curse had been laid upon my race, and it crept upon us like a\ncrawling poisonous serpent.  Just after our boy's holiday he was\nmissing.  We searched for him high and low, we scoured the country\nside, but we never saw him alive again.\"\n\n\"What became of him?\" I asked anxiously.\n\n\"A week after we missed him some fishermen discovered the body of a\nchild, bruised and beaten beyond recognition, but still wearing clothes\nsimilar to those worn by our boy.  And thus we concluded, that he must\nhave strayed and fallen over the cliff.\"\n\nI felt it useless to speak.  Words, I knew, would only add to the\nsuffering caused by the awakening of these bitter memories.\n\n\"It broke our hearts,\" he continued, hoarsely, after a minute's\nsilence.  \"Soon I saw that grief was killing my wife.  God only knows\nhow I prayed for her.  I consulted all the best physicians; but it was\nno use, in three months sorrow killed her, and--I was left alone.\"\n\nHe laid his head on the table, while sobs shook his mighty frame, and\nfor minutes he did not speak.  Mastering himself at length, he\ncontinued, more calmly.\n\n\"Then I shut myself up here.  I dismissed all the servants save the two\nyou have seen, and have for years refused to mix with my fellows.  I\ngrew churlish and bitter.  I talked strangely, until stories were\ncirculated about me, wild and foolish, of course, but still making me\nbecome more a misanthrope than ever.  Why I gave you admittance\nyesterday I do not know, but acting on sudden impulse I did so, and\nthen was led to allow you to see those confessions, and still further\nto relate my story.  Now do you believe in the curse?  Now do you\nbelieve that, remorseless as fate, it is dogging me, and will dog me,\nuntil, mad with despair, and taunted by powers of darkness, I go away\ninto darkness?\"\n\n\"No,\" I answered, \"I do not.\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"Curses such as that do not exist, as your grandfather half perceived.\nYou would not believe in anything of the sort but for your unhealthy\nand lonely life.  Go out into God's sunshine, lead a healthy, vigorous\nlife, and your dark fancies will dispel like mist in the summer's sun.\"\n\nHe shook his head sadly.\n\n\"Nothing can turn the curse aside now,\" he said, \"only one thing could\never have done so.\"\n\n\"And what is that?\"\n\n\"If my son had lived and married, and children had been born to him,\nthen I should not be the last of my race, and the curse must go.\"\n\n\"But why may not you marry again?\"\n\n\"I marry!\" he exclaimed.  \"Man, much as I fear the horrible death that\nI daily think about, I would rather bear it than that another woman\nshould take the place of my Alice.  No, no, that can never be!\"\n\n\"Then go out into the world and mix with your fellow creatures,\" I\nsaid, \"I believe that even this visit of mine will do you good.\"\n\n\"Your visit yesterday did do me good,\" he answered, \"and I hope to see\nyou again soon.  The old place shall ever be open to you.  Come when\nyou like.  I think you could make me forget some of the dark things of\nlife.  But now about the publishing of these confessions.  Can it be\ndone?\"\n\nFor a time we talked the matter over, and after a while I drew him on\nto converse about other things until he became comparatively cheerful.\n\n\n\nII\n\nWill and I finished our tour around the Cornish coast, and then I came\nback to London, and made arrangements for the publication of the\nmanuscript which had been given to me for that purpose.\n\nI had re-written all that was necessary, and had corrected the last\nproof sheets from the printers, when I recollected that we were near\nthe date on which I had promised to go to Trewinion Manor.  I must\nconfess that, sitting in my rooms in London, weary with the amount of\nwork I had done, the thought of spending a few days among the scenes in\nwhich I had been led to take so much interest, was very fascinating to\nme, and I eagerly began to make preparations for going.\n\nTwo days before the time for starting, I received the following\nletter;--\n\n\n\"DEAR ----, I must ask you to delay your visit a little while--how long\nI hardly know--yet.  I have received information, which has every\nevidence of being true, that my son is not dead.  I have no time to go\ninto details now, but I pray God, ay, I even hope, that there is yet\nhappiness in store for me.  Indeed, I feel like saying, with one of my\nancestors of whom you have read, 'There is no curse, God is love!'\nYet, I am naturally terribly anxious, and I leave Trewinion to-day to\nverify the information, and please God to bring home my son!  The very\nthought is Heaven!  Ah, dear God, may it be so!\n\n\"I will let you know all later on, for I have come to feel that you are\nmy friend, and if--if all is well, I will give you such a welcome as\nman never had before.\n\n\"I shall be doubly glad to see the 'confessions' printed, if my hopes\nare realised.\n\n\"Anxiously, yet hopefully.\n  \"ROGER TREWINION.\"\n\n\nI have finished my work.  I have told how I came by the strange history\nhere given, and, without sacrificing altogether the quaint and\ncharacteristic Cornish vernacular, I have endeavoured to tell the tale\nin homely English, and, as far as possible, in the spirit of the time\nin which the events herein narrated passed.\n\nOf the final outcome of the matter mentioned in the letter just quoted,\nit is not for me to say anything now.  It may be that at some future\ntime I shall have an opportunity of following still further the\nfortunes of the Trewinion family; but, in laying aside my pen for the\npresent, I must express my feelings of thankfulness that hope had\ndawned in the sky of the lonely man whom I met in the old house on the\ncliff.\n\n\n\nTHE END OF EPILOGUE","title":"Roger Trewinion","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":95251}