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diff --git a/24976.txt b/24976.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2935cdc --- /dev/null +++ b/24976.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12025 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Roger Trewinion, by Joseph Hocking and Gunning King + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Roger Trewinion + +Author: Joseph Hocking + Gunning King + +Release Date: April 2, 2008 [EBook #24976] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROGER TREWINION *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + + + + + + +[Frontispiece: "She lifted her skinny arm above her head."] + + + + + + +ROGER TREWINION + + +By + +JOSEPH HOCKING + + + _Author of "All Men are Liars" "The Scarlet Woman"_ + _"A Flame of Fire" etc. etc._ + + + + +_ILLUSTRATIONS BY GUNNING KING_ + + + + +LONDON + +WARD LOCK & CO LIMITED + +1905 + + + + +_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._ + + ALL MEN ARE LIARS + FIELDS OF FAIR RENOWN + ISHMAEL PENGELLY + THE STORY OF ANDREW FAIRFAX + JABEZ EASTERBROOK + THE MONK OF MAR-SARA + ZILLAH: A Romance + WEAPONS OF MYSTERY + MISTRESS NANCY MOLESWORTH + THE BIRTHRIGHT: A ROMANCE + AND SHALL TRELAWNEY DIE? + THE SCARLET WOMAN + THE PURPLE ROBE + THE MADNESS OF DAVID DARING + LEST WE FORGET + O'ER MOOR AND FEN + GREATER LOVE + ESAU + FOLLOW THE GLEAM + A FLAME OF FIRE + THE COMING OF THE KING + + + + +CONTENTS + + + CHAP. + + PROLOGUE + I THE PROPHETIC WARNING + II THE WITCH'S WARNING + III THE MARCH OF EVENTS + IV THE WRECK ON THE "DEVIL'S TOOTH" + V THE SHAPING OF EVENTS + VI LINK TO LINK + VII THE WITCHES' CAVE + VIII THE BEGINNING OF THE END + IX OMENS OF DARKNESS + X THE GATHERING DARKNESS + XI THE CALL TO RENOUNCE + XII NIGHT + XIII A WANDERER + XIV "A HOME ON THE ROLLING DEEP" + XV THE VOICE OF THE SOUL + XVI AFTER LONG YEARS + XVII REVENGE! + XVIII HELL! + XIX TOWARDS RUTH'S GRAVE + XX "VISIT HER TOMB" + XXI THE VAULT UNDER THE COMMUNION + XXII THE VOICE OF THE DEAD + XXIII THE SHADOW OF EVIL'S REWARD + XXIV CAIN + XXV THE VOICE OF A FRIEND + XXVI THE VOICE OF GOD + XXVII WITHIN THE OLD HOME + XXVIII TREWINION'S CURSE + XXIX MOTHER AND SON + XXX THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT + XXXI TO THE RESCUE + XXXII TWO HEARTS + XXXIII THE DAWNING OF THE MORNING + EPILOGUE + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + +"She lifted her skinny arm above her head." . . . . . . _Frontispiece_ + +"'Hurl him over!' said the devil within me." + +"'What have 'ee got there?' he gasped." + + + + +PREFACE + +When visiting my native county some time since, I was struck with the +modern, "up-to-date," aspect of men and things. In this respect +Cornwall has much changed even during the twenty years since I left it. +The quiet, old-world feeling which I can remember has gone, and instead +there is a spirit of eagerness, almost amounting to rush. I +discovered, too, that the old stories, dear to me, are forgotten. All +the old superstitions have passed away. I remember asking a man +whether there were any witches or ghosts in his vicinity. "Look," he +said, in reply, pointing at a telegraph post, "they things 'ave +destroyed boath witches and ghoasts." And yet, less than four decades +ago, when I was a child, ghosts, witches, charms, omens, and the like +were firmly believed in. Perhaps the most vivid remembrance I have of +my childhood's days, are those connected with the weird stories of the +supernatural which my mother used to tell us, as I with my brothers and +sisters sat around a roaring fire on winter evenings. I called to +mind, too, the haunted places, which I feared to pass after dark; but +on inquiring of the new generation concerning these same places, I +found an utter ignorance of their old-time reputation. Old Tommy Dain, +the famous wizard, is forgotten, while Betsey Flew, she who could +blight corn, cause milk to turn sour, and ill-wish all but the eldest +son of a family, has no part in the life of the present generation. +And yet I remember wearing, for months, a charm which old Betsey had +prepared for me, with what result I cannot tell, save that I never had +the disease from which the charm was to save me. As for curing warts, +crooked legs, weak backs, and other ailments by the means used in the +good old days--well, they are utterly forgotten. In short, Cornwall, +which even in my boyish days was the very Mecca of Folklore and +superstition, has been completely changed. The spirit of "modernity" +is everywhere, and thus the old West Country has gone, and a new West +Country has taken its place. + +Whether this has been an unmixed blessing, or not, I have grave doubts; +anyhow, the Cornwall I love to think about is the Cornwall of my +boyhood, when apparitions from the spirit-land were common, when omens +and charms were firmly believed in, and when the village parson had +power to "lay a ghost," by reading the burial service a second time +over a grave, and taking great care to turn the prayer-book +"up-side-down." + +Much of the story which is here offered to the public was written some +years ago, when the memory of the old time was more vivid than it is +now; and although it has been re-written, I trust I have retained in +its pages something of the atmosphere of mystery and romance for which +my native county was once so famous. Indeed, the prologue, while not +absolutely true to fact, is true in spirit. The story is not mine at +all, but was told me long years ago by those who were old when I was +but a boy, and who had no doubt of the truth of what they related. I +am afraid I have not pieced their somewhat confused narratives together +very well, although one told me by an old dame with wild eyes, and a +strong love for a "bit ov bacca," which is reproduced in the chapter +entitled "The Vault under the Communion," haunts me even yet. + +JOSEPH HOCKING. + +TREVANION, + WOODFORD GREEN, + _The New Year_, 1905. + + + + +PROLOGUE + +I + +The following story came to my knowledge under somewhat curious +circumstances:-- + +I had gone to Cornwall, my native county, to spend my summer vacation, +and there met with an old college chum, who asked me to accompany him +on a walking tour. + +"Where?" I asked. + +"Let us do the Cornish coast," he replied, "it is the finest and most +rugged coast in England. The scenery around is magnificent; there are +numberless old legends told about many of the places we shall see; and +I know that legends have always had a great attraction for you." + +I must confess to a weakness for anything romantic, and was attracted +by the proposal. Accordingly, we journeyed by train and coach to the +most northern watering-place on the eastern coast of Cornwall, viz., +Bude, and commenced our journey southward. + +As this personal reminiscence is only written to tell how I came by the +remarkable history which follows, I shall say nothing of our journey +that has not a direct bearing on that history. + +We had been walking some days, I need not say how many, when we saw, +standing on a rough headland, and yet some little distance from the +sea, an old house. It caught my attention the moment I first glanced +at it. Grey and lonely, it looked the residence of some misanthrope or +hermit, and its tower and battlements gave it the appearance of some +feudal castle. + +"That's a strange looking old place, Will," I said to my companion. + +"It is, indeed," he replied. "It looks in good repair, too. I wonder +if it's inhabited?" + +"The best way to know is to go and see," I replied, and accordingly we +bent our steps thither. + +As we drew nearer we saw a hollow, which looked as though it had been +scooped out by some giant's spade. In it were built two or three +cottages, and by the fact of there being some tumbled-down houses near, +we came to the conclusion that at one time a little village must have +stood there. + +"What in the world have people to do or live for here?" said Will. "We +are five miles from any place that can be called a town, and there's +scarcely a house near. Everything is as weird and lonely as the +wilderness of Judea." + +"I expect they live on the fish they catch, and the produce of their +little farms," I said; "but come, there's a man yonder, we'll question +him." + +Accordingly we hailed him and he waited, evidently with some degree of +curiosity, until we came up. + +"What's the name of this place?" asked Will. + +"Trewinion," was the reply. + +"Trewinion? Is it in the parish of Trewinion?" + +"Iss." + +"Is there a parish church anywhere near?" + +"Iss." + +"Where?" + +"There," pointing southward. + +We saw a little grey tower about half a mile away, evidently a part of +the building after which we had been inquiring. + +"Are there any houses there?" we asked. + +"Five." + +"Whose are they?" + +"Passon Teague's, Muster Yelland's, Bill Treloar's, Tom Williams's, and +Jack Jory's." + +"And what's the name of yonder place?" asked Will, pointing to the old +house we had seen on the great headland. + +The man looked at us curiously, and then replied: + +"Trewinion Manor." + +"It looks old," I said. "Is it?" + +"Ould's Mathusla," was the brief reply. + +"Who lives there?" + +"Th' oull Sir Nick." + +"Sir Nick" is the term usually applied by the Cornish people to his +Satanic Majesty. Scenting a story I eagerly inquired what he meant. + +"Well, he d' live there," was the reply. + +"And what does he do?" + +The man shook his head gravely. "Nobody knows but hisself," was the +reply. + +"But does the devil live there alone?" asked Will. + +The man looked at us again, as though he wondered who we were. + +"Who be you?" he said. + +"We are simply out for a holiday," I replied, "and, as we were walking +along, we saw that old place, and wondering what it was, and to whom it +belonged, we thought we'd ask." + +"Then you be'ant no friend or 'lation to un up there?" he said. + +"None." + +"Nor you wa'ant say nothin' to un ef I tell 'ee?" + +"Not a word." + +"Well, then, ould Squire Trewinion do live there." + +"Alone?" + +The man shook his head. + +"Two ould servants," he said, solemnly. + +"Is there anything strange about him?" I asked. + +"Shud think ther es," he replied. + +"What?" + +"What! Why he've sold hisself to tho'ull Sir Nick, who do stick to un +like a limpet to a rock." + +As this mediaeval belief has scarcely died away among the Cornish +people, I attached no importance to it, but asked in a jocular way for +what he had sold himself. + +"Nobody knows," the man replied, "but he hev sould hisself, and now he +do never come out to shaw hisself nor nothin'. He wa'ant speak to +nobody, and is as ugly as sin." + +"Are these Trewinions important people?" asked Will. + +"'Portant!" said the man, "sh'd think they be; why oal the land round +do belong to un, and I've heerd my faather say as 'ow in th' ould days +it was the grandest plaace in oal Cornwall; but now--m--m--m!" + +"Now, what?" I asked. + +"Hunted!" + +"Hunted! Haunted, I suppose you mean. By what?" + +"Ghoasts and evil sperrits, as well as with th' oull Sir Nick." + +"Do you ever go up there?" + +"No; I kip away in the daytime, and as fur goin' ther after dark, I +wouldn't for a crock of gould." + +We asked the man many more questions, but could get nothing much +further from him. All I could gather was that the Trewinions had been +a great people, but had fallen on evil days as the result of their own +sinning, and that the present representative of the family was a +recluse, living alone in the old Manor House, and that many curious +stories were told about him. + +"Well," said Will to me, "I think we've heard enough; let us get away +from this outlandish place." + +"Not until I've inquired at the place itself," I replied. + +"You are mad," said he. "Evidently this old man is some strange +creature, who prefers living alone, and will no doubt think it a piece +of impudence on our part if we call. Perhaps he will set the dogs +after us." + +"Nevertheless, I'm going," I replied. "If you like to remain behind, +you may do so; but I want to know the truth of this. I suspect a good +story." + +"Oh, well, if you will be foolish, I'll go," said Will, "but remember +we have to walk twelve miles before we get to our resting-place +to-night." + +I did not reply, but went away in the direction of Trewinion Manor, +while Will, grumbling, came on behind. + +As we ascended the hill the view became wondrously grand. At least +fifteen miles of coast were to be seen, with great rugged cliffs, +hundreds of feet high, while huge rocks stood out in the sea as if +inviting the fury of the waves as they broke upon them. In winter it +must be almost terrible to live there, but now it was beautiful beyond +compare. We found, too, that the old house was somewhat sheltered, on +the one hand by the great headland which rose higher as it neared the +sea, and on the other by a thick, lofty wall. Besides this, a hill +which rose up landward broke the force of the wind, so that it was not +so exposed as I had at first thought. + +There was no way of entering the grounds save by a door that was +locked. It was thick and heavy, made of oak, and iron studded. + +"Evidently those within are determined to keep out intruders," I said, +as I saw the grim forbidding wall. + +"I should think so," replied Will. "Now let's go on, for it's only +waste of time to stay here." + +My love for the mysterious, however, was too strong to allow Will's +words to have due effect, and seeing a breach in the wall I climbed it. +I found that this enclosure had so far sheltered the grounds of the +house that a quantity of vegetation of various kinds had grown there, +and although the place was now in a very neglected condition, it must +in past years have provided for a great household. The house looked +extremely lonely, and no soul was to be seen. I confess I was taken a +little aback at this. To gain admittance did not seem either as +pleasant or as easy as at first sight. I did not like to shout. The +silence of the place, only broken by the sobbing of the waves, hundreds +of feet below, forbade it, while to knock at the old iron-studded door +was equally unseemly. + +Yet I did not like to go away. My curiosity continued to increase, so +I came down from the wall and began to examine the door. To my delight +I saw fastened to a great gray rock, on which the door was partly hung, +a piece of iron at the end of a chain. + +Evidently this was in some way a means of communication with the house. +I seized, and pulled it. + +No sooner had I done so than I heard the clanging of a bell away up in +the old house. + +"There," I said to Will, who had kept on protesting, "perhaps that is +like the bells in the old monasteries; it will frighten away all evil +spirits." + +Will grumbled about my having "plenty of cheek," while I waited, +somewhat anxiously, I confess, for an answer. + +Presently I heard a murmur of voices within, and then the withdrawing +of bolts. After a few seconds the door turned on its rusty hinges and +revealed two men both about fifty years of age. + +"What do you want?" asked one sternly. + +"I want to see Squire Trewinion," I replied boldly. I felt it would be +of no use hesitating, and although I had no earthly business there I +determined to get admittance. + +"Why do you wish to see him?" was the next question. + +"I will answer that to Mr. Trewinion himself," I said. + +"Your names, then?" + +"They are unknown to you," I replied, "and my telling them could serve +no purpose. Lead the way to your master." + +They looked at us suspiciously; but seeing two young men, well dressed +and with plenty of assurance, they seemed inclined to let us in. +Consequently a minute after we stood within the walls that surrounded +this place of evil repute, the door being carefully locked behind us. + +The two men, evidently servants, led the way up an unused road, by +which we reached the tower entrance. Neither spoke a word. + +On coming close to Trewinion Manor we found that it was built of +granite, and had evidently been standing for hundreds of years. The +stones of the doorways were curiously carved, and even the exterior of +the place looked as though it contained a hundred secrets. It was +large, too, and must at some time have been the home of people of +wealth. + +The view was wonderful. In front of us stretched the mighty Atlantic, +whose murmuring song told of the peaceful waves that now splashed on +the shore. I had seen the Atlantic in a tempest, however, and so could +easily fancy what a sight there must be when the waters beneath were +lashed into fury by great storm clouds. + +Arrived at the door, our guides stopped. + +"We can show you no further without permission," said the spokesman. +"I will tell the master you are here, and see if he will receive you." + +Accordingly he went away, while the other stood at some little distance +watching us. + +"I've caught your mystery fever," said Will. "I'm longing to get +inside now; but what excuse are you going to make for intruding?" + +"I've settled that," I replied. "Our visit is an ordinary one, and I +shall tell no lies." + +I had scarcely spoken when the man returned, telling us to follow him, +as his master would see us. + +A minute later we stood within the silent walls of Trewinion Manor. + + + +II + +There was a cold vault-like atmosphere within the place, and as we went +along the dark corridors, every footstep sounding on the granite floor +and echoing through the great empty house, I felt like shuddering. + +Outside the sun was shining and the west wind blowing, making +everything bright and glad; but within all was cold and forbidding. + +Still we followed the man curiously, and I must confess I felt my heart +beat loudly against my ribs as he knocked at a dark, forbidding looking +door. I do not think I am usually nervous, but on this occasion I was +getting excited. + +The knock was followed by a response. + +"Come in," said a voice. + +The old servant opened the door, and ushered us into a room that was on +every side lined with books. There were thousands of volumes on the +shelves. Some I saw were old and scarce, and exceedingly valuable. +Others again were new and well bound. I gave them but little attention +at the time, however, for my mind was drawn towards the lonely occupant +of the room, the master of the house. + +He looked about sixty years of age, but was large-boned, tall, and +vigorous. His hair was iron grey, but had evidently been black. His +eyes were black, and his great rugged forehead was fringed with bushy +eyebrows, which gave him a somewhat fierce appearance. His nose was +large, his mouth was large, and his chin, too, was large, square, and +determined. He was no ordinary man. There was the stamp of unusual +power upon him. He was no trifler, and yet beneath his look of +determination and energy something was lacking. He seemed as though +his determination needed to be roused, his energy to be stimulated. +Yet I could see nothing in his appearance which justified the opinions +we had heard expressed about him, nor could I discover anything which +suggested a misanthrope. + +He placed chairs for us both, and then politely asked what he could do +to serve us. He had a strong, deep, somewhat musical voice, and had I +not been otherwise informed, I should have regarded him as one who +often entertained visitors, so free from restraint did he seem. + +"I hope you will excuse us for calling," I said, "but my story must +explain my rudeness. I follow literature as a profession, and have for +some months been engaged on a work dealing with the legends and +superstitious beliefs of Cornwall. I am, however, enjoying my vacation +now, and my friend and I are on a walking tour along the coast. Seeing +this old grey mansion, and thinking there might be some story in +connexion with its early days, I have taken the liberty of calling." + +He looked at me curiously, as though he suspected me of some sinister +motive, and his black eyes glittered. + +"Have you heard anything which would lead you to think this house had a +story? or have you come here out of pure speculation?" he said, +brusquely. + +"I suspected there must be legends about a house as old as this," I +replied, "and a man we met some distance from here told us +that--that----" + +"You need not go further," he said, grimly, "I know all the stories +that are afloat among the people who live within a few miles of the +place. You have heard that I have sold myself to the devil, and that +the house is haunted by evil spirits?" + +I did not reply. + +"You are bold fellows to come here," he continued, "for I am reported +to have wonderful powers, being able to call to my aid the might of the +king of darkness. But I do not know your names and so cannot talk +freely with you." + +I told him our names. + +"I know you both by reputation," he said. "You," turning to Will, "are +a barrister, and bidding fair to donning silk, while you," turning to +me, "are making your name known as a novelist." + +"I have read your books," he continued; "and--well"--he stopped and +mused a minute, and then, pointing to the bookshelves, continued--"I +get nearly everything. Science, religion, history, travel, poetry, +romance, I see them all. That's how I know your names and professions. +I send one of my servants to Plymouth every month, and thus I get all I +need." + +We soon fell to talking about books, and I found that intellectually +this Squire Trewinion was a man of more than ordinary power. We had +not conversed long however, before I saw a great change come over him. +He seemed possessed by some nervous dread, and was evidently anxious to +drop the subject of books. + +Seeing this, I turned the conversation to the old house in which we +stood, and asked him the year of its erection. + +"It dates from the time of Charles II," he said, "and is, perhaps, the +best built house in the whole county. And it had need to be so, for +the storms which sometimes beat upon us are terrific." + +"Are there any stories or legends about it?" I said, laughingly. + +He looked at me as though he would read my heart's inmost secrets, and +then burst out: + +"Yes, there are stories, there are legends, there are mysteries, and +they are true." + +I thought at first that he was joking, but he continued: + +"Yes, there is truth in the wildest story afloat, not perhaps in the +exact way that the ignorant clowns think; but, sir----" + +He stopped again for a second, as if making up his mind upon some +point. Evidently, his lonely mode of living caused him to act +differently from the conventional society man. + +"We Trewinions are an old race, sir, and some of my ancestors have been +very violent," he continued. + +"That is not to be wondered at," I replied. "Life here, a century ago, +must have been far different from the life of to-day, while earlier +still, when smugglers sought the caves around, and pirates sailed the +seas, it must have been almost impossible for anyone to live in such a +neighbourhood as this without leading a strange life." + +"You are interested in mysterious stories and legends, are you not?" he +said. + +I told him that I had almost a passion for the supernatural, the +mysterious, and the occult. + +He looked at me again, long and steadily. + +"I have read some things you have written," he said at length. "You +dabbled a little in the mysterious in them; but I have in my possession +a history----" + +Again he stopped, and I begged him to go on, for I felt he had +something of importance to tell me. + +"You said you were writing a book on the superstitions and legends of +Cornwall," he said, "and were anxious to collect anything that might be +of interest." + +I told him that this was so. + +At this he went to the window and looked out over the blue expanse of +the sea, after which he turned towards me, and looked steadily into my +face. + +"I have a strange impulse on me," he said. + +I made no answer to his words, but frankly met his gaze. + +"You are an utter stranger to me in one way," he went on, "but both +your personal appearance and your writings suggest that you and I have +much in common. Besides, great God! although I live the life of a +hermit, I long at times for the companionship of a kindred soul." + +I was still silent, deeming that this was the best means of obtaining +his confidence. + +"It seems like pure madness," he said at length, "but, look here, would +you care to look at a manuscript, which not only contains suggestions +of one-time superstitions and customs, but something of the history of +an old Cornish family?" + +"I should be more than delighted to see it," was my reply. + +For a moment he muttered as if to himself, then, like a man taking a +great resolution, he turned to a large safe and unlocked it. His hand +trembled as he did so, as though he were afraid. + +"I have only read the manuscript once," he said, "and I have not seen +it for twenty years. I tremble as I look for it now. You will know +why when you have read it." + +He took from the safe a large parcel, wrapped in paper, on which were +written the following words: + + +"THE CONFESSIONS + +OF + +ROGER TREWINION, + +OF + +TREWINION MANOR, + +CORNWALL. + +"May the Lord have mercy upon me a miserable sinner." + + +"Roger Trewinion was my grandfather," said he, as he saw me looking at +the name. "My father was called Roger--I am called Roger--the last of +my race. If--ah--if--but I daren't think of that." + +"And may I read these confessions?" I asked eagerly, for I longed to +get away alone and commence them. + +"Yes, I am going to let you. How I dare trust you with them I don't +know, except that I've read one or two of your books, and, well I am a +man of strong impulses. It is characteristic of my race. Besides, I +feel like trusting you. + +"After you've read it," he continued, "you will know why I live here as +I do; you will understand something of the web of mystery that is woven +about this place. You will see the curse that rests upon my life." + +"Curse?" I said questioningly. + +"When you have finished with it," he went on, without heeding my words, +"bring the old manuscript back, and I will lock it up again. Much as I +wish it had never been written, or rather, the deeds it recalls had +never been done, I would not like to lose it now, for it possesses a +strange fascination for me." + +We stayed an hour longer at Trewinion Manor, not liking to decline the +hospitality which was proffered us. But I was anxious to be alone. +The story of the grandfather of the present owner of this strange place +was of paramount interest to me, and so, after many promises, many +questions and many requests, I hastened away with my precious burden +under my arm. + +I remember nothing of the journey along the coast that day, except that +I was constantly hurrying Will along so that we might more quickly +reach the watering-place where our luggage had been sent, and where we +had engaged rooms. + +Arrived there I went immediately to the apartment allotted to me, where +I left "the Confessions." After a hasty meal, I ordered candles and +returned to my room to read, while Will went out to see the town. + +I read on all the night, nor did I cease until I had finished the +manuscript which Roger Trewinion had placed in my hands. + +It is not now my purpose to tell you my impressions concerning it. The +fact that the story therein told follows this chapter bears witness to +the interest I found in it. Whether it will prove equally interesting +to the reader is not for me to say. + +I have now told how I came by these confessions of Roger Trewinion, so +I need write little more concerning them. + +Let it be understood, however, that my only share in the story is that +of editor and reviser. Much of it had to be re-written and much of the +dialect transposed into ordinary English. Still, the history stands +practically as I found it, and, wherever I have re-written or revised, +I have endeavoured to retain the spirit in which Roger Trewinion +originally wrote. + +Of the belief and deeds of the writer, I may have a few words to say by +and bye; but my only duty at present is to lay before you the history +he wrote at a time when strange deeds were done in this western county, +and when its people were influenced and bound by strange and sometimes +cruel superstitions. + + + +THE END OF PROLOGUE. + + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE PROPHETIC WARNING + +"_And the boys grew, and Esau was a cunning hunter, a man of the field; +and Jacob was a plain man, dwelling in tents. And Isaac loved Esau; +but Rebekah loved Jacob._" + + +What I, Roger Trewinion, am about to write is true. I tell what I have +seen, and heard, and have been. + +I was born in the year of our Lord, 1750. I am now sixty years of age. + +My family is an ancient one; not that I boast of it, for families +reckon as little when the terrible realities of life press heavily upon +us. Still, in mentioning the fact that my family is ancient and +honourable, I do not do so without a purpose. Events will show that it +matters not much what name we bear if the man within us be not strong +to resist temptation. + +Our family included, besides myself, one son and two daughters. The +son, my brother, was called Wilfred, my two sisters, Katherine and +Elizabeth. I am the elder son, and am called Roger after my father. +Wilfred was born two years after me. Katherine and Elizabeth were +respectively four and six years younger than myself. + +People always said I was a true son of my father. From my childhood I +was big, strong, and daring. I must add, too, that I was passionate +and revengeful. My brother was neither so tall nor so daring as I; but +he was, nevertheless, exceedingly strong and wiry, and although, being +the older, I was the stronger of the two, I often had difficulty in +proving myself the master. Especially was this seen when we used to +wrestle on the soft, spongy grass that grows on the headland. I could +lift him from the ground and throw him over my head, such was my +advantage in weight and strength. Yet so cunning was he, and so agile, +that he would cling around me, and twine his limbs around mine, so that +I had to be very careful or I should have been disgraced by being +thrown. + +Our dispositions, too, were different. I was noisy, boisterous, +passionate and outspoken. Wilfred was quiet and thoughtful. I often +did deeds without thinking; but not so Wilfred; he weighed and +considered both his words and actions. Consequently I was ever getting +into scrapes, but Wilfred seldom or never. + +I was my father's favourite. I was a sturdy young dog, he said, just +like the rest of the Trewinion race, and would be an honour to my name. +Wilfred, on the other hand, received but little notice from my father, +but was the darling of my mother's heart. My father saw little or no +fault in me and saw plenty in Wilfred. My mother saw only perfection +in Wilfred and only imperfections in me. This, I am afraid, raised a +barrier between my mother and my father, for which I was then, and am +now, truly sorry. + +In spite of these differences I loved Wilfred very much. Was he not my +brother? were we not born in the same room? did not the same mother +suckle us? and did we not both bear the name of Trewinion? Wilfred, +however, did not love me so much. I think it was because he was a +little jealous of me. The jealousy came about in this way. + +Maidens love strength and daring; and as I was able to do for my +sisters many thing which Wilfred was unable to do--such as scaling the +cliffs for rare plants, getting precious stones, and so forth--I was +more beloved by them than Wilfred was. Thus, as he saw Katherine and +Elizabeth ever clinging to me, and avoiding him, he would look darkly +at me, and go with his sorrows to our mother, who, in her kindness of +heart, would give him comfort and sometimes indulgences which I do not +think were always good for him. + +Still, we were fairly good friends, and sometimes after I had fought a +boy for teasing him, we would be quite happy together. + +I am writing these things now because I think they have a bearing on +some of the events that happened in my after life. + +We were educated at the vicarage of Trewinion by the vicar, the Rev. +Thomas Polperrow. The living of Trewinion was only worth about L100 +per annum, and so Mr. Polperrow was glad to augment his salary by +taking pupils. There were eight boys besides ourselves, who came from +places some three or four miles around; so we were able to have right +merry times together. + +I was not a very good scholar. I found it difficult to apply myself to +any task; Wilfred, on the other hand, was the best pupil the vicar had. +At twelve years of age he was quite a Latin scholar and was great at +Euclid, and mathematics generally. This was exactly as it ought to be, +my father said, for Wilfred was to be a clergyman, and when Mr. +Polperrow died could be installed into the living. But although +Wilfred had the advantage as far as scholarship went, I had the +advantage of him in other ways. To save my life I could not conjugate +a Latin verb; but I knew every creek and cove on our rockbound coast; +and had gone into every cave that honeycombed the cliffs. This was +considered exceedingly daring on my part, by those who believed, as +many did, that these caves were the nocturnal homes of witches and dark +spirits of the dead. It was true that I did not go after dark, for the +sobbing waters of the sea wailed and made terrible noises as they swept +into the caves at night time, and it was then that I used to hear +strange cries as I stood on the top of the cliffs and listened. + +I had no doubt then, nor do I doubt now, that spirits from the +invisible world do appear in such places, and what I have to relate +will fully bear out my belief. Mr. Polperrow, the vicar, has proved on +many occasions that the belief in spirits appearing on earth is +scriptural. + +I had reached the age of fifteen when my father came to me as I rambled +about the great headland on which our house is built. + +"This is your birthday, Roger," he said. + +"Yes, father," I replied. "Thank you for the new pony. I have just +ridden over to Rosecarrow to see Tom Tremain. He goes like the wind." + +"Ay, I saw you ride away. You have a firm seat, Roger. I am glad to +see you ride so well." + +"Well, I ought to ride well, father, for you taught me," I replied. + +"Let's see, you are fifteen to-day, Roger, are you not?" + +"Yes, fifteen to-day." + +"What a big lad you are. What weight are you?" + +"Nearly eight score pounds, father," I replied. + +"So much, eh? Well, well, the Trewinions are a big race. I weighed as +much when I was your age." + +"And see what a big man you are now." + +My father did not reply for a minute; then he said slowly-- + +"Roger, my boy, when I was fifteen my father took me into the library +and read to me something which closely affected my welfare. There is +no knowing how long I may live, and I think that what was read to me +then should be read to you now, for it applies to all the Trewinion +heirs. Come with me." + +I followed my father into the house, and we entered the library +together. + +"Ours is a curious race, Roger," my father began. "Our name began +strangely. God grant that it may not end with you." + +"I hope it may not, father." + +"Cherish the hope, my lad, for the last son of the Trewinions will die +a terrible death, haunted by evil spirits." + +I shuddered. + +"The Trewinion race sprang from the Trevanions," he went on. "The +mother of our people was a Trevanion, and she, while but a child in +years--for she was scarcely seventeen--married a nameless nobody, who, +fearing the wrath of her brothers, ran away like a coward as soon as +their wedding was found out. When it was known that she was going to +be a mother, Lord Trevanion built a house and sent her here with a +nurse, blessed with the gift of second sight. When the child was +born--a son--the nurse, who was held in great respect by the family, +sent for Lord Trevanion, who came, wondering at her message. Then she +told him that many things had been revealed to her on the night of the +child's birth, which she thought he ought to know. + +"On being asked what she meant, she replied that messengers from the +spirit land had revealed to her that the boy was to be called Roger +Trewinion, and that he was to have certain lands in that neighbourhood, +then owned by Lord Trevanion. + +"So much was he moved by the nurse's story that this manor house was +built, and the lands now belonging to it were handed over to this +child. And thus, Roger, your name and mine began to be, and thus we +own the lands belonging to Trewinion Manor." + +"And what became of the mother of this child, father?" I asked eagerly. + +"She lived many years with her son; lived with him, indeed, until she +died." + +"And he?" + +"He married a lady belonging to the Penwardle family, one of the best +families in the county." + +"And so our race has lived here ever since?" + +"Ever since. They dare not leave it. If, for six months at a time, +the master of the family, or the son and heir, live away from this +place, built at the command of Heaven, he brings a curse on the race of +Trewinion which shall last unto the third generation." + +I felt very grave, for this was strange news to me. In my young, +careless life I had not troubled to ask the history of my family. + +"There are many things I have to say on another occasion," said my +father, "but most of them can wait. One thing, however, I must tell +you. The nurse who was with the first Trewinion at his birth lived +until he was blessed with a son, then, according to the records of the +house of Trevanion, she uttered these words:" + +My father here took a piece of paper from a strong box and began to +read: + + Trewinion's land so rich and free, + Stretching out against the sea, + So Trewinion's name shall stand, + Like the rocks which on the sand + Defy the angry breakers' power, + While Trewinion's heir is pure. + And so Trewinion's heir and pride + A power shall be in the country side. + And his enemies one and all + Shall for ever droop and fall. + + +"This refers to us, father, does it not?" I said. + +"It refers to me and to you; and if God gives you children it refers to +your eldest son and to his eldest son. But I have not read all yet, +Roger, my son. Pay good heed to what follows next. + + But let Trewinion's heir observe + Never from the right to swerve, + If from God's pure laws he stray + Trewinion's power shall die away; + His glory given to another; + And he be crushed by younger brother. + Then his son, though born the first, + By the people shall be cursed. + + And for generations three + Trewinion's name shall cursed be, + Trewinion's heir must never hate, + Never from this law abate. + Trewinion's son must e'er forgive + Or 'twill be a curse to live. + If he take unlawful ways, + Dark, indeed, shall be his days. + His loved one taken by his brother, + His power given to another, + Who will surely seal his doom, + Unless he claim the powers of wrong. + The course cannot be turned aside + While evil feeling doth abide. + -------- + Let these words be ever read, + Ere Trewinion's lord be dead, + To the true and lawful heir, + And so Trewinion's blessings share. + + +"It seems very curious, father," I said, when he had finished. "It is +poor poetry, and has little or no meaning." + +"I will say nothing about the poetry," replied my father; "no doubt it +seems to you poor, silly doggerel; but I have no doubt of this, Roger, +your interest and mine lie in abiding by what it says." + +"But it seems so vague, father," I urged. + +"Not so vague, Roger. Your grandfather took to unlawful ways. He kept +a smuggling vessel, which in some cases ought to have carried a black +flag, and the maiden he loved was given to another, who died of a +broken heart. For twenty years my father's life was a curse. His mind +was filled with the most horrible fancies. Dark dreams haunted his +pillow, and then, although he married my mother, he was until the day +of his death harassed by difficulties and crushed by oppressors." + +"And did he die happy, father?" + +My father looked very strange as I asked this question, and for a +moment did not reply. Then he said, slowly: + +"Roger, my boy, I was with him at the last, and never shall I forget +the scene. It was as if a terrible dread rested upon him; and he +seemed to feel an awful presence in the room. + +"'Can I do anything for you, father?' I asked. + +"'Send for the parson, Roger,' said he, 'and let him give me rest, or +the curse that rests on me will rest on you.' + +"It was midnight, and no one would dare to go, so I rode away alone to +the vicarage. It was an awful ride. The powers of darkness seemed to +know my object, for the elements were against me and I heard terrible +howling along the sea coast; but I feared lest the curse of the +Trewinions should fall upon me. The vicar was afraid to come when I +told him about my father; but I threatened to drag him thither by the +hair of the head if he refused. At length I got him to ride in front +of me, and we came to my father. + +"Ah, Roger, his cries were fearful! 'Take away Trewinion's curse!' he +screamed, and he looked as though he saw angry spirits around him. + +"The parson prayed, and, in the name of One above, commanded all evil +to depart; but for a long time no ease came. Then there was a noise +outside--three raps against the window, as though a bird had flown up +against it. The moment after the light in the room changed. + +"'Do you forgive everyone?' said the vicar. + +"'No,' said my father, 'I can never forgive the man who stole from me +the woman I loved.' + +"'But,' said the vicar. 'Trewinion's curse cannot be removed while +unforgiveness is in your heart.' + +"My father looked at the blue light on the table, and then said, 'I'll +try and say the Lord's Prayer.' He went steadily until he came to the +words, 'Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass +against us.'" + +"'I can't say the words,' he groaned. + +"'Say them with all your heart and the curse will be taken away,' said +the vicar. + +"My father tried again and succeeded, and no sooner had he done so than +the light changed and a holy calm rested upon us all. + +"'It's gone,' said my father. 'May God bless you, Roger, and do you +never forget the Trewinion's warning.' + +"By this he meant the lines we have been reading. + +"'I will never forget, father,' I said, and soon after he died happily." + + +My father left me then, placing in my hands the old nurse's lines. For +a long time I mused over what he had said, and wondered about my +grandfather's death-bed scene. Was it as my father had said? Was it +Trewinion's curse that rested upon him? I began to think of what the +vicar, my schoolmaster, had told us only the day before--that every sin +brought a curse, brought misery, brought remorse, and while sin or +unforgiveness was cherished in our hearts we could not realise +happiness or forgiveness. Was this the case with my grandfather, or +was my father's belief right? + +The interview made a deep impression upon me, however, and a great awe +rested on me for days. I felt that as the heir of the Trewinions I was +surrounded by terrible powers, and I did not know whether they were +good or evil. So my young mind was fed, and so my imagination was +stimulated. + +What was to be my future? What had the powers which took such an +interest in my race in store for me? Looking back over the years that +are gone I ask, Were the things told me superstitious fancies, or is +the Trewinion curse a reality? Remembering what has happened between +then and now, I dare not answer the question. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE WITCH'S WARNING + + _Ban._ The earth hath bubbles, as the water has, and these are + of them. Whither are they vanished? + _Macbeth._ Into the air; and what seemed corporal, melted, + As a breath of wind. Would they had stayed! + _Ban._ Were there such things here as we do speak about? + Or have we eaten up the root + That makes the reason prisoner? + _Macbeth_, Act. I, Scene 3. + + +Let it not be supposed that Wilfred and I ever had any quarrels, at any +rate before my fifteenth birthday. I do not remember even one. This, +however, was not my fault. Ofttimes when I was displeased I said +things which, if said to many brothers, would have provoked a quarrel; +but Wilfred apparently took no heed of my angry words; save to give me +a peculiar look, which sometimes almost made me shudder. But he never +lost his temper in return, or indulged in violent speech. This was +peculiarly trying to me, for I was passionate, and longed to give vent +to my feelings; but he would shrug his shoulders at my rage and, with a +strange smile, walk away. + +Consequently, although my brother never spoke angrily to me, there were +no confidences between us. We never told each other our thoughts, as +most brothers do, and we were never companions in any escapades or +adventures. Thus I did not speak to him about the curse of the +Trewinions, nor of what my father had communicated to me about the +history of our house. Yet Wilfred seemed to know far more than I did +about everything appertaining to our people. + +At first I wondered about this, but after a while I began to realise +how much my mother and Wilfred were to each other, and how often they +walked together. Besides, I often saw him in the library conning over +books that to me contained no interest whatever. + +About three years after the interview with my father, that is to say, +when I was eighteen years of age and Wilfred sixteen, I had gone out on +the headland, and, in a dreamy way, was watching the sea birds as they +soared around and around, ever and anon making a dive into the water. +Up to this time I had remained a pupil of the Rev. Thomas Polperrow, +but had been told by my father that my school days were over. He +would, he said, have sent me either to Cambridge or Oxford but for the +fact that the Trewinion heir was forbidden by the laws of the family to +leave the house for six months together. In my case it did not matter +so much, as Mr. Polperrow had given me all the advantages of his +University education; and as I was not to be a man of letters like my +brother Wilfred, I had all the learning that was necessary for filling +the position of Squire of Trewinion Manor. + +I was thinking of these things when my brother Wilfred came to me on to +the headland. + +"It's fine to be you, Roger," he said. + +"Why, Wilfred?" + +"Because your cares are over. Your life will be one long holiday, you +will have everything you need, and will be the most important man in +the country side." + +"Yes," I said, "and you, Wilfred, will be a great scholar. You will be +a clergyman and write books. Your name will live long after I am dead +and forgotten." + +"It is false," he said. "My prospects are of the dreariest nature. +You will give me the living of Trewinion when Mr. Polperrow dies, and I +shall drone out my life on your bounty. Ah! The thought makes me mad." + +"No, don't say that, Wilfred," I replied, "you will inherit the +vicarage as your right, while you know that everything I can give you I +shall. Besides, I cannot help being the eldest." + +"No, no, you can help nothing, Roger; but there, although I shall be +'Wilfred, the penniless' I shall go to Oxford, and perhaps something +will turn up there for me." + +"And even if nothing does turn up, Wilfred, and you have to bury your +talents down here, we shall still be brothers, and we shall still have +each other." + +I said this because my heart was very tender towards him. I felt sad +that I should have so much and he so little; but he only looked +curiously at me, and a strange light played in his eyes. + +He left me for a minute, and, walking to the very edge of the cliff, +stood watching the waves; then he came back to me again and I thought +his sadness was gone. + +"What a long time since we've wrestled, Roger," he said; "let's have a +hitch now." + +Wrestling was then, as it is to-day, the favourite sport of Cornish +youths; so I gladly took off my coat, and we began our fun. I soon +saw, however, that Wilfred did not regard it as fun. He strained every +muscle of his body in order to throw me, until I had to put forth my +whole strength. Although I was stronger and heavier than he I had not +much advantage. He was so supple and knew so many clever tricks that +he was constantly in fair way of obtaining the mastery. + +The grass on which we stood was as soft as a sponge, so no harm could +befall either of us should we be thrown. At any rate, such was my +thought. So becoming a little exasperated at Wilfred's clever +strategems, I became somewhat rough, and taking him from a vantage +point I had gained I threw him down with great force. + +I do not think that I hurt him very much, but as chance would have it +he fell on a rock that was concealed by the spongy turf, and when he +rose he was pale and trembling. + +"You do well," he said at length, "to show your strength in such a way. +First you seek to throw me unfairly, and then you choose a rock by +which I could be hurt." + +"Nay, Wilfred," I said, "I did not throw you unfairly; nor did I know +there was a rock there. They are so much hidden by the turf that it +would take a wizard to tell where they are. But I'm sorry you are +hurt; let me help you home." + +He looked at me strangely again. + +"Help me home?" he said; "no, I can go without help; and I tell you +this, Roger, big as you are I'm as strong as you." + +This pricked my pride. "As strong as I, Wilfred, why I could throw you +over my head." + +"Yes, you say that now because my arm has been hurt on this rock; but +you wouldn't dare to wrestle again if I were well." + +This put me into a passion. "Not dare!" I cried. "If I daren't it +would be because I should be afraid of hurting your poor, thin body. +Name any day you like and I'll take you." + +"No," he said, "I've had enough of you. Never mind, my turn will come." + +I again challenged him, and said all the things I could to vex him; but +he would not reply, and giving me another of his strange looks he went +towards the house. + +He had not been gone long before my temper began to cool down, and +loving my brother very much I began to blame myself a great deal. I +condemned myself for not letting him throw me. I was a coward and a +brute, I thought within myself, to hurt my younger brother, and acting +on the impulse of the moment I hurried towards the house in order to +ask his forgiveness. + +I had gone about half the distance when I met an old woman who was +almost bent double with old age and rheumatism. We recognised each +other in a minute. The old woman was Deborah Teague, the terror and +yet the blessing of the whole neighbourhood. To her friends there +could be no greater comfort than Deborah. She was acquainted with +medicine that cured almost every disease save that of old age. She +knew all the healing qualities of every herb that grew in the +neighbourhood. Deborah was doctor and nurse to all the people round +about. Fever, colds, ague, rheumatics, scarlatina, jaundice, bile; +Deborah could cure them all, and a dozen diseases besides. But this +was not all. What she could not cure by her medicine she could by her +charms, for with these she was abundantly supplied. Ringworms, warts, +gout, adder's stings, whooping cough, measles, she could charm every +one of them, and what was more, no one who was a friend of Deborah's +went away uncured, if a cure were possible. + +Consequently she was much thought of when her helpful qualities were +taken into consideration, but, as I said, she was feared as well as +loved, for Deborah made her enemies tremble. Not only did she possess +the power to heal, but also the power to curse. Her eye was like that +of the fabled serpent, called the basilisk, and in her anger she ever +struck terror. She could stop horses from drawing, and keep cows from +yielding their milk. For her to "ill wish" anyone was a sure sign that +ruin would befall them. Nor was this all. Everyone throughout the +whole countryside believed that Deborah had been seen walking along the +beach towards the haunted cove, and it was reported again and again +that she held intercourse with the powers of darkness. It was also +believed that other women, possessing similar power to hers, likewise +met there, and conversed about unlawful things. + +She also had the power of telling fortunes and reading the future, and +thus nearly all the lads and girls in the district came to her at one +time or another for advice and help. + +I had always been taught to be careful not to offend Deborah Teague, +for she had once nursed me through a serious illness, and looked on me +as a favourite. + +No sooner had we come close together than she lifted her hand as if to +tell me to stop; then when I obeyed her gesture, she looked me straight +in the eyes. + +"Cain and Abel," she said, mysteriously. + +"No, Mrs. Teague," I replied, catching her meaning, "nothing of the +sort." + +"Yer brother es gone to his mawther," she muttered. "I axed un what +was the matter, and he said you'd took advantage and hurt un." + +I accordingly told Mrs. Teague what had taken place. + +No sooner had I spoken than she seized my hand, and with her bony +fingers began to draw the skin together over my joints, peering +curiously all the while. + +"Maaster Roger'll av to be keerful," she said. + +"What do you mean?" I said. + +"Maaster Roger'll av to be keerful," she repeated, in a half wheedling, +half chuckling voice. "Maaster Roger es the ouldest and the biggest, +and the strongest; but Maaster Wilfred ev got the eyes to zee." + +"Oh, don't trouble, Mrs. Teague," I said; "I'm going to Wilfred now, to +tell him I'm sorry I've hurt him." + +"And mark my words, Maaster Roger," she said, "when you go, oal you zay +will be took no noatice ov, but yer mawther and Maaster Wilfred 'll +look black." + +"How do you know, Mrs. Teague?" I said. + +"Know!" she repeated, "what do'ant I know? Tell me that!" + +I looked at her and was silent. + +"I'll tell ee," she cried, and then stopped. "We musn't talk here," +she continued. "Will'ee come to th'oull Debrah's house to-night, +Maaster Roger, and I'll tell ee something for yer good? No, not +to-night; but to-morrow night at nine o'clock." + +I promised her I would do so, and Deborah hobbled away. As soon as she +had gone I went straight home with a heavy heart. Although I was a +full-grown man I dreaded my mother's anger, and Deborah's words rang in +my ears. Besides, I feared that Wilfred might be prejudiced against me +and not see things in their true light. + +No sooner had I entered the dining-hall than I saw my mother bathing +Wilfred's head, my father looking on gravely meanwhile. Even my +father's presence could not quell my mother's anger against me. + +"You the elder brother!" she cried. "You, the heir to the Trewinions! +The name will be disgraced if you are master of the Manor. You, a +great strong monster, to punish a younger brother who is not full +grown!" + +I tried to explain, but she would not allow me to do so, while Wilfred +looked at me with that strange expression which always appeared on his +face when he was not well pleased. + +Shortly after, I went away with my father to whom I told my story. + +"Roger," he said, when I had finished, "you must be very careful, my +lad. You will be either a blessing or a curse to your family. Future +generations will either bless your memory or they will remember your +name with loathing." + +"Why," I said, "does so much depend on me?" + +"Everything depends on you, Roger. You are the first-born son, and if +you turn out bad, everything will turn out bad. So, my boy, whatever +you are, or whatever you do, be truthful, be pure, and be forgiving." + +"God helping me, I will, father," I replied. + +Some time after we all gathered together in the library, where we +usually sat in the evening. My father made it a rule to send the +servants to bed early when we had no company, so although it was only +eight o'clock and scarcely dark he had taken down the old family Bible +in order that we might hear the Scriptures and join in prayer before +retiring. My mother sat by Wilfred, her hand locked in his, while I +sat near to my father, as was the usual custom, and we waited for the +servants to come to prayers. + +Instead of all coming together, only one came, and announced that +Deborah Teague had something to tell us. + +Father, in spite of all the complaints against Deborah, regarded her +with much favour, and told the servant to show her in. + +The old woman came in mumbling as usual. She waited for no greeting, +and took no notice of my mother's harsh look. + +"Maaster Trewinion," she said, lifting the forefinger of her skinny +right hand, "expect!" + +She stood up nearly straight as she spoke, and I thought of the Jewess +prophetess whose name she bore. + +"Expect!" she repeated. "Expect a stranger and expect a storm." + +"What do you mean, Deborah?" asked my father kindly. + +"Just that," she replied. "I ha'ant a vollied the fortins of this eer +ous for nothin', and I say expect." + +"A stranger and a storm," repeated my father. "The storm would be +nothing to wonder at, the weather is so changeable, but the +stranger----" + +"Es a woman," said the old crone, "and a young woman. I cud tell--but +I wa'ant." + +"Could tell what?" + +"Clouds, and storms, and darkness!" + +"Come, tell us." + +"No, Maaster Trewinion, I be'ant zackly sure, but this I zay, git yer +booats ready to help the perishin', and it may be as ow the stranger +and the storm'll be together, like." + +The old woman went away at this, while father, always heedful of what +Deborah might tell him, asked me to order some men to get the strongest +and best boats in readiness. + +As I went down to the village which lies in the hollow near our house, +I remembered the curious looks that passed between my mother and +Wilfred while Deborah had been talking, and then I thought of my +promise to meet Deborah at nine o'clock the next night. I wondered +whether I ought to do so or not, and as the night gathered around I +almost shuddered at the thought of meeting her alone. Had she, I asked +myself, intercourse with evil spirits? Had she given herself to the +devil for knowledge and evil power, as it was reported she had done? + +I reached the village at length and went in search of the men my father +had mentioned. There was a harbour near, and as at the time of which I +write a good number of people lived in the village, most of whom +managed to do a great deal of fishing throughout the year, a number of +boats had been built. + +After telling the men to make preparations for a storm, I was about to +go back to the Manor House, when the question of Deborah Teague came +into my mind again. What had she to tell me? And ought I to listen to +what she had to say? + +I could not for a long time make up my mind. On the one hand was a +great curiosity as to what she had to tell me, besides an anxiety to +please the old woman; on the other I felt sure she gained her knowledge +by unlawful means. + +I decided at length. I would go to the vicar that very night. It was +not late yet, only half-past eight, and daylight had barely gone. +Surely the Rev. Thomas Polperrow would settle the matter for me. If +her power were evil he could guard me against it; if it were good, then +all was well. + +It was a beautiful night. The moon was nearly full, although it was +encircled by a large misty ring, which betokened a change in the +weather; but the sea was calm and bright, and shone like glass. All +along the coast I could see the misty outlines of the cliffs, while +here and there a giant rock jutted into the water. + +What was that? A wail! + +Was it the night cry of a sea bird telling of the foretold storm? Or +was it----stop! + +A figure all in white stood near me! + +I could not move. I was riveted to the place. Surely it was a +visitant from the spirit land! + +Slowly it moved away. It went to the edge of the cliffs and +disappeared from my sight. + +I was not so much surprised at this, for there was more than one spot +along the coast where those acquainted with the place could disappear +as if by magic. Still, my nerves were shaken. Perhaps some evil was +portended. I would rather have returned home, but I felt drawn to go +to the vicar. He could explain. He could tell me what I wanted to +know. + +Does anything happen in one's life without a meaning? Is the Great +Spirit of God in every event, ever trying to warn us from evil and draw +us towards good? If so, these things of which I am now writing must be +in some way connected with the after events of my life. But I shall +not try to connect them now. All I purpose to do is to write just what +happened, so that my children and my children's children may learn +lessons from my history. + +I hurried on to the vicarage, therefore, and was soon admitted to the +study, I anxious to ask Mr. Polperrow's advice, he evidently wondering +what I had to say to him. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE MARCH OF EVENTS + +"Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live."--_Ex._ xxii. 18. + +"Then said Saul unto his servants, Seek me a woman that hath a familiar +spirit, that I may go to her and inquire of her. And his servants said +unto him, Behold there is a woman with a familiar spirit at Endor."--1 +_Sam._ xxviii. 7. + + +"Well, Roger, and what do you wish to see me about?" asked Mr. +Polperrow as soon as we were comfortably seated. + +"I am somewhat in a dilemma," I replied. "The truth is, I want to do +something which I am not sure is right, and so I have come to you about +it." + +"You have done right, Roger. I hope you will always be as mindful of +your old friend. But what's the matter?" + +"Do you think there are any witches living to-day?" + +"Witches! Witches, why certainly, my boy; and yet I don't know +exactly----" + +And the vicar broke off abruptly, as though he were exceedingly +doubtful about the matter. + +"What do you mean, Mr. Polperrow?" + +"I mean this, Roger. There are a great many women who have been +condemned as witches when they have simply had the gift of second +sight. During the reign of the Stuarts, hundreds were put to death as +witches and wizards, and yet I am not sure, but they were innocent +people. Don't mistake me, my boy; I'm not going against the +Scriptures. I know that witches get their power from the devil--that +is, real witches; but I verily believe that a lot of women who suffered +in the time of James I were good women, who, through their goodness, +obtained knowledge unknown to the generality of people." + +"And ghosts, what about them?" + +"Roger, I would rather not talk about them now." The vicar's voice was +low and husky. + +I thereupon told him about my encounter with Deborah Teague and what +she had said, after which I asked him if I should go and see her. + +Mr. Polperrow was some time before he answered. "I am not sure," he +said, at length, "that old Deborah deserves all that has been said +about her. She is a sensible old dame, and has searched out the +healing qualities of many of the plants growing around, and thus has +gained her reputation as a doctor; besides this, she has a curious way +of making the silly folk here do as she tells them; but beyond this I +believe a great deal of the talk is so much nonsense." + +"Then you think it would be no harm going to see her?" + +"Roger, my boy," said the vicar, "the world in which we live is full of +mystery, full of shadows. We cannot understand the occult forces that +everywhere exist, we cannot read the mystic writing which is everywhere +appearing on the lives of men. Before I went to college I was a firm +believer in many things which I have since discredited. Once I +believed in supernatural events, but since I have seen what can be +produced by purely natural and explainable means, I have begun to +doubt, and yet I cannot deny some things which the most superstitious +and ignorant believe." + +"Then what would you advise?" + +"I would go and see this old woman; perhaps she knows things, not by +any supernatural means, but by keeping her eyes open." + +"But if she should possess evil power, Mr. Polperrow?" + +"Read your Bible and say your prayers before you go, and in your heart +defy all that's wrong." + +I went away from the vicarage with a strange feeling that my life was +surrounded by mystery, and that unseen forces were hemming me in. + +What are we, after all, but the creatures of circumstance? Forces over +which we have no control make us what we are. I was born the elder son +and Wilfred the younger. I was born with a strong, healthy body, and +an impulsive, passionate nature. Wilfred was more delicate, more +thoughtful. What had we to do with the choosing of all this? Could I +help doing the things that I did? Could I resist the life-forces which +moved me, even as a mighty wave moves a ship that sails thereupon? Are +we, then, the architects of our own fate, or is our destiny fixed? Is +it man who moulds the circumstances, or circumstances that mould the +man? Who shall answer these questions? Looking back over my life I +cannot, and yet in some way I am conscious that there has been a +beneficent hand helping me, and making me strong, even stronger than +circumstances. + +As I went home I thought the moon became dimmer, while sad, moaning +sounds were mixed with the musical splash of the waters, as they played +upon the hard sea sand. I slept well that night. No thought of the +figure in white haunted my pillow, no thought of my visit to the +village witch hindered my sleep. I was young, I was innocent, my blood +coursed joyfully through my veins, and the future looked bright, and so +I feared not. + +The next day the sky was overcast. The sea looked smooth as glass, +save that now and then it gave a mighty heave, as if some terrific +monster beneath sought to lift a weight from his tired shoulders. +Sometimes we heard a moan sweeping across the waters; but we were +familiar with the sound, living as we did close to the broad Atlantic. + +As evening came on the sky grew darker, while my mind became full of +the visit I was to make to old Deborah Teague. I made only a light +meal, and as soon as I was able to do so, went alone to her cottage. + +It was a little tumble-down shanty, standing beneath a hillock, and was +as lonely a place as it was possible to be. Eighteen years of age +though I was, my heart beat faster as I thought of Deborah living alone +in a house that had the reputation of being haunted. What was I doing? +In spite of what the vicar had said, was it not wrong for me to hold +converse with the strange old woman? + +But I would not go back; and so making straight for the little window, +through which I could see a candle dimly burning, I was soon face to +face with her. + +"Maaster Roger was 'fraid," said the old woman, half questioningly, +half wheedlingly. + +"No," I said, "I don't think so." + +"The Trewinions was never 'fraid ov th' livin', my deer," said the old +woman, "but the dead, ah, the dead." + +"They can do me no harm, so why should I be afraid?" + +"Ah, why! ah! ha!" she giggled. "But Maaster Roger es weth wawn that +can do lots ov things." + +"Oh, yes, lots, Deborah," I said; "you can cure more diseases than any +doctor in Truro." + +"And more than that, Maaster Roger; but don't you be 'fraid, my deer, I +wa'ant hurt you." + +"No, I don't think you will; but why have you brought me here to-night?" + +"Because I want to tell ee summin, my deer. Ah, Maaster Roger, tes +terrible fur theer to be favourites in a house." + +I was silent. + +"They say how maaster is maaster; tedn't allays so, my deer. Missus es +maaster sometimes. They say I'm a witch, my deer, do'ant um? I read +the Bible, Maaster Roger. Iss, an ould woman like me, and theer I've +seed that Isaac loved Esau best, and 'Becca, she loved Jacob best. +Well, who got off best, my deer, hi? Iss, my deer, and they was twins, +they both had wawn mawther." + +"What do you mean?" + +"I main that Maaster Roger'll have to be keerful, my deer. Ah, theer's +jillusy in curious plaaces." + +"I don't at all understand what you mean." + +"No, but you will, my deer. Do'ee mind what I zed to 'ee 'esterday +arternoon, dedn't I tell 'ee as 'ow you'd git nothin' but black looks +for all yer explainin'?" + +"Yes, I remember." + +"Well, ded 'ee un. Was ould Debrah right or wrong?" + +"You were right, Deborah; but then, I was in the wrong. I should not +have hurt him so." + +The old woman chuckled as I spoke, as though I were trying to hoax her. + +"And ef you wadn't in the wrong, they'd make ee in the wrong between +'em." + +"Deborah," I said, "you must be in the wrong. You talk as though my +mother were my enemy." + +"Mawther!" she repeated, "who zed she was yer mawther?" + +For a minute I did not know what to say. Was she not my mother? Of +course she was. I had ever been taught to call her mother, and my +father had ever called her his wife. + +"Do you know what you are talking about?" I said, excitedly. + +"Knaw!" she repeated. "Knaw! Iss, and I cud tell 'ee lots ov things, +Maaster Roger, my deer." + +"But what do you mean by hinting that my mother--that is--that--that +she isn't my mother at all?" + +"Why es it that she've bin allays agin 'ee, hi? Why have she allays +tried to shaw that you was in the wrong and yer brother in the right? +Why es it that your eyes es black and yer hair brown and curly, while +yer brother and sisters ev got blue eyes and yella hair, tell me that, +will 'ee, my deer?" + +This had never struck me before; certainly there was no likeness +between my brothers and sisters and myself. + +"B--but," I stammered. + +"No buts, my deer, I be'ant goin' to tell 'ee nothin' more, though ould +Debrah do knaw lots ov things. There's no time, now, you've got other +things to do, and a terrible lot to go through as soon as you git away. +Hark, do 'ee 'ear that?" + +It was the sound of the breakers upon the rugged rocks and hard sea +sand, while the wind blew and moaned dismally. + +"Dedn't ould Debrah tell 'ee ov a storm? Well, tes come, and, Roger, +yer dark days es comin' on." + +"But what did you mean by telling me to come here to hear what I have? +I am sure of nothing." + +"Main! I main this. Maaster Roger'll have to bee keerful of the woman +he do call mawther. Watch her every day and watch Maaster Wilfred, +too. Hark, do 'ee 'ear that?" + +I heard nothing but the roar of the rising storm. + +"I can hear nothing but the wind," I said. + +"But I can, I can," she said. "I can hear the screech ov the +sufferin'; oa tes wisht, terrible wisht, Maaster Roger, but tes yer +fate, my deer. I'll tell 'ee more another time, but you must go now, +go and help em, you father wants 'ee go, and be keerful of they I've +tould 'ee about." + +She pushed me out as I spoke, all the time looking around as though she +saw sights unseen by me. + +"You'll want oal yer strength and oal yer courage, my deer, oa tes +terrible. May Roger be protected; but oa, if 'ee saves her 'ee 'll +have to suffer." + +Wondering at her words, I rushed out into the wild night, and had +scarcely done so before I saw a dark form rise from under the window in +the cottage, and hurry away right in the teeth of the wind. I started +and followed, but whoever he might be, he was more fleet than I. The +night was dark because of the storm, but the figure looked like that of +my brother Wilfred. + +Full of conflicting thoughts, I hurried home, where I found my father +dressed as if to go out. + +"What's the matter, father?" I asked. + +"There's a vessel round the point, Roger, and she's signalled for help." + +"Let me go with you. Is it a large one?" + +"No, and I am afraid that my friend's child is in her." + +"What child?" + +"Did you see that horseman this morning, Roger?" + +"Yes, father." + +"He came to tell me that an old friend was dead, and that in his last +hours he had expressed a wish that I should take care of his child." + +"Yes, father; what then?" + +"She started to come here by boat, and should have arrived in our +little landing-place by this. Hark! that's another signal for help. +Come, Roger; where's Wilfred." + +"Wilfred cannot help on such a night as this, especially as his brother +hurt him so yesterday," said my mother, who had just come into the room. + +"Come, let us go alone, then, Roger," said my father. + +We hurried down to the little harbour, where a dozen hardy Cornishmen +were preparing to launch a boat on the angry sea. + +"Not gone yet, men?" said my father. + +"No, Maaster Trewinion, and ted'n no good. We should be knocked to +pieces in two minutes," said one. + +"But we're goin' to have a try," said another. + +It was, indeed, a dangerous undertaking. The seas were now rising up +like great hills and again falling into deep valleys. It seemed +impossible for a boat to live. + +"We ca'ant do no good," said the first speaker. + +"But they've signalled for help," said the second, "and I ca'ant stand +that!" + +As he spoke we heard a sound like a crack of a musket, which faintly +reached us above the roar of wind and wave. + +"We'll man the biggest boat somehow," said my father. "Come here, +everyone; who will go with Roger and me?" + +To the honour of the brave Cornish boys, a crew was ready in a minute. + +We jumped into the boat and soon were out in the boiling surf. + +"Hold your oars firmly," cried my father, "now, then, pull while you +may, the storm is rising every minute." + +Bravely those noble lads strained and tugged; but it was terrible work. +We were tossed about as though the boat in which we sat were a chip or +a bit of cork. + +For a minute no word was spoken. Every man breathed hard, and laboured +with all his strength, while my father watched, grasping the rudder in +his hand. Time after time I thought we should have been thrown into +the sea, but luckily we caught no side winds. + +Presently we heard my father's deep voice: + +"I see her," he cried. "My God, she's going straight upon the 'Devil's +Tooth.'" + +The "Devil's Tooth" was one of the most dangerous rocks on the coast. +It was called "devil's tooth" because it was thought to possess evil +power, and because it had been the means of wrecking many vessels as +they tried to get into our harbour. + +He had scarcely spoken when we heard a most awful crash. It was far +louder than the roar of the storm, and immediately afterwards we +fancied we caught the cry of people in distress. + +"There, it's on! Pull!" cried my father, "we may reach them yet. God +help and preserve us all." + +Every man pulled with all his might towards the great rock with the +terrible name. + +"The great God will help us," said one solemnly. + +"Amen," cried the rest; "but this is terrible." + +Meanwhile, inch by inch, we drew nearer to the doomed vessel. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE WRECK ON THE "DEVIL'S TOOTH." + +At the best of times the rock called the "Devil's Tooth" was by no +means beautiful. It stood with five points towering into the air like +the prongs of a great tooth, and at its feet were scores of smaller +rocks, mostly hidden by the water. + +Strange stories have been told about it. Some have said that on stormy +nights emissaries of Satan sit there, and lure vessels on to +destruction; but at the time I had no thought for such stories. The +terrible crash of the vessel was still echoing in my ears, and, in my +fancy, I heard above the howling of the storm the shrieks of the +perishing. + +We could not see much. The moon was full, but had been hidden by the +clouds. Only by the light of the storm, which was nearly darkness, +could we perceive anything. I know that my words are almost +paradoxical, but I can express my meaning in no better way. Still, our +eyes were accustomed to the darkness of a storm, and thus both my +father and I had some idea of what we were doing. + +Slowly we made our way. Carefully my father sought to evade +unnecessary danger. + +It was terrible work. Now we were lifted on the pinnacle of a wave, +and again we sank deep in dark gulfs, until I thought we should never +rise again. But every man was strong and hardy, every man had braved a +dozen storms, and so we struggled on. + +But for my father's thorough knowledge of the coast we must have +perished. With his knowledge there was hope. Suddenly we found +ourselves in comparatively smooth water and out of the beat of the +wind. We had shot into the "lew" (sheltered) side of the rock, and +were able for a moment to rest. + +"She is just around the point," said my father. + +"Iss, Maaster Trewinion," was the reply. + +"The question is, How can we get to them?" said my father. "If we try +to get our boat around there it means death for all of us. The only +means of saving the poor souls, if they are not all gone already, is +for us to scale the rock here and make our way to those on board. Then +they might be brought here one by one." + +"You see'd her break on the rock didn' 'ee, Maaster Trewinion?" said +one. + +"Yes," replied my father, "she broke close against the long prong." + +"Then ef she edn't gone to pieces there may be hope," replied the man; +"but who can climb up here?" + +"Two will be enough," said my father; "who'll go first?" + +"Let me," said I. + +"Not yet, Roger," said my father. + +Two others immediately volunteered, and started to climb, but the rock +was slippery, and there was only one way by which the top could be +reached. + +They failed in their attempt. + +"Tie a rope round my waist, father," I cried. "I've climbed it many +times and know the way." + +"Go, then, Roger, my boy, and may God preserve you." + +It was only because of my boyish freaks that I knew the easiest way to +reach the summit of the rock. One day I had laid a wager with Wilfred +that I could climb to its summit, and so I had carefully examined it +when the tide was low, and after once climbing it, I had often gone +thither to hunt for the nests of sea-birds. + +All my knowledge was necessary now. The stones were slippery as glass, +and I had to feel carefully for the jutting rocks in order to get from +one point to another. A false step, a bit of crumbling rock, a slip of +the hand would have destroyed our hopes, and perhaps have maimed me for +life, if not killed me. Providence, however, was in my favour. After +many a strain and many a struggle I reached the top. + +I shall never forget the sight that met me. Even in the hour of death +I think I shall remember the terrible scene. Holding fast by a rugged +peak I could in the stormlight dimly see the five huge prongs of the +"Devil's Tooth," grim and ghastly; while upon them broke the great +black waves! + +How the breakers roared! How the wind howled as it beat upon the great +rock on which I stood! Whenever the waves receded I could see the +white foam all round, while the spray beat pitilessly upon me. I had +never seen the like before. It is an awful thing to watch a storm from +the shore; but to stand in the midst of it, to hear it all round you, +is more awful! + +I heard a shout from beneath. "Do you see the wreck?" was the query. + +I looked in the direction of the long prong and saw the outline of the +vessel. + +"Yes," I replied, "but I shall want help to get to her. There! I've +fastened the rope to a rock, let Bill Tregargus come up." + +Instantly, by the tugging of the rope, I knew that some one was coming, +and a little later the giant form of Bill Tregargus was beside me. + +We made our way to the wreck, and as we drew nearer I was sure I saw +people clinging to the half broken mast. Nearer and nearer we came, +and then, to our joy, we saw that two men had got from the vessel and +were now trying to scale the rock. + +"There's hope yet, Bill," I said. "Have you brought the rope with you?" + +"Part on't, Maaster Roger, and part I tied to the rock." + +I shouted as loud as I could, but I was unable to make them hear. The +thunder of the storm made my little shout of no avail. I called to the +people on the vessel, but there was no response. + +Meanwhile the waves swept over the doomed vessel, and roared along the +cruel rocks. There seemed but little chance of our rendering help. +Even we, sheltered as we were by the great prongs of the rock, found it +difficult to stand. + +I took the rope from Bill, and, holding one end in my hand, I threw it +straight to the men, who I could see were struggling below. The effort +succeeded. It was immediately caught, and soon we got a man on the top +of the rock. + +"Many on board?" I asked. + +"Twelve," he gasped. + +"Can you make the other one tell the crew to do as you have done?" + +We looked again, seeking for the best method to signal, and to our +delight saw that those on the vessel realised that help was come. In +the dim light I could see that they were leaving the vessel. + +It was only a question of time. One by one, we pulled them up, some +bruised and beaten, but still hopeful, others gasping for life, and +others again dazed and faint. + +We asked no questions; it was our work to save them first and question +them afterwards; and so, one after another, man by man, they reached +the summit of the rock. + +At length we came to the last man. He was getting old and stiff. Even +in the night I could see that he was bent and weak. + +"Are you all here?" I asked, when he had reached the top. + +The old man who had last come up looked around him, and then cried out: + +"But where is Miss Ruth?" + +"Miss Ruth?" gasped two or three; "is she not here?" + +"No woman has come up," I replied. + +"Then Miss Ruth is still on the vessel," cried the old man. "Wretch, +wretch, that I am to leave her." + +"But she left the vessel," replied another; "why, Tom Poltewan said he +was going to help her down." + +"She said she must get something from the cabin," said another, "and I +didn't see her. I thought Mr. Inch would be sure to take care of her." + +Then followed a confusion of tongues, and in the storm I did not +distinguish what was said. Evidently in the great anxiety to escape +death a woman had been overlooked. But she must be rescued. The work +which had been begun must be completed. Surely God who had helped us +thus far would not desert us now? + +What was to be done, however, had to be done quickly. The vessel had +struck on a great rock, the billows were sweeping over her, and she +might go to pieces any minute. The storm, although it had not yet +reached its full height, was rapidly rising, the wind blew louder and +louder, until we could scarcely hear each other speak. The men we had +saved were battered and bruised and nearly unconscious. As I think of +it now it is a wonder to me that they escaped death. + +I tied the rope round my waist, and then asked Bill to lower me down by +the slippery rock. At first he objected to this, but I insisted, and +soon stood upon a broad flat ledge which was close to the wreck. + +My object now was to get upon the vessel, but that was not easy of +accomplishment; the great breakers were constantly sweeping over the +vessel, and I began to despair of rendering assistance. I determined +to try, however, and after many vain attempts, reached the deck. To +look for anyone there was madness. No woman could stay in such a +place. Either she had been swept away or she must be down below. In +spite of storm and darkness I found my way there. The vessel was half +full of water, and I felt that it would be worse than useless to +attempt to find anyone in the darkness. Just then I heard a cry for +help. + +I cannot describe what followed. I have a dim recollection of grasping +a cold hand, of struggling to the deck, of holding fast by the broken +mast, and of a terrible wave that swept me quite away. After that all +was oblivion. + +When I woke to consciousness I was in my own bed, with my father and +Deborah Teague sitting near me. At first everything seemed hazy, then +things became more real, until all the events of the storm flashed +before my mind. + +"How did I come here?" I asked. + +"God helped us to save you, Roger, my boy," said my father. + +"How?" I asked, faintly. + +"I got impatient of your being away so long, and so one of the other +lads succeeded in getting on the rock, while I, wanting to be near you, +followed him. I got to the long prong in time to see you swept off the +deck." + +"And then, father?" + +"Then I went down to the broad ledge and found you both unconscious. +You had been stunned by the awful force with which you were hurled on +the rock." + +"And she, father, the--the--one who was with me?" + +"We got you both in the boat after awhile. God only knows the +difficulty we had, for the storm rose every minute. Had the rock been +further out at sea I don't think we could have weathered it; but the +gridiron point broke the force of the wind just a little!" + +"And is she well, father?" + +"A great deal bruised, my boy, and very weak, but she'll recover." + +"Who is she?" I asked after being silent for a few moments. + +"Her name is Ruth Morton; she is my old friend's only child," answered +my father, slowly. + +I turned on my pillow wearily. I was tired and sore, and wanted rest. + +"That's right," said my father, "go to sleep again, I'll send the +doctor to you, and he, together with Mrs. Teague, will soon make you +well." + +He left the room as he spoke. Deborah looked keenly at me. + +"You'll soon git well, Maaster Roger," she said presently. + +"I think I shall," I replied, "I am far from dead yet." + +"Iss, iss," she repeated, "you'll soon git well, Maaster Roger, but old +Deborah was right. The storm and the stranger comed together, ded'n +um?" + +I did not answer. + +"Maaster Roger must be of good heart," she continued, "for he ain't a +seed the end of this ere matter yet." + +I asked her to explain herself, but she would not. She sat silently by +my bedside until the doctor came and gave me a sleeping draught, after +which I remembered nothing for a long while. + +I lay in my bed for more than a week. During that time my mother came +to see me twice, while Wilfred came only once. Evidently they did not +care much about my recovery. I was grieved at this, for in my heart I +loved them sincerely. My father told me, however, that Ruth Morton was +recovering, and was anxiously looking forward to the time when she +would be able to see me, and thank me for what I had done. In spite of +this, however, I did not ask many questions about her, and when, after +some days, I was pronounced well enough to see her, I cannot say I +looked forward with any pleasure to our meeting. Perhaps the reason +for this was that I hated to be thanked, or perhaps it was that I did +not like talking to girls, but be that as it may I was in no happy +frame of mind when my father led me to the room where she sat. I +remember that my blood rushed to my face as for the first time I saw +the one I had probably saved from death. + +Perhaps my sadness foreboded the dark days that came afterwards. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE SHAPING OF EVENTS + + The brave man is not he who feels no fear; + For that were stupid and irrational; + But he whose noble soul its fear subdues + And bravely dares the danger nature shrinks from. + --_Joanna Baillie._ + + +Ruth Morton was fourteen years of age, but looked far younger. To me +she appeared only a child of twelve. She was diminutive in stature, +and had an innocent childish face. I did not think her beautiful, and +yet I remember that her face was pleasing. I remember, too, that her +mouth looked very sensitive, and was indicative of a gentle nature; but +what struck me most were her eyes. They were large and grey, and +seemed to contain a world of meaning. Her hair was dark brown and fell +in heavy masses on her shoulders. + +She looked at me curiously, as if striving to read my character, and +when my father mentioned my name she timidly held out her little hand. + +"You must be friends," said he; "indeed, you must be brother and +sister, and I shall look to you, Roger, to take care of her." + +I scarcely know now what I answered, but I daresay it was little to the +point. During the next few minutes I was very uncomfortable, for she +tried to thank me for saving her life. + +As soon as I could I led her to talk of other matters, chiefly because +I knew not what to say or how to act. + +By and by she spoke of her father's death, and what she felt when she +was informed she must leave her home and come to Trewinion Manor. She +told me, also, of her desire to come by boat, and how Mr. Inch, an old +trusted servant, had arranged to get a crew together, and how they had +sailed along in sight of the giant cliffs. + +She had a sweet, childish voice, and talked in a way that was quite +fascinating. By and by, as she told how the storm came on suddenly, of +the dread feelings she had as she saw the waves rise higher and higher, +and how she lost hope when the little vessel with an awful crash was +swept upon the great rock, I could fancy myself again out on the angry +sea. + +In a little while my father left us, and then I wished I were again +back in my room, for I knew not how to talk. She, too, seemed ill at +ease. + +"I'm sorry you and your brother are not better friends," she said, +after we had been silent a few seconds. + +I was surprised at this, and wondered who could have have been talking +to her. + +"Have you seen Wilfred?" I asked. + +"Oh, yes, I have seen him twice. He came yesterday, and again to-day. +Your mother was here, too." + +"I am glad they have been to see you," I replied, "but I did not know +that Wilfred and I were not friendly." + +She looked at me, I thought, suspiciously, as though she doubted my +words, but did not speak. + +Had my mother and Wilfred, I wondered, been saying evil things about +me. I hoped not, and yet it might be. Certainly, their conduct +towards me had been strange. I would not talk of this, however, and so +asked her if she liked my sisters. + +"Very much," she replied. "They have been with me every day; and the +first two days when I was ill they were with me nearly all the time. I +think, I see them coming now." + +As she spoke Katherine and Elizabeth entered the room. They were +bright, buxom maidens, well-grown and healthy. The latter, though two +years younger was quite as well grown as the stranger who had come to +live amongst us. Yet there was a difference. Ruth Morton possessed a +dignity and a grace which were foreign to both my sisters. Children +they all were, pretty they all were, yet the beauty of Ruth Morton was +of a different nature. She had been cast in another mould, and thus +presented a contrast to my sisters. + +I was a great favourite both with Katherine and Elizabeth; but I did +not stay with them. Stiff and weak as I was I found my way back to my +room, where, throwing myself on the bed, I tried to rest. + +I knew nothing whatever of the arrangements that had been made about +Ruth staying with us, except that Mr. Inch, the old servant, was to +remain, that the crew had been sent back to Penwingle, and that the +steward was taking care of the Morton estate. I took no interest in +the matter, however. From all I could gather her mind had been +prejudiced against me, and there was a look of satisfaction on her face +when I left her. She was as transparent as the day, so I had no +difficulty in seeing that in spite of my having risked my life to save +her, she had a bad opinion of me. Well, it did not matter much; in a +few years she would be of age and would return then to her old home. + +I had banished all unpleasant thoughts from my mind when the door +opened and Wilfred entered. + +"Well, Roger," he said, "getting better?" + +"First rate, Wilfred," I replied. + +"Lucky, as usual," he said. + +"How?" + +"Why, in the first instance, you were privileged to save Ruth Morton's +life, and secondly, you are the hero of the neighbourhood for miles +around. The talk of the whole countryside is the bravery and daring of +Roger Trewinion." + +This was said bitterly I thought, but I was not sure. Wilfred had +sometimes a way of talking which entirely hid his real feelings and +meaning. + +"I don't know," he went on, "if the parson isn't going to preach a +special sermon next Sunday, when his subject will be 'Roger Trewinion's +Bravery and the Mercy of Providence.'" + +He spoke mockingly, and I began to think that something had displeased +him. I was not sure of this however, so merely said that I hoped +nothing of the sort would be done. + +"Oh, but I hope it will," he said. "Why, the people are saying that +you jumped from the top of the highest prong of the 'Devil's Tooth' on +to the wreck, that you waded through water several feet deep, and that +just when you had carried little Ruth on the deck the vessel broke in +pieces, upon which you plunged into the sea and carried her ashore. I +had no idea I had such a brother." + +He laughed jeeringly. + +His manner of speaking made me feel that if Wilfred had ever possessed +any love for me it was becoming embittered. + +"Have you seen Ruth?" he went on. + +"Yes, I saw her to-day." + +"Father introduced you to her, I suppose?" + +"Yes." + +"And no doubt she was exceedingly anxious to glorify the hero who saved +her." + +"No, I don't think she was, but I did not stay long with her. I fancy +she doesn't like me." + +"No?" he said, questioningly. "I wonder at that, for she seems to like +me a great deal; indeed, we are great friends." + +"I am glad to hear it," I replied, "for somehow I can't be friendly +with strange girls." + +"No," he said, "I don't think you are cut out for a girl's friend, and +you are not the kind of fellow a girl would like." + +There is something in every man's heart which causes him to feel hurt +when he hears another say something about him that he would have no +hesitation in saying about himself. I had said many times that I was +not a lad whom girls liked, and yet when Wilfred said it I was annoyed. + +"After all, it's right," he went on. "It is not fair that you should +have everything and I, nothing. You have the Trewinion name, its +houses, its lands, and its blessings, while I have nothing but my +brains, and people's love." + +"There are curses in connexion with Trewinion's heir as well as +blessings," I said. "I am fettered on every hand." + +"Curses," he sneered; "all old wives' tales. I wonder at you thinking +about them. Were I the eldest son I would throw all that to the wind, +I would see the world; I would enjoy myself, and spend some of the +hoarded gold of generations." + +He looked at me closely as he said this, and I began to feel that +perhaps the old stories were foolishness. All my father had told me +seemed real in the night time, but in daylight it was shadowy and +unreal. + +"Do you know about these stories?" I said. + +"Yes." + +"How?" + +He looked a little confused, and then said, hurriedly: + +"Oh, I have read the history of our house, and have hunted up the +family documents. You see, while you have been climbing the 'Devil's +Tooth' I have been grinding away at the story of the devil's curses. +But, bah, Roger, what are curses to you? Surely, you can laugh at them +all." + +Throughout the conversation I felt that he had some purpose in his +talk. It seemed as though he were sifting me and seeking to read my +thoughts, and so I was silent. + +"Do you know anything about little Ruth's family?" he went on. + +"No," I replied. + +"Her father owned miles of land," he said, "and it is all left to her. +Your estate, Roger, is but a patch on hers. Morton Hall, too, is about +twice as big as this house. Eh, but you were lucky to save her life." + +Looking back after a long lapse of years I feel that this is not the +natural talk of a boy of sixteen, and as I write, I ask myself whether +I have not incorrectly recorded our conversation. It is true I only +write from memory; nevertheless, I think I have faithfully described +what was said. Really, Wilfred was never a true boy. He was always +older than I, though born two years later, and when quite a child he +had an old-fashioned way of speaking. The villagers were in the habit +of saying that Wilfred had the brains of the family, while I had the +heart. Anyhow, he could always outwit me, and if ever we were matched +against each other, I, in the long run, always came off second best. + +A few days later I was able to be out again, and once more lived my +old, free, untrammelled life. My father and I still continued friends +and companions; but Wilfred was little with me. I noticed, however, +that he was always anxious to please me. He ceased to sneer when +speaking of me, and I thought he looked sad and downhearted. This made +me gentle and forbearing towards him; so much so, that I often went out +of my way to help him. + +I often thought of old Deborah Teague's words as to whether he were or +were not my brother; but I could find no answer to my questionings. +That we both had the same father I did not doubt; but was his mother my +mother? Was that tall, stately woman who always treated me so coldly +really and truly my mother? I asked old Deborah again and again, but +my father I dared not ask. + +My mother's demeanour to me was always the same. I never had a +mother's cares, never realised a mother's love, and so I could do no +other than to watch, even as old Deborah told me to watch. + +Ruth Morton and I did not become friendly. Evidently she did not like +me. I noticed that she looked at me furtively, and would never be +alone with me by choice. I could not help feeling that in some way her +mind had been poisoned concerning me, and I was not long in deciding +who was the poisoner. + +It is true that I did not try to win her liking. + +I felt it rather hard that she should treat me so harshly, and so I +never forced my company upon her. + +This state of things existed for nearly two years. Wilfred was +friendly, and, evidently, beloved by her, but I was disliked. Often my +brother took her and my sisters for long walks, but I never did. I was +busy on my father's estate and learning the secrets of agriculture, +while he in the hours not devoted to study would be away with them, and +became, I thought, more than ever a favourite with Ruth and my sisters. + +During these two years I had become quite a man in stature, while +Wilfred had likewise grown to be a tall, handsome fellow. I remember +that all this time my mother encouraged the growing friendship of Ruth +and Wilfred, and seemed delighted when she noticed her evident dislike +for me. + +I was now twenty. Wilfred was more than eighteen, Ruth was sixteen, +and had grown quite a young woman. Katherine, too, who was the same +age, had become a splendid example of a healthy, happy, country girl, +while Elizabeth promised to become the beauty of the family. + +At this time an event happened which made us better friends. + +One afternoon I was sitting on the great headland overlooking the sea. +It was a glorious day. The sky was clear, the sun was shining +brightly, and the bright waves beneath were laughing and playing in the +light of the sun. To me, as I sat there, the great sea was singing a +wondrous song, full of a rich, rare music, which touched the deepest +feelings of my nature. I had not heard much in my life about religion, +and I am afraid I had not thought much about God, but as I sat there +that day, a great rock above me and hundreds of feet of cliff beneath, +while the sea chanted a song which the tones of a thousand organs could +not reproduce, I felt a longing in my heart to serve my Maker and to do +my duty while here below such as I had never felt before. + +While I sat there I heard voices above me. Someone was standing on the +great rock in a crevice of which I sat. + +"Let's ask Roger to go with us?" said a voice. + +I recognised it in a second as my sister Katherine's and I waited for +the answer. + +"No," I heard Wilfred say, "he hates girls; besides, he'll be as ugly +as a bear with a sore head." + +"That's not fair, Wilfred," said Katherine. "Roger does not hate us, +and as for his being ugly, you know he's not." + +"Well, we can't find him, anyhow," said Wilfred, "so let us go." + +I must confess I felt angered by this, for I should have liked to +accompany them. I strove to banish my brother's unkind words from my +mind, however, and again tried to listen to the music of the sea; but +it was all driven from my heart. For I have learnt this is truth: we +must have music within us if we are to realise music in anything +without. + +I could not sit there long. My brother's words began to burn and +sting; I would go for a walk, too. + +I had not gone far when I saw someone running towards me. It was +Wilfred. + +"Help, Roger!" he shouted. + +"What's the matter?" I said. + +"Ruth has fallen down the cliff!" + +"Fallen down the cliff! where?" + +"Up here. Come with me." + +We started running together and quickly came to a place where Elizabeth +was weeping bitterly, while Katherine was descending the steep +declivity as if to try and render help. + +"Where is she?" I said excitedly. "And how did she get where she is?" + +"She wanted a plant," cried Wilfred. "I told her it was not to be +obtained, or I would get it; but she would not listen to me, and said +she would fetch it herself. She went down a little way all right, but +when she reached out her hand for the plant she slipped and fell." + +"Fell! Fell where?" I asked, excitedly. + +"To a ledge a few feet below." + +"Did you see her?" + +"Yes." + +"And did you not try to reach her?" + +"Why, how could I do anything? I could only go for help." + +It is true Wilfred was younger than I, but I thought this conduct +cowardly. He seemed to fear for himself, and dared not risk his own +limbs. Katherine, on the other hand, though but a girl of sixteen, was +trying to rescue her friend. + +I quickly scrambled down the declivity, and was not long in reaching +the point from which Ruth fell. Katherine was here also, but she could +go no farther, for the ledge beneath, although only about eight or nine +feet down, was narrow, and to fall from there meant certain death. The +mystery was how Ruth had fallen on to this ledge, and for a time I was +afraid she had been precipitated on the rugged rocks beneath. I heard +a moan, however, and saw a bit of her white dress, so my mind was +comparatively at ease. + +I sent Katherine back, and told her to run for a rope, as it might be +necessary, and then prepared to reach the narrow rock on which Ruth lay. + +"Keep a good heart, Ruth," I said; "I am coming to help you." + +There was no reply, but I still struggled to get to her. Time after +time I essayed to reach her, and time after time I failed. I climbed +around and around, and from different points tried to get a footing on +the rock where she lay, but in vain. It was isolated, and was at least +nine feet from any point above it, and nearly as many from any standing +place on the same level. + +There was only one way by which she could be reached, and that was by +gaining a rock nearly on the same level, and then leaping over the +chasm that lay between. This I determined to do, for how could I do +less? Ruth was lying like one dead, and if I did not help her who +could? I got on the point after some difficulty, and then found that I +was in nearly as much danger as she. I had jumped down to this jutting +rock, but I could not jump up again; the distance was too great. Could +I get on the rock where she lay there seemed a possibility to get down, +for the cliff looked slanting from that point. + +Beneath me were two hundred feet of rugged cliff, and if I failed to +reach Ruth I should fall from point to point on the rocks beneath and +be killed. + +I took off my coat and prepared to leap. + +At this moment she awoke to consciousness and looked around her, and +seeing her position she gave a scream of affright. + +"Don't move," I said, "I'm going to save you." + +Her eager eyes gave me strength and courage. I disencumbered myself of +everything that would hinder me and placed my feet in the best position +for a leap. + +By this time I began to be excited. The sound of the sea seemed cruel, +while the rocks looked like so many giant gaunt spectres that would +lure me to destruction. There was no time for wild fancyings, however, +so I nerved myself for what lay before me. + +Then I took the leap. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +LINK TO LINK + +I shall never forget the feeling which possessed me when I made this +terrible leap. If my foot should slip, if I should fall short, if I +should fall and be dashed to pieces! It was only a second; but I +seemed to live a whole lifetime in that second. I landed safely, +however, and was soon by Ruth's side. + +To my delight she was scarcely hurt at all, except that she had +received a shock. She was trembling violently, but she was a brave +little thing, and as soon as I came she conquered her weakness. + +"Can we get away from here, Roger?" she said, at length. + +"I think so," I replied. "If we can't get down from here they will get +us a rope, which I will fasten around you, so that you may be easily +drawn up." + +"Oh, I do not think I dare be drawn up," she said, with a shudder. +"Can we not get down? I dare try with you to help me." + +I examined the rocks, and decided to make the attempt. It was a long +and tedious journey, especially as I had to clamber from rock to rock, +and then lift Ruth. We managed it, however, and after a time stood +safely on the hard beach. + +No sooner had we done so than I heard my father's voice above. He had +come with a rope and other means by which we might be helped; but right +glad was he when he saw that we were not needing his help. + +"The tide is out," I shouted in answer to his query as to how we should +get home, "and I shall walk down to Trewinion Cove, and thus escape +climbing any cliffs." + +We started together. + +"This is the second time you have saved my life, Roger," Ruth said. + +"Do you think so?" I answered. "You might have got on all right +without me." + +"I do not think I have been just to you," she went on. + +"How?" I asked, abruptly. + +"Perhaps I ought not to tell you," she said, "but I cannot help it now." + +I asked her to explain. + +"I have sudden likes and dislikes," she said, "and when you saved me in +the storm, and I heard that you were going to be my brother, I was +glad--more glad than I can say. Then when I was getting well your +mother came and told me that you had neither fear nor feelings. That +you had risked your life out of mere love of danger, that you were +cruel and vindictive. That, although you were the heir of the +Trewinions, you were totally unfit for its responsibilities. That your +brother Wilfred was in reality robbed of the position which he alone +was fit to take. That you had ever been cruel to him, that, although +you were superior in strength, you took advantage of his weakness. +Thus, when I saw you, although you had saved my life, I was prepared to +dislike you." + +"And then?" I asked. + +"I thought you verified what your mother had said. You seemed rough +and uncouth, and very different from your brother." + +I suppose most of us like to be thought well of. None of us wish to be +looked upon as objects of repugnance. Anyhow, I was in no pleasant +frame of mind, and I had hard work to keep from bursting out with some +strong invective against my brother, but I held my tongue and waited +for her to continue. + +"Since then," she went on, "I have been finding out my mistake, and I +have wanted to tell you so; but you have always been so cold and +repellent that I dared not. You are rough and stern, Roger, not a bit +like Wilfred." + +I bit my lip angrily. + +"Yes, I know you have saved my life again," she said, as if divining my +thoughts. "I know that Wilfred dared not do what you have done; but +what I meant was that anyone who does not understand you would think +you harsh. Besides, it takes some time to know you." + +"But I always felt friendly towards you, Ruth, even though you seemed +to dislike me." + +"And I shall always be more friendly to you in the future. I want you +to forgive me, Roger. Will you?" + +She looked at me, and her great grey eyes were full of kindness, and +her voice was so gentle that I felt quite uncomfortable. + +"Don't talk about forgiving," I said, rather roughly, I expect, "let us +be good friends." + +She looked very pale as I said this, and then I saw that she was more +shaken and hurt than I had at first thought. She would have fallen, I +believe, had I not upheld her. I led her to a rock, where she sat down +for a rest, and when I had found some fresh water for her, she was +quite refreshed. She took hold of my arm as we walked home, however, +and I felt a strange pleasure in helping her. She had grown just like +one of my sisters to me, and she seemed to regard me as a brother. + +We talked quite pleasantly on our way, until we forgot the great danger +in which we had both been a little while before. I forget just now +what we were talking about; but I know that while we were laughing +heartily at something she had been saying we were startled by a voice +telling us to stop. + +We looked up, and Deborah Teague stood before us. She eyed us keenly, +and when she saw how friendly we were, she said, "Maaster Roger, mind +what ould Debrah said." + +"I always do mind what you say, Deborah," I replied; "you have always +been a friend to me." + +"Maaster Roger," she continued, "ould Debrah hev vollied the fortins of +yer family for years, and she ought to knaw." + +"Well, what's wrong now?" + +"It wur a woman as tempted Adam, it wur a woman as tempted Samson, it +wur a woman as tempted Ahab. Lev Maaster Roger be keerful." + +"I hardly know what you mean," I said, a little astonished at this +strange speech. + +She lifted her skinny hand above her head. + +"Mind," she said, "mind Trewinion's curse! Oh, tes comin', tes comin'. +I see it now. Mind, Maaster Roger, my deer, mind. Doan't 'ee forgit +what ould Debrah tould 'ee on the night of the storm, years agone. +'Twas the mawther that was too cunning for Esau, ah, and ef Maaster +Roger ed'n keerful the mawther'll be too cunnin' for him." + +Try as I would I could not help shuddering at her words, while Ruth +clutched my arm convulsively. + +"Keep boath yer eyes oppen, Maaster Roger, or the curse'll be upon 'ee, +for as sure as ould Debrah spaikes tes comin'." + +She waddled away when she said this, leaving us to wonder at her words. + +What caused her to speak like this? How could she know what she +did?--for her words came true. Did she possess some power to peer into +the future? Were things clear to her vision to which I was blind? Or +was it simply that she was clear headed and clever and her statements +amounted only to a shrewd guess? + +I will not dare to answer. I have seen so many strange things happen, +which I have been unable to explain, that to say she was possessed of a +power that was not natural would be unwise. And yet I have been fed +upon strange mental food, and have been led to believe in things at +which some laugh. + +"What does she mean, Roger?" said Ruth, when she had gone. + +I was silent. + +"Do you think she is a witch?" she continued; "she looks like one." + +"She is a strange old woman," I said, as lightly as I could, for I did +not want Ruth to be made anxious, "and some think she is a witch; but +Mr. Polperrow says she is only a clever old woman who knows more than +the common run of villagers." + +She was about to ask more questions when we saw my father, Wilfred, and +my sisters coming towards us. Both my sisters gave a shout of joy, and +I saw a glad look in my father's eyes. But Wilfred's face was black as +night, and the gleam of a devil flashed in his eyes. He did not speak, +and while the others were anxiously asking questions as to what we did +and how we had managed, Wilfred stood and glared savagely at me. His +eyes became red, and his face like the face of a corpse. + +I asked myself whether my father had accused him of being a coward, or +if my sisters had been foolishly praising me, as they sometimes did, +for neither Katherine nor Elizabeth seemed to realise how rough and +uncouth I was. I noticed, however, that when Ruth began to magnify +what I had done, as in her exaggerated notions of things she did, he +gave a cynical, sarcastic laugh, and walked back to the house alone. + +Did Wilfred care so much about praise, I wondered, or was he bitter +towards me because I was heir to the Trewinion lands? Why else should +he be so unbrotherly to me? + +I do not think my sisters did Ruth any good by talking to her about her +danger, for it brought back to her that faintness which she experienced +upon the sands, so we soon took her indoors, where, being able to rest +in quietness, she recovered. + +I do not think it is my nature to remain unfriendly with any one, so I +made an opportunity of trying to find Wilfred, in order to know what I +had done to offend him. I found, however, that he was with my mother, +and did not wish to be seen. + +Again Deborah Teague's words came back to me. Was Wilfred's mother my +mother? If so, why was it she never allowed me into her private room? +Why were there no confidences between us as there were between her and +my brother? Was she the cause of my brother's anger? + +That evening we all sat together in the library, as we generally did +before going to rest. Ruth still looked pale, and complained of pains. +Evidently her fall had hurt her more than we had thought. My mother +sat near her, and lovingly held her hand, often saying soft loving +words, as though she wanted to be a mother to her. I was glad of this, +for I was sure that Ruth must often feel sad and lonely, and it must +comfort her to know that although she was an orphan she was still +beloved. + +We all joined in conversation, with the exception of Wilfred. He sat +behind his mother, never speaking a word. I forget now what were the +subjects of discussion; it does not matter much. Still I cannot but +wish that some clever painter could have put the gathering on canvas, +for to me it looked beautiful. My father was so stately and grand, +while my mother was, I think, the handsomest woman I ever saw; and +behind her was the clear, Greek-like face of my brother. The three +girls, too, looked the picture of contentment. It was a home scene in +a quiet old house, and worthy of a painter's skill. + +We had been sitting there some little time, when the vicar walked in. +He was always a welcome visitor and I regarded him as a sort of second +father. He joined in our conversation quite naturally, and we soon +became quite merry together. + +Presently there was a lull in our talk, and then Wilfred, without any +warning, broke out excitedly, and in a loud voice, + +"Father, I want to go to Oxford." + +We all looked at him in astonishment. He had been so silent all the +evening that this made us think something was the matter. + +My father eyed him keenly, and then replied quietly. + +"I had arranged for you to go next year, Wilfred." + +"Yes, but I want to go now," he said, excitedly. "I've been home here +long enough; I've wasted enough time." + +"You've not wasted so much time, my boy," said my father, kindly. "Mr. +Polperrow has had you in hand, and has given you a good drilling; +besides, you are only just turned eighteen." + +"I know," he said; "but I am the younger son, and so shall have no +fortune. Thus, I think, I should waste no time in getting an +education. Mr. Polperrow told me, not long since, that he could not do +much more for me, and as I am to be 'penniless Wilfred' I think I might +have a chance to earn my bread." + +"You will not be penniless, Wilfred," said my father. "You will be as +well endowed as most young men, and I have my plans for the future." + +"But I can't stay here longer," he cried. "If I have talents why +should I waste them here? Give me a chance, and then the second son +may turn out to be as good as the elder." + +This was spoken both bitterly and sadly, as if he felt his lot to be +hard. + +"I have come about this very matter," said Mr. Polperrow. "Wilfred has +very great gifts, and the sooner he goes to Oxford the better. I have +some little influence there, and if you thought fit I would make +arrangements at once." + +My mother's eyes fairly shone with joy as he said this, and then she +too joined in the plea that Wilfred should be allowed to leave home so +that his powers might have a fair chance of being tested. + +My father at length gave his consent, and Mr. Polperrow went away with +the commission to procure for Wilfred an entrance into this ancient +seat of learning. + +When we retired to rest I thought long over the events of the day. +What was the meaning of this sudden desire to depart? Was there a +league between the three who had advocated this step? Only a few days +before Wilfred had been speaking of going to Oxford a year later. Why +then this sudden resolution? + +I fell asleep, however, without solving the problem, and as during the +next few days Wilfred wore a grieved expression and seldom spoke to any +one but his mother and Ruth, I was still deeper in mystery. When we +were all together, if he spoke to me, he spoke kindly, but when we were +alone he betrayed a hatred for me that I could not understand. + +A month later my mother was in great sorrow. Wilfred had started for +Oxford. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE WITCHES' CAVE + +As I look back over what I am now about to relate, my mind is strangely +confused with the amount of reality and unreality that appeared. At +one time I am inclined to think it all real, at another I am led to +regard it as pure imagination, or as due to the credulity of a +hot-brained youth. Be that as it may, however, I will try and set down +what I remember as faithfully as I can. + +After Wilfred had gone things were very quiet. My mother seldom spoke +to me, but kept Ruth by her side, until the two became, as it seemed to +me, almost inseparable. Indeed, she took far more notice of Ruth than +she did of her own daughters. As a consequence my sisters and I were +often together, until the villagers came to say that Roger Trewinion +wanted no sweethearts but his sisters. + +On the afternoon of a sultry autumn day, some time after Wilfred had +gone to Oxford, I had to walk past Deborah Teague's cottage, and saw +the old woman sitting on the doorstep quietly smoking. + +"Come ere, Maaster Roger," she said; "I've been waitin' for 'ee a bra +long while." + +I looked at her in astonishment. + +"Iss' my dear, I knawed you was a comin', so I says I'll jist wait for +Maaster Roger." + +"How did you know I was coming?" + +"Knaw!" she replied, "what doan't I knaw? But come in, I want to talk +to 'ee." + +"What about?" + +"Somethin' you're interested in, my deer. Ther set down. Yer brother +es gone away to college edn't a?" + +"Yes, he's gone." + +"Ah, ould Debrah ev for a long time bin thinkin' 'bout it, my dear." + +"About what?" + +"'Twas a hawful storm, Maaster Roger, wadn't it, then? People do say +that ould women ca'ant do nothin', but, law, that storm wur big enough +and bad enough!" + +"Do you mean to say that you caused the storm then?" + +"No, not me, my dear, but I knawed it wur a comin' ded'n I un? And +ded'n I give 'ee warnin', my dear? Ef I dedn't, why she would'n ev bin +livin' now." + +"Deborah," I said, "you are talking in riddles. If you have anything +to tell me, let me know about it." + +"Doan't 'ee be vexed, Maaster Roger. Ould Debrah is yer friend, and do +want for you to be her friend!" + +"But I don't understand all this mysterious talk. You are hinting at +strange things. Let me know about it. Is there witchcraft in the +matter?" + +"Ould Debrah do knaw 'bout Trewinion's curse, doan't she, my deer? How +should she know that except by--well, we wa'ant say what." + +"Yes, you have hinted about it? But what have I to do with it? I have +done nothing that will cause it to rest upon me." + +"But tes comin', Maaster Roger, ef I and some more doan't help 'ee. +Tell 'ee, my dear, things belongin' to the sperrits can onnley be +stopped by they who--well, who have got power in they paarts." + +I was getting interested. + +"Are you a witch, then?" I asked. + +"Can 'ee bear to hear it, Maaster Roger?" she whispered. + +"I can bear anything," I said. + +"Maaster Roger, you've eerd of Farmer Jory?" + +"Yes, often." + +"Ah, ee died a awful death, my deer." + +"So I've heard," I said. "People have told me that his last hours were +terrible; that he seemed like one placed upon a rock. And that +although at one time he was well off, all his cattle died and his +ground refused to grow crops." + +"You've eerd that, av 'ee? Well, now, I tell 'ee summin. My old man +Pitter used to work for'n, my dear, and my maid went there to sarvice. +Pitter and me were 'appy as two turtle doves, my deer, and my maid was +the puttiest in the parish. Well, Farmer Jory was a bad man, my deer. +He ought to ev married my maid, and he ded'n, an' though I went down on +my knees and prayed to 'im to save her frum disgrace, he would'nt, and +so she died heartbroken. By this time Pitter wur nearly a cripple and +couldn't work much, so that we wur nearly starvin'. He had worked for +the Jorys oll his life, and now when they ought to ev 'elped us they +left us to starve. Twa'nt more'n three weeks after we berried the maid +afore Pitter died of starvation and a brokken heart, and I wur left +alone. Oh, Maaster Roger, ef you could ev knawed what I suffered you +would pity me. I wur nearly mad wi' grief and shame, and the day after +my owld man wur berried I wur sittin' in the doorway theer, when Betsey +Tressider comed 'long. I was allays 'fraid of Betsey, cause people +said she wur a witch, and did meet with a lot ov others up in the witch +ov Fraddam's cave. She axed me what I wur grievin' for and I tould +her. Then she laughed and zed I wur a fool not to be revenged on +Farmer Jory, and not to make 'im suffer more'n I'd suffered. I axed +her ow I cud do it, and she tould me to become a witch. Then I axed +her ow I could be a witch, and she tould me to go to Logan Rock nine +times at midnight and tich it wi my little vinger, an' she laughed and +went away. + +"Well, I wur oal alone, and so I thot and thot, and then I went to +Logan Rock and tiched it wance, and I veeled a strange shivery feelin' +and then I did it every night until the ninth night." + +"And what happened then, Deborah?" I asked. + +"I shan't tell 'ee that, my dear, but when I comed 'ome I seed Farmer +Jory, and I looked top un, and I zed--well, never mind what I zed; but +you knaw what happened." + +"But witchcraft is of the devil," I said. + +"Tes and tedn't," she said, mysteriously. "Who can charm as well as +me, and the charms es oal bout goodness. Here, my dear, I'll tell 'ee +some charms, and then you'll knaw ef they be good; but never tell a +man, Maaster Roger, ef you do you'll break em. You knaw that Tommy +Triscott's cheeld came to me t'other day with a scald, and I charmed +un, and the charm is this:-- + + Then came three angels out of the east, + One brought fire, and two brought frost; + Out fire, and in frost + In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost--Amen. + + +"And is Tommy better?" + +"He had aise in three minutes; but he wur cured with a good name. I'll +tell 'ee nother. You do knaw when you wur a cheeld you had a great +thorn in ye arm through fallin' off a hedge, and you comed to me, and I +charmed it and cured 'ee?" + +"Very well." + +"Well, I'll tell 'ee the charm:-- + + Christ was of a Virgin born, + And He was prick'd by a thorn, + And it did never throb nor swell, + And I trust in Jesus this never will. + + Christ was crowned with thorns; + The thorns did bleed but did not rot. + No more shall thy finger, + In the name of Father, Son and Holy Ghost. + + +I could not help a creepy feeling coming over me as she uttered the +words. I remembered her charming the place where the thorn had been +and rubbing some ointment over it, and I also remember how quickly I +had ease. + +"So, my deer," she went on, "tedn't always a bad power that witches +have." + +"Well," I said at length, "have you asked me to come in here in order +that you might tell me this?" + +"Not all, my deer. I've wa'anted to show 'ee as ow I've got power, +Maaster Roger, and that tedn't oal bad. And I want 'ee to harken to me +so that you may not have the Trewinion's curse." + +"Can you stop it?" I asked. + +"I weth others can," she said. + +"But the curse of the Trewinion's will not come upon me," I said, "for +I shall not do anything to incur it." + +"Wa'ant 'ee, but you will, Maaster Roger, and ef you doan't do as I +tell 'ee you'll rue it to yer dyin' day. I see it comin', I see it +comin'," and she lifted her skinny hand above her head. "I zee Maaster +Roger beggard, I zee un starvin', I zee un mad wi' shame, I zee un +ouseless, and omeless, I zee hes brother where he ought to be oal +through Trewinion's curse." + +In spite of myself I felt the old woman to be speaking the truth. + +"But I will abide by everything written for my safety," I said. + +"You ca'ant, you ca'ant," she screamed. + +"Why?" I asked. + +"You were born in a onlucky month, and the onlucky week of the month, +and a onlucky day of the week, and an onlucky time ov the day." + +"Why, when was I born?" + +"You was born at nine o'clock ov a Friday evenin', in the third week in +May," she said. + +"And I can do nothing to avert the curse?" + +"No, but I can." + +"How?" + +"Will 'ee come wi' me to Betsey Fraddam's cave?" + +"When?" + +"To-night." + +"At what time?" + +"Twelve o'clock." + +"No," I said with a shudder. + +She glared at me with her evil eye, then she said slowly: + +"You'll come." + +Betsey Fraddam's cave had an evil reputation. It was the meeting-place +for all the evil women in the neighbourhood. Women who possessed +terrible power. I had been taught to believe in them and to avoid +coming into collision with them. + +"Who'll be there?" I asked. + +"You'll see," she said. + +I went home soon after, pondering over Deborah's words. We retired to +bed early at our house, and by ten o'clock quietness reigned +everywhere. I could not sleep, however. My mind was excited by what +old Deborah had told me, and when eleven o'clock came I had an intense +desire to go to Fraddam's cave. The witch of Fraddam was almost a +household word among the simple people. It was said that she was +constantly raising storms and working mischief, and that if any one saw +her thus engaged, woe be to that one for ever after. From my earliest +childhood I had been frightened with stories of Betsey Fraddam's cave. +It was whispered that the terrible witch herself met the living witches +and goaded them on to terrible deeds. + +Still I wanted to go. In the silence of the night the curse of the +Trewinion's became terrible to me, and I was anxious to know how I +could avert it. Besides, so much had my mind been filled with stories +of the superstitious and wonderful that I felt afraid to disobey the +old woman's summons. It is true I was a young man fairly well +educated, and as a consequence disbelieved many of the stories of a +priest-ridden age. And it may be that as the years roll by future +generations may disbelieve in what we speak of to-day, even as we +disbelieve the stories of the past. Nevertheless, at half-past eleven +I rose and dressed quietly in order to go down to Fraddam's cave. + +I remembered the old vicar's words, however, and said my prayers before +starting, and then hurried down the precipitous pathway to the sand. +The tide was out, and I could hear the sweet murmur of the sea in the +distance. There was no wind, and the pale light of the moon lit up the +scene, which was grand in the extreme. On my right hand behind me, +rose the giant cliffs, rugged and forbidding, on the great headland +stood our house, bluff and bold like an old castle. + +I looked in the direction of the cave of evil repute, but could see +nothing. My heart throbbed wildly. As old Deborah had said, we +Trewinions never feared the living, but we trembled at the thought of +the dead. + +As I drew near Fraddam's cave I saw a twinkling light, and on coming up +to its mouth I saw the bent form of an old woman. + +"Trewinion's heir!" said a voice, and the light was taken into the cave. + +As if drawn on by a charm I entered. It was the first time I had ever +dared to do so. Often had I passed by the cave; but its reputation for +evil was so terrible that I had avoided entering it. I doubt whether +any inhabitant for miles around would ever think of intruding in a +place which, it was believed, belonged to the powers of darkness. + +The cave became larger the farther I penetrated into it, and was lit up +by a ruddy kind of light. I noticed, too, in spite of my fears, that +the main cave led to smaller ones, and that on each side of the +entrance the ground was honeycombed. Presently the light became +brighter, and, turning a sharp angle, I saw a good sized fire, on which +a crock was steaming round about which weird forms sat. The ground was +quite dry and it was evident the tide seldom came so far. As my eyes +became more accustomed to the light, I recognised some of the women who +sat there. Betsey Flue, Mally Udy, and Tory Bone lived within a mile +of Trewinion Manor, and had doubtful reputations. + +None of them looked at me for some time. They were intent on watching +the fire and the steaming crock. The smell from this article was by no +means unpleasant, evidently some savoury meat was being cooked, and I +began to feel the place to be less gruesome than I had at first +anticipated. I noticed, too, that a great many things were stowed away +which could have no connection with the unseen world. Evidently the +cave was used by smugglers as well as witches. + +"Let Debrah Teague spaik," said an aged crone. + +"Maaster Roger do knaw what I main," said Deborah. "There's an awful +curse for the Trewinion 'ouse, and unless Maaster Roger do as we do +tell un he'll ave it." + +Ghastly as was the sight, uncanny as was the place, this speech of the +old woman dispelled much of my fear. The nocturnal gatherings of +witches were in my idea always associated with mysterious incantations. +Although Shakespeare was a forbidden book to us boys, I had read +"Macbeth," and this meeting was altogether dissimilar from the meeting +of witches therein described. In spite of everything, I could not help +thinking these old women were met for some sinister purpose far removed +from the mysteries of witchcraft, so I said boldly: + +"Old Deborah wanted me to come here; I have come. What do you want?" + +"The curse is comin'. We can remove it," said the old woman who went +by the name of Mally Udy. + +"How?" I asked, for the sound of their voices and the sound of my own +made me bolder still. + +"We've worked a charm," said Mally, the oldest woman in the party. "We +stole into Trewinion Church and took some water that the parson had +used fur christenin' his oan grancheeld, an' we've made a broth of it. +We've boiled a piece of lamb in it, with some sycamore leaves and some +hagglet (white thorn) leaves, and we've said nine charms, nine times +aich, and it'll ondo any curse." + +"Where is it?" I said. + +"Here, a boilin' now," was the reply. + +I began to feel fearful again. + +"But Maaster Roger must make a vow afore he drinks," said Mally. + +"What?" I asked. + +"You must say this," she said, shaking her skinny finger. "I, Roger +Trewinion, promise never to hurt the women here to-night, or their +children. I promise it by the sperrits of the place. And I make a vow +that I'll allays protect they and their children as fur as I can." + +There was a cunning look on her face as she spoke. I felt now that +these were evil women, and that I would have nothing to do with them. + +"I refuse to make the promise," I said. + +"You'm afraid, you'm a coward," cried Deborah. + +"No, I'm not afraid, I'm not a coward," I said, "and I'll stop these +proceedings of yours. You have other reasons than witchcraft for +coming here, and I'll know what they are." + +This roused their passion. + +"Evil sperrits shall tear 'ee," they said, "and oal your tribe." + +"You are a set of evil hags," I said, furiously; "and the mysteries of +this cavern shall be brought to light." + +"Stop!" said old Mally Udy, "this broth here was fur yer good. I'll +turn it to something bad and make 'ee drink it. The spirit of Betsey +Fraddam is here, and she'll make a mixture for 'ee." + +I had worked myself up into a passion and I kicked the crock and +overturned it. + +Never shall I forget the terrible words they said to me, or the curses +they called upon me. They cursed me in body and mind, they cursed me +in love and hate, in living and dying. + +What was it, I wonder? Meaningless jargon, or not? When my story is +told you will be able to judge better. + +I went out of the cave in fear, and when outside I fancied I saw the +terrible form of Betsey Fraddam. Then I went back to my home trembling. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE BEGINNING OF THE END + + O beware of my lord of jealousy; + It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock + The meat it feeds on: that cuckold lives on bliss + Who, certain of his fate, love not its wronger. + But O, what damned minutes tells he o'er + Who dotes yet doubts; suspects yet fondly loves. + --_Othello._ + + +Alone in my room that night I began to think again. I had hurried back +from the cave with fearful speed, never daring to stop or think. Now I +could do both, and for hours I tried to solve the problem before me. +What was the meaning of this night's adventure? Had these women the +power to rid me of a terrible calamity, or were they seeking simply the +protection I should be able to afford in the future years? They were +all in bad repute, and ofttimes the anger of the people was aroused +against them, thus if they could gain my friendship they would be +comparatively safe. Did they seek to frighten me into a promise, or +was there some dread meaning in their words? + +These questions drove me to pray, or rather, to say my prayers. I did +not, could not, really pray. To me there was no real God. All was as +misty and unreal as the mythical stories I had read about the fabled +Greek gods. For hours I sought light, and help, and strength; but none +came, and when daylight came I was still in doubt. + +The next day I passed by old Deborah's cottage. I thought she might +have something to say to me, but when she saw me she, bent her head and +would not answer to my "good-day." Try as I would I could not help +feeling that she had ill-will against me, and would lose no opportunity +to do me an injury. Once I thought of speaking to my father about it; +but I dared not tell him that I had been to Fraddam's cave at midnight; +that act was in itself enough to bring darkness to my future, if there +were any truth in the stories which floated in the very atmosphere of +my life. + +Days lengthened into weeks, and weeks into months, and nothing +happened. Old Mally Udy passed and re-passed me, but she gave no sign +of our midnight encounter. She dropped her usual curtsey of respect +when she saw me. Thus it was that the awe of the night in Fraddam's +cave died out. I gave up seriously thinking about it, and as the +affairs of the Trewinion estate began to rest on me my mind was fully +occupied. + +During the months that followed, I believe I was moody and taciturn. +At any rate, my sisters did not find so much pleasure in being with me +as formerly, while Ruth was still my mother's companion. She was +always kind to me, and seemed glad if she were able to do little +sisterly acts, but we were never alone together, and never were there +any confidences between us. + +On my twenty-first birthday there were great festivities at our house. +All the tenant farmers, their wives, and their children, together with +the cottagers and labourers on the estate, were invited. These, with +the neighbouring gentry, made a gay scene. There was one vacant place, +however, which largely spoiled the enjoyment of the day. This was my +brother Wilfred's. He had been pressed to return home, but had refused +to do so, even for the celebration of my coming of age. Indeed, he +intimated that he did not wish to do so until his three years of +college life should come to an end. + +My father was annoyed at this; but my mother said not a word. It +seemed to me that she had expected things to turn out so, and was not +at all surprised. Her behaviour to me after my birthday was more cold +than ever. She took no pains to make herself friendly towards me, yet, +unless Deborah Teague were right, she was my mother. + +The months slipped rapidly by, until three years had elapsed since +Wilfred had gone to Oxford, and now he was daily expected to return. + +During that time none of us had seen him except my father and mother, +who had travelled to Oxford specially for that purpose. My two sisters +often speculated what he would be like, how he would act, while Ruth, +too, seemed to look forward with great pleasure to his return. + +Ruth had grown to be a beautiful woman. She was by no means tall or +stately, but she was as fair as a spring morning, and lovely beyond +compare. Great pains had been taken with her education, and this, +added to her personal charms, caused her to be envied for miles around +by girls of her own age. + +Her old friend Mr. Inch had remained at our house all this time, and +tried to gratify her every wish. He was friendly with Wilfred, and I +found out that they corresponded regularly. With me, however, he was +not nearly so friendly. He was always polite, almost painfully so; but +he never looked me straight in the face, and often, I thought, regarded +me with dislike. I explained this, partly by the fact of my uncouth +ways, and partly by his intimacy with my mother, who regarded him with +great favour. + +At length the day arrived when Wilfred came back. I shall never forget +it, for it began a new era in my existence. I awoke on the morning of +that day bright and cheerful, with not a cloud that was worth the +mentioning upon the sky of my life. When I retired to rest all was +changed. I awoke a boy, I went to sleep a man. But for that day these +confessions would never have been written; the events I shall relate +would never have come to pass. Even now, as I look back, my heart +beats more rapidly at the thought of it, and a strange feeling +possesses me, which reminds me of what I felt then. + +I remember how anxiously I saw the horses being attached to the old +family carriage, and with what joy I saw my father and mother driven +away to meet the coach by which Wilfred was to come. I longed, as much +as any of them, to see him, although I said but little about it, for, +in spite of his apparent dislike of me, he was still my brother, and I +loved him very much. + +We all stood at the old hall door as the carriage drove up, and watched +my father alight. Then another form stepped on the hard gravel, and +carefully assisted my mother. + +I should scarcely have recognised him as my brother. He had gone away +but little more than a boy, he had returned a handsome, cultured man. +He was not big and clumsy like myself, but tall and lithe, and yet +exceedingly muscular. There was grace in his every movement, while +refinement was stamped upon his handsome face. I could not help +feeling the contrast between us. I was a great boorish country clown, +he was as handsome as a Greek god. Surely, too, there was a look of +malicious satisfaction on my mother's face as she saw the difference +between us. He seemed to change the very atmosphere of the house. +Everything had a new meaning when associated with him. My sisters +looked at him with admiration, while Ruth was evidently fascinated by +the charm of his presence. + +In his boyish days he had often seemed sulky, but that was all gone. +His demeanour towards my father was at once respectful and +affectionate, to his mother he was kind and loving, to the girls he was +gallant and considerate, while to me I thought he extended an air of +patronage. + +The old Wilfred had gone, and a new Wilfred had taken his place; a +Wilfred who was brilliant, gallant, scholarly. + +I remember that we dined early that day, and after dinner I went out +alone, as I often did, and sat upon the great headland which stood out +against the sea. I remained there some time thinking, and wondered +what kind of a life we should lead now that Wilfred had come back. I +felt in some way that I had no right to my father's estate; I was not +fit for it, and that I lived there on my brother's bounty. + +These thoughts were disturbed by the sound of voices, and looking up I +saw a sight that caused my brain to whirl and my heart to throb +violently. + +Wilfred and Ruth were walking arm-in-arm, and he was looking at her at +once tenderly and with an air of proprietorship. Then I knew what I +did not know before, then I realised what nearly drove me mad. I loved +Ruth Morton with all the strength of my being, while she, I could tell +from the tender confiding look on her face, was in love with my brother +Wilfred. + +I staggered to my feet, scarcely knowing what I was doing, and stared +them in the face foolishly. + +"Ah, Roger," said Wilfred, lightly, "enjoying yourself in the old way? +All play and no work. Happy fellow, you, Roger; but then, some people +are born lucky." + +I felt myself treated as a child. There was a jeering look upon his +face as he spoke, and his tone was that of a man speaking to another of +inferior intellect. + +I did not answer his sally. I only felt desirous of joining in their +walk, of having a chance, no less than he, of speaking to Ruth; so I +stammered out: + +"You are going for a walk; let me go with you." + +He did not hesitate a minute before replying, and in the same tone as +he spoke before. + +"You won't mind, I'm sure, Roger, when I tell you that we prefer taking +this walk alone. We haven't met for three years, and have so much to +say to each other." + +Again I was treated as a child, and I became angry. I was about to say +something very foolish, but before I could utter the words they were +gone, and I heard Wilfred laugh a low, jibing kind of laugh. + +I think I was mad during the remainder of that afternoon. My brain was +on fire, and everything seemed to whirl around me. My love was no +sooner known to myself than the object of it was snatched from me by +another, and that other my other brother. + +I tried to convince myself that he was more worthy than I. I told +myself that I was a country bumpkin, an ignorant clown, and unworthy to +aspire to a maiden like Ruth Morton. That I was under a curse, that I +dared not leave the Trewinion lands for six months at a time, and that +it was better she should love Wilfred. This however, did not satisfy +me. Try as I would to stifle it, I could not help thinking I had more +claims to her love than he. What had he done for her? Nothing! I, on +the other hand, had twice risked my life for hers. But for me she +would have died, and yet she had bestowed her love on another. Had +she? I was not sure, and yet there could be little or no doubt about +it. Wilfred was capable of winning any woman's affection, and I felt +certain she would not resist his wishes. The very first day of his +return they had gone away together, and no doubt he would impress her +with his cleverness and greatness. + +I would know the truth and that soon. Such was my determination. I +would ask her to walk alone with me as she had done with Wilfred, and +then I would find out. + +I cannot describe my new found love, or, rather, the knowledge of the +love I had felt for years. It was so strange, so great. I had from +the first taken a special interest in Ruth; from the first I had +regarded her as a very dear sister. Now she was a thousand times more +than a sister. Nothing was too good for her. My one great thought was +to give Ruth happiness and joy. Why, then, did I not without a murmur +sacrifice her to Wilfred. Surely he could give her more happiness and +joy than I? Strange as it may seem, I felt that he could not. I +shuddered at the thought of her belonging to him in any way, and I +ground my teeth at the thought of their being together. + +Perhaps this was because of my jealousy. Nevertheless, I am sure that +rough, uncouth, ay, half savage as I was, I would willingly have laid +down my life to save her from pain. + +I had no chance to speak to her that day, nor the next, nor indeed for +many days. When my chance came, something stepped in between us. +Either Wilfred was with Ruth, or my mother claimed the girl as her +companion. I need not say that this maddened me more than ever and +made me act in anything but a creditable way. I would leave the merry +family party and go down to the village to talk with the fishermen. I +would seek to forget my own sorrows by laughing at their jokes, or +entering into their lives. Again, I would indulge in long, lonely +walks, or go away fishing alone. I knew I was fighting against my own +interests by doing this. I knew I was allowing my brother to use every +fascinating art in his power. + +At length, my time came. We had all been out in the harvest fields +together, watching the reapers cut the golden wheat and gather it into +sheaves. + +Surely the earth has few fairer sights than this! I have travelled +over a great deal of the globe, but I have seen nothing fairer than our +old Trewinion fields at harvest time. Especially was this so beneath +the light of the harvest moon. I shall never forget it. As twilight +faded, a thin mist rose from the earth, which, as the pale moon's rays +shone through it, looked strangely beautiful. The corn moughs +(stacks), too, looked weird and ghastly in the dim light, while the +silver sea in the distance made a low, delicious music as it gently +rippled on the shore. + +In the distance I could hear the men and women singing on their +homeward way some plaintive Cornish songs, which to me blended sweetly +with the low sighing of the wind. + +Ruth and I had by some means became separated from the rest, and my +heart fluttered rapidly, for I had determined to find out if she loved +my brother Wilfred. It has never been my way to lead up slowly to a +subject. What I have to say I must blurt out at once, ofttimes in a +way that gives pain to those to whom I speak. + +"Ruth," I said, "I have long wished to tell you something." + +"Have you, Roger?" she said, cheerfully "then tell me at once, for you +have made me curious. What can you wish to say to me?" + +There was no hesitation, no trembling in her voice. + +She spoke as naturally as my own sisters might have spoken. + +"Let us go home by Pentvargle Cove," I said, "and turn in at +Honeysuckle-lane." + +"Very well," she said, gaily; "and you'll pluck some of the honeysuckle +for me, won't you? I can smell it from here; how delicious it is. +Wouldn't Wilfred enjoy this?" + +She was thinking of Wilfred even now, when she was alone with me, and I +was about to burst out with an angry remark about my brother when I +looked down into her face. + +To me it seemed like the face of an angel. Her large, lustrous grey +eyes had a far-away look in them, and an expression of sweet, placid +contentment rested on every feature. Never have I seen a face so +sweet, so beautiful. Tenderness, truth, purity were there, mingled +with courage, sacrifice, daring. It was a face never to be forgotten +when once seen. Never did I love her as I did then, and I could not +say angry words about my brother. + +I have said I was clumsy in my mode of expression. I could say nothing +as it should be said; and now, when I felt I ought to be more than +usually careful, I was more than ever confused. + +"Come Roger," she said, "what is it you want to tell me?" + +"I want to know, Ruth," I said, my voice trembling, "why you shun me, +dislike me, hate me so?" + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +OMENS OF DARKNESS + + Look here upon this picture, and on this; + The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. + See what grace was seated on his brow; + Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself. + An eye like Mars to threaten or command. + --_Hamlet_, Act III, Scene 3. + + +She looked up as if surprised at my question. + +"Hate you, shun you, Roger," she repeated. "Whatever led you to ask +such a question?" + +"How can I help asking it," I said, "when it is true? You never have a +word for me now. Your every thought is given to my brother. I suppose +it is because Roger is a boor, Roger is a clown, Roger is ugly." + +"What can possess you to speak in such a way?" she said. + +I knew I had spoken foolishly; but I could not help it. I was mad with +rage and jealousy. Having once begun to speak, all judgment and +discretion were gone. I was determined to know my fate, determined to +know if she loved my brother Wilfred. + +"Possess me!" I answered. "Well, I hardly know; but this I know. Ever +since my prig of a brother has come home from Oxford with his affected +smile and flattering ways, Ruth has had no ears or eyes for any one +else." + +"Still I fail to understand you," she said. + +"I do not doubt," I replied, savagely, "that I am too ignorant a clown +to make my meaning clear. Were Wilfred speaking, you would understand +him. He would put his thoughts in such poetic language, and speak in +such cooing tones, that little Ruth would be made to think as he +thought, and feel as he felt; but I--I am nobody." + +"Roger," she said, "you are not kind, you are not speaking like my big +brother." + +"No, I cannot," I said, "I do not feel that I am your brother. What +kind feeling have you towards me? Not a jot. It is Wilfred, Wilfred, +ever Wilfred." + +She walked on by my side in silence, I feeling that I had been a brute, +a savage. What right had I to speak so roughly, and thus to annoy her? +I looked down at her face, and I saw that her eyes were filled with +tears and her lips trembled. For a moment my jealousy and anger were +gone. + +"Forgive me, sister Ruth," I said, "I ought not to speak so. Try and +forget what I have said. See, we are in Honeysuckle-lane, and here is +some." + +I picked a sprig of honeysuckle as I spoke and gave it to her, which +she received kindly. This emboldened me. Perhaps after all I was not +so hateful to her. + +I have not a very poetical nature; but I think the scene by which we +were surrounded aroused what little I had. The birds were finding +their way to the hedgerows to seek rest for the night, ever and anon +giving a faint chirp of content. The beetles went humming heedlessly +by, the bees laden with honey returned to their hives, and all nature +seemed to be at peace. The honeysuckle and the hedge flowers that grew +in wild confusion perfumed the lane in which we walked; the nuts hung +in thick clusters on the fences, blackberries everywhere abounded. One +by one the stars came out of their obscurity until the heavens became +glorious; and as we walked on, the evening became more still. The +harvesters reached their homes, and we no longer heard the sound of +their voices. The night wind served only to make delicious music as it +played with the leaves on the trees and hedges or coquetted with the +golden corn. Now and then we could hear the sea murmur its old, old +song. To me it told of peace, and calm, and beauty. + +And I was alone with the maiden whom I loved more dearly than my life. + +I said that her kindness emboldened me, so with great trembling hands I +took her bonnet from her head and wove a piece of honeysuckle amid her +nut-brown hair. + +Beautiful, beautiful Ruth! Yes, after the long stretch of weary years +I still call her so; but that night she was to me more than beautiful, +she was like an angel. I was young and unsophisticated, and--and I did +not know what was coming. + +For fully five minutes we did not speak. Slowly we walked side by side +in the calm still eventide, until we emerged from the lane, and went +towards Pentvargle Cove. Then the sight of the rugged cliffs seemed to +alter my feelings, and the old jealous passion returned. I could see +the five great prongs of the "Devil's Tooth" towering into the sky, and +I could not help thinking of the time, years ago, when I had scaled its +slippery precipitous sides to save the girl at my side. Again the old +desire to know the worst came back to me. Did Ruth love my brother +Wilfred? + +"Do you see the 'Devil's Tooth' yonder, Ruth?" I said. + +"Yes," she said, "how calm the sea is now. How different from when I +saw it first. Then--but I cannot bear to think about it, can you?" and +she shuddered as she spoke. + +"Oh, yes," I said. "I like to think about it. Why, Ruth, I was able +to save you, you know." + +She was silent, and again a bitter feeling crept into my heart. + +"Don't you wish it had been Wilfred who saved you, instead of Roger?" I +asked, a little bitterly. + +"Why?" she said, quickly. + +"Because you seem to think so much more about him. You like to be in +his company, and you treasure every word that he says." + +I thought she looked confused, as she said hurriedly, "Why should I +not?" + +At this answer I was as much the slave to my mad feelings as when we +had commenced our walk. It was bitter hard for me. There, in sight of +the very place where I had saved her, she admitted her preference for +him who had done nothing for her. + +"Why should you not?" I answered, boisterously, "why not indeed. There +is every reason why you should. No doubt you wish Wilfred were the +elder son and I the younger. No doubt you wish he were Trewinion's +heir, and that I were penniless." + +"No, Roger," she said, "were you penniless, and were your father to +die, you would have no means of obtaining a livelihood. It is best as +it is." + +Blunt and dull of perception as I was I could not help seeing the +purport of this. She thought me too much of a fool to earn a living; +that it was only by the money which I inherited as a birthright I was +saved from starving. + +"I see the point of your answer, Ruth," I said. "You think Wilfred far +more fit for the position of Trewinion's heir than I, and that I am too +ignorant a clown to get a living for myself." + +"I cannot help what conclusions you draw from my words, Roger," she +replied. + +"There is only one conclusion to be drawn," I answered. "You think +Wilfred better than I. You think he should be master, and not I. You +think I am a brute, a savage." + +"I think no such thing," she replied, "but you must yourself feel the +difference between you and him. He is kind, thoughtful, gentle; he is +cultured and refined. He gives way to no fits of passion, nor does he +seek to hurt one's feelings." + +"Yes, yes," I said, bitterly. "He has been to Oxford, and has learnt +tricks dear to a woman's heart, and, having learnt them, he knows how +to practise them. He can quote poetry, and make soft speeches; he can +please you with flattery. His face is pale and interesting, his hands +are soft and white; and Ruth is very fond of him." + +"You are unkind, and you are unjust, Roger. If he has been fonder of +study than you, and if he has learnt to govern his temper, don't be +jealous or cruel. Better try and emulate him. You call yourself +boorish and clownish. Try and improve yourself; and then, perhaps, you +will not feel so much inferior to your brother." + +As I have said before, no one cares to hear another say what in +self-disparaging moments he often says about himself. A dozen times in +the last fortnight had I spoken of myself as inferior to my brother, +but for another to say it was wormwood and gall to me. + +"Copy my brother!" I said, savagely. "Be a soft-fingered coward like +him! To be afraid of my own shadow like him! Copy him! Why he is but +a mere woman disgracing the clothes he wears. Had I been a puny thing +like him I should have ran away just as he did, and left you to die on +yon rocks. And yet you talk of my copying him. Why, he's just a +soft-muscled contemptible coward." + +"I scarcely know which I like less," she cried, "a coward--although I +don't admit that your brother is one--or one who boasts of his own +bravery and taunts you with his own kind deeds. Roger, do you think +because you cannot appreciate your brother's nobleness that it does not +exist?" + +This silenced me. I had been answered. She had championed my brother. +She had declared in so many words that she preferred him to me. She +regarded what I had done for her as nothing. + +I found then that my passion had been inflamed by hope, that my +jealousy was due to this reason. No sooner did Ruth speak in the way I +have described than a dull despair laid hold of my heart, and I was +dumb. I could see now that she loved Wilfred, and that she saw +nobility in him, which, in her opinion my nature was too poor to see, +that the fact of my having saved her life was to her little more than +the action of an animal, who acted instinctively without a thought of +danger. Well, on the whole I was glad to know the worst. I knew how +to act now, I was not upheld by any false hope. + +"I am glad you have told me this, Ruth," I said quietly. "It is best +that I should know. I am afraid I have behaved very rudely! forgive me +and you shall have no reason to complain again." + +She clutched my arm tightly, and seemed about to protest, but I did not +allow her to speak. + +"It was mean and unmanly of me to say what I have," I said, "but I was +excited and almost beside myself; let us walk more rapidly towards +home." + +At this Ruth looked at my face as if in surprise, and began to speak. + +"I hope I have not hurt your feelings, Roger, but I--that is----" + +"Pray, don't distress yourself, Ruth," I said. "It is well you have +spoken and let me see the truth. Perchance I shall be thankful some +day that you have spoken. Look, what's that?" + +I pointed towards the "Devil's Tooth," which we could still see rising +clearly against the sky. On its very summit was a small flickering +light, and in my fancy I saw a dark form moving among its rugged peaks. + +"It's a light," said Ruth, as if glad to change the subject; "what can +it mean?" + +"It means death," I said. + +"Death! I don't understand, Roger." + +"Whenever any one sees a light on the 'Devil's Tooth' it means death to +some one belonging to the man or woman who first saw it," I replied +with a shudder. + +"But that's only a superstition," replied Ruth, "surely you will pay no +attention to such stories." + +I knew it was only a superstition; but such is the power of education +and association that I could do no other than believe the warning to be +real. Why should it come just now when I was so little able to bear +it? Why should a darker cloud blacken my sky than was already there? + +I looked again. The light was gone, but surely I saw even in the pale +moonlight a dark moving figure. Try as I would to banish the feeling I +could not help fearing that a dread calamity was about to fall on me. +I felt ill able to bear it. I had been stunned by the fact of Ruth's +love for Wilfred and her dislike for me. It is true she had not told +me in as many words that she disliked me, or that she loved Wilfred +better, but I was convinced that she thought him more noble and true, +and that there was no hope of her ever coming to love me. + +It was quite dark now, and we were away from the soothing influences of +the green honeysuckle lane and the rustling of the ripe corn. We were +walking on the top of the cliff and could see the misty outline of the +coast. We walked slowly on for some distance, and then we both +stopped, trying to see if the dark form were a reality or only a fancy. +Scarcely had we done so when I felt my arm touched. + +"What be 'ee lookin' for, Maaster Roger, my dear?" said a +half-wheedling, half-mocking voice. + +I turned and saw Deborah Teague. + +I must confess that seeing her there alone made me feel strangely. She +had not spoken to me since the night when we met in the cave of evil +repute. Whenever we did chance to meet she looked steadily on the +ground, never answering any words I might address to her. I did not +wonder at this, for I fancied she had some ill-will towards me for not +complying with her wishes, but I did wonder at her coming now and +speaking to me in this familiar way. Nevertheless, I answered quietly: + +"I thought I saw some one on the 'Devil's Tooth,' but I'm not sure." + +"Ded 'ee zee a light jist now?" she continued. + +"Yes, I did," I replied. + +"Do 'ee knaw who made the light?" + +"No," I replied. "I have been wondering what it meant." + +"Iss, and you've bin tellin' Miss Ruth 'bout it, aint 'ee, Maaster +Roger? I'll tell 'ee what you've zid (seen). You've zid Betsey +Fraddam, my dear, and you do knaw what that do main." + +"I know what foolish people say it means," I replied, "but I do not +know what it really means." + +"Do'ant 'ee? But you will. 'Tis nearly come, Maaster Roger. You +defied and got vexed with they who would kip this from comin'; but 'tis +comin' now!" + +"What's coming now?" + +"Trewinion's curse," she screamed. + +"You hag," I cried, aroused into a passion. "You have ill-wished me." + +"Ill-wished 'ee? No, I ain't, and that you do knaw. We can't ill-wish +a eldest son; but the curse es comin', and that we could have kipt off." + +"See there, see there!" she continued, pointing towards the great +forbidding-looking rock, "do 'ee zee the light? I can!" + +Again I saw the flickering light on the rock between the great prongs, +and my flesh crept with fear. + +"Ted'n too late, is it?" she said. "Come to th' ould plaace to-night +at the same time, and we may do summin." + +"Do you think I'm a fool?" I said. "You cannot gull me with your +stories, for I know your tricks." + +She laughed in my face, revealing gums that were toothless save for one +yellow fang that rested on her lower lip. + +"Oa, I remember it, Maaster Roger," she said. "Ould Debrah do knaw the +curse. La me zee, how do it go?-- + + His power be given to another, + And he be crushed by younger brother, + Then his son, though born the first, + By the people shall be cursed; + And for generations three + Trewinion's heirs shall cursed be! + + +The old woman recited these lines glibly, as though they had been often +on her lips, and she chuckled as she repeated them. + +"Go home," I said, angrily, "and trouble me no longer with your ugly +face." + +"Iss! Iss! I'll go," she screamed; "but there'll be black days for +you. Ah, yer brother'll be wise if you be'ant. Ah, a Trewinion +disgraced, starvin', ruined!" + +I turned savagely towards her, but old as she was she nimbly stepped +out of my way, and pointed to the five-pronged rock. + +"The light es gone, and Maaster Roger's hope es gone, unless he do come +to Betsy Fraddam's cave at midnight, and there 'ee'll zee strange +things." + +"You'll suffer for this, Deborah," I said, almost beside myself. + +"Zee where you're standin'," she screamed, "and think of what you zeed +three years agone, when you went to see the passen." + +I looked, and, to my horror, I remembered that long years before I had +on this very spot seen a figure in white, which had disappeared on the +edge of the cliff. + +I was so astonished that for a minute I did not move, and when I +recovered my senses Deborah had gone, although I thought I heard her +croaking, mocking laugh a little distance away. + +"The old woman is mad, Roger," said Ruth; "let us go home quickly." + +I was nothing loth. I hurried on as though the furies were behind me, +while Ruth was evidently as anxious as I to get indoors. + +We had entered the old postern door, and were walking up the drive +leading to the house, when a servant met me. + +"Mr. Roger," he said, anxiously, "you must please come in at once." + +"Why, is anything the matter?" + +"Yes, your father has fallen off his horse and is badly hurt." + +A great dread laid hold of me, but I hurried towards his room. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE GATHERING DARKNESS + +As I made my way along the dim corridors, fear gripped me. The weird +form I had seen between the prongs of the "Devil's Tooth" had told me +of darkness to come. This accident to my father was the fulfilment of +the omen. Arrived at the door of my father's bedroom I heard muffled +voices within; but no sooner was my arrival known than I was +immediately admitted. I found my father propped up in the bed by +pillows. There was a ghastly cut upon his face, and his hair was +clotted with blood. Evidently, too, he was suffering great pain, and +he breathed with difficulty. + +No sooner did he see me than he beckoned me to approach. Although I +did not notice them at the time, I found out afterwards that my mother +was there, and Mr. Polperrow, the vicar, together with Mr. Inch and the +family doctor. + +"Roger!" said my father, hoarsely. + +"Yes, father," I said, coming up and kneeling by his bedside. + +My presence seemed to soothe him, for he gave evidence of less +suffering, and a look of peace stole over his face. + +He laid his right hand upon my head fondly. "My eldest-born boy," he +said, slowly, "my big-hearted son. I am going to die, Roger," he said. + +"No, father, no!" + +"Yes, Roger, 'twill soon be over. Only a few hours at most. I have +met with an accident, my boy. I was riding from Truro, and got near +home, when three men, who had been drinking hard at the tavern near by, +came out from the hedgeside and frightened Bess; she is a very flighty +mare, you know. She gave a side leap and threw me. My foot caught in +the stirrup, and I was dragged along the road until I fancy the mare +trod on me." + +He said this quite calmly, as though it were a matter of everyday +occurrence. As for me, I could not speak, my heart was nearly bursting +with pain. + +"I want to say a few more things to you before I die, my own boy," he +continued, slowly. + +"Say what you will, father, but don't talk of dying. Surely, surely, +the doctor here can make you well again." + +"No, no, Roger, no doctor can cure me," and he looked wistfully into +the doctor's face, who shook his head sadly. Then I felt sure that my +father's words would come true; that soon I should lose him. + +The doctor felt his pulse; then said that what my father wished to tell +me must be told quickly. + +"Yes, yes," said my father. "You, Roger, are my first-born, my own +boy," and again he lingered lovingly over the words. + +"Your own boy," I repeated, proudly. + +"You are Trewinion's heir," he continued, "the master of all the +Trewinion lands. You remember what I told you years ago, my boy?" + +"Yes, father." + +"Ever remember them, Roger. Be careful." + +"I will, father." + +"There were other things in connexion with the history of our people +that I meant to tell you, but I kept putting it off, and now it's too +late; but perhaps it's as well as it is. You will find them out in +time. God grant you may be prepared. What I want to say now refers to +Wilfred, and to Ruth Morton." + +I scarcely breathed. I thought I should hear something that would make +clear my future relation to Ruth, and would clear up the mystery that I +felt existed in regard to my brother and myself. + +"Wilfred----" he hesitated a moment, and then his eyes sought my +mother's. Instantly she came to his side, and looked at him strangely. +He heaved a sigh, and continued: + +"Wilfred is younger than you, and does not by law inherit any of the +Trewinion lands. I have left him money, however, and given him a good +education, still----" + +"What, dear father?" + +"I fancy he thinks himself hardly treated. If you like, Roger, you +might grant him an annuity," and he named a sum. + +"God is my witness, father, that I'll be true to your wishes; if I can, +I'll give him more." + +"That's my own boy, Roger. He will not need it; but it's perhaps best." + +I looked at my mother as he said this. There was a terrible look on +her face. I cannot describe it. Mockery, disdain, anger, despair, +vindictiveness were all stamped there, but I heeded little; I was too +intent on catching my father's every word. + +"With regard to the girls, Roger, they will live on with you. I have +left them a farm each--bought with the money saved through the years. +The rents of these farms have been, and are, accumulating. It's all +written down, and, when the lawyer comes, you can go into everything. +These farms, and the money received from them, will be their wedding +portion if they marry; if they don't they will never be in want." + +I could only say, "Yes, father." + +"If it's God's will," he went on, "Wilfred will succeed Mr. Polperrow +and have the Trewinion living, unless anything happens to you, +then--then he will be Trewinion's heir." + +Involuntarily I again looked at my mother's face. There was exulting +triumph on it, mingled with a look of terrible hatred. I did not know +what it meant, nor could I conjecture. + +"But I hope there's no danger of that," he continued. "You are my +eldest born, my own boy." + +How fondly he repeated these words, and how proud I felt, in spite of +my grief, as I heard him speak them; and so I again repeated: + +"I'm your own boy." + +"There's just one other matter I'm going to speak to you about," he +said, after a pause. "I ought to have spoken to you about it before; +but I thought there was plenty of time. Mr. Inch, will you come near?" + +The old man came up with a stately step. He had always been treated +with great respect in our house, especially as he was Ruth's valued +friend, and had much to do with the managing of Ruth's estate. + +"You remember," went on my father, and I noticed that he spoke with +more difficulty, "the night you saved Ruth?" + +"Yes, father." + +"I had been in communication with her father prior to that; indeed, as +you know, we had been friends for years." + +He turned to Mr. Inch when he said this, and went on: + +"You know Mr. Morton's wish with regard to Ruth, Mr. Inch; he told you +before he died all about it?" + +"Yes," said Mr. Inch, "and it was mentioned in his will." + +I looked again at my mother. There was a stony look upon her face. It +was ghastly to see. + +"Yes, to be sure," said my father, "it was mentioned in the will. What +was his lifelong wish, Roger, was also mine. His desire and mine was, +and is, that our families should be united, that you should wed Ruth." + +In spite of the tragic circumstances, my heart gave a wild leap for +joy! Ruth, my darling, my life, would be mine! It was her father's +wish, and she, I was sure, would be faithful to his least desire. I +could bear anything now! + +"Will you do this, Roger?" + +"Gladly, if Ruth will, father," I said huskily. + +"Forgive me for interposing," said Mr. Inch, "but you have not exactly +stated the true conditions of Mr. Morton's will." + +"In what way?" asked my father. + +"What Mr. Morton stated in his will was that he desired his daughter +Ruth to marry the heir of the Trewinion estate, so that not only might +the families be united, but the estates also be joined." + +"Well, is not Roger the heir of the Trewinion lands?" + +"Yes, but you mentioned just now the possibility of anything happening +to your elder son, then, of course, your second son would take his +place." + +"Yes, yes. Of course, of course," said my father, wearily. + +"Does Ruth know about her father's wish?" I asked. + +"No, not yet," replied Mr. Inch, "he thought it best that it should be +kept from her until she reached her twenty-first birthday, unless +necessity arose for her being told. No such necessity has arisen, and +hence she remains in ignorance of the arrangement that was made between +her father and Mr. Trewinion." + +"Everything else I have stated in my will," said my father, "and all +things are arranged in due form. Roger, my boy, you will try and be +true to the Trewinion's name?" + +"God helping me, I will," I said, "but, father, have you anything to +say about my mother?" + +"Your mother!" he repeated, vacantly. "Ah, yes, of course, she will +live on here--unless--but that is all arranged. You need not worry +about her." + +Inexperienced as I was, I could not help thinking that this was +strange. Why should my mother's welfare be dismissed in such a +careless way? I could not understand matters. Perhaps, however, +everything was privately arranged, and my father did not care to speak +before those who were outside our family circle. + +I looked at my mother again, but this time her face told no story. +Evidently, I was to know nothing about her future, at any rate, for the +present. + +After this my father grew weaker rapidly, and although he suffered but +little pain we knew that his life was fast ebbing away. + +What I felt as I sat and watched I cannot describe, for he desired me +to remain to the end. Nor will I try and write about the farewell +between him and Wilfred, and my sisters, and Ruth. Such scenes are not +to be written about; they cannot be. Even now that solemn hour comes +back to me, and I try to realise, as I tried to realise then, that my +father's spirit went to be with God. + +Oh, this mystery of death! It surrounds us all, and yet we understand +it not. There we stood talking with him, who was soon to be no more +with us--and we knew it. What would become of his spirit? We did not +know, we could only hope. Would father become nothing, or would he +live on? I could not realise the fact of his death then. I can barely +do so now. For one hour my father talked to us. His brain thought, +his tongue spoke, his soul felt, the next--he was gone; and yet he was +not gone. He lay there, the father I had embraced, and yet he did not +lie there. The body could not love, and my father _did_ love me. + +After we had sat some time in silence, Mr. Polperrow spoke to my +father. He asked him if he felt himself safe for the next world; but +father answered him not. + +"You have always been a good churchman," continued Mr. Polperrow, "and +have always been regular in partaking of the Holy Communion." + +My father smiled, I thought sadly, and then he beckoned to me again. +He looked as though he had something to tell me--at least, I thought +so--and I put my ear close to his mouth. He was now very weak, and +spoke with difficulty; but I thought I caught the words: + +"Be careful." + +I thought he referred to the legend about the curse and assured him +that I would be careful, but he did not seem satisfied. + +"Beware of----" he said, and seemed to hesitate before pronouncing the +word that would make the sentence complete. He looked round the room +until his eyes rested on the place where my mother and Wilfred stood, +then he sighed deeply. + +"I will beware of everything wrong," I said, in trying to lead his mind +from difficulty or doubt. "You are sure everything is well with you. +No vestige of the curse remains with you." + +He looked at me strangely, then a smile lit up his face and a new light +beamed from his eyes. + +"There is no curse," he said. "God is love." + +These were his last words. Soon after his soul took its flight into +the unseen. + +Then I went out into the night alone. One by one the events of the day +flashed through my mind, until I was sick and dizzy. + +I was terribly excited; but beneath the excitement was a dull, aching +pain. For hours I walked the headland and tried to realise that my +father was dead, that I should hear his voice no more; but realisation +was impossible. I had seen him ride away in the morning, a handsome, +robust, man in the prime of life, and now----. + +In my grief for him everything else had for the time been forgotten. +Everything had been dispelled by this great calamity, and what was +hardest of all to bear was that I was not sure that my father +was--somewhere. I could not think of him as being in hell. I could +not think of God, father, and hell at the same time, but was he +anywhere? + +"Father," I cried, "let me know that you are somewhere! Let me hear +you speak, if only a word; only to know that all is well." + +The night was very still. Not a breath of wind stirred, the harvest +moon was just sinking into the sea, and the water was all aglow with +its light. But I heard no voice. Even the sea made no noise, so still +were its waters. + +"Ah!" I cried, "my father is gone, for ever gone, and I am cursed with +the curse of my people." + +Was it fancy? Was it the voice of man or the voice of God that I heard +in answer to my despairing cry? Fancy it could not be, for it was past +midnight and I stood alone on the great headland. Surely God spoke to +me, for there, alone in the silence, I heard my father's last words +repeated. How they came I know not, but this I know, in tones sweeter +than thought can fancy came the glorious message, "There is no curse, +God is love." + +After that I was able to think and connect, link by link, the events of +the evening. + +And all this was but the twilight which told of the coming night. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE CALL TO RENOUNCE + + Whereat Siddartha turned, + And lo! the moon shone by the crab! the stars + In that same silver order long foretold + Stood in range to say, "This is the right!--Choose thou + The way of greatness or the way of good; + To reign a King of Kings, or wander lone, + Crownless, and homeless that the world be helped." + --_The Light of Asia._ + + +After this I went back to my room, and tried to realise the true +position of matters. One by one I thought over the events of the day, +and tried to understand their purport. "There's Providence in the fall +of a sparrow," said Hamlet, and I, being to a certain extent a believer +in this, fancied that everything through which I had gone was an +essential part of the drama of my life. + +First, there was Ruth's preference for Wilfred and her dislike for me. +Well, I must bear that. Besides, I was not sure. It is always the +function of a true-hearted woman to speak well of the absent one, +especially if he be maligned. I would not yet allow myself to be +downcast. + +Then there was the light on the great rock, the rock of evil repute, +the rock that lured vessels to their destruction. I thought again and +again of this. Then there was the appearance of Deborah Teague, who +told me the light foreboded evil, while the weird dark form between the +prongs told the same story. On other occasions I might have laughed at +all this; but that terrible calamity following so soon after the +warning impressed me strangely. + +Yet what connexion could these dark omens have with the death of my +father? What link was there between evil women and one of the purest +and best of men. Clearer than all omens and louder than evil words was +my father's last message to me, a message repeated by the voice of +Heaven, "There is no curse; God is Love." + +Thus when daylight came, I was calm, and although I had passed a +sleepless night I was not altogether unrefreshed. + +Three weary days followed, and then the funeral. Of that time I have +not much to say. I was mostly alone, except when I was obliged to +attend to the business which now devolved upon me, though I declared +that nothing of importance should be dealt with until after my father's +burial. + +From the members of the family I received only kindness. My mother +said nothing that could hurt my feelings; indeed, she seemed +considerate and at times almost gentle. Wilfred, too, was more like +the Wilfred of olden times when we were on good terms with each other. +There was no change in my sisters. They always loved me, and were more +than usually loving, while Ruth was the comforting, cheering influence +of the house. Never until now did I realize the sweetness of her +nature, or her power to cheer and help others when her own heart was +almost breaking. + +I could not do much; but in my clumsy way I tried to make them all feel +my father's loss less. + +And thus the time passed until my father was laid in the old family +vault, and we returned to our old house on the cliff. Then we came +back to the hard material things of life. We had to listen to father's +last will and testament, and hear his latest wishes. All the family +gathered in the library, together with Mr. Inch, Ruth, our solicitor, +who also attended to the legal matters of Ruth's estate, Mr. Tremain, +the doctor, and Mr. Polperrow, the vicar. + +I need not here state the terms of the will: they have already been +hinted at. Everything that a loving father could devise for the +welfare of his children my father had done. + +Not a word was spoken when the lawyer's voice ceased. If Wilfred was +discontented he said nothing at the time, and my sisters were too +overcome with grief to trouble about what money was left them. No +sooner had the will been read, however, than Mr. Inch spoke. + +"It seems to me that this is the time for the wishes of Mr. Morton and +Mr. Trewinion to be made known," he said. + +I began to tremble violently, while Ruth evidently wondered what was +coming. + +The lawyer complied very graciously with Mr. Inch's request. "This +seems to be the right time," he said. + +I could not help thinking that the matter had been arranged beforehand, +especially when Mr. Tremain produced a certain document and began to +read therefrom. + +The words he read were very plain and distinct. They stated that it +was the wish of Mr. Morton that his daughter Ruth should in due time +marry the heir of the Trewinion estate, and while he did not enforce it +as a condition of her becoming his sole heiress, he still trusted that +his daughter's love for him would lead her to obedience. After this +the lawyer went on to say that on the night of his death my father had +reiterated the same wish. + +When he had finished reading and speaking I looked at Ruth. Her face +was pale as death, and I saw that she was terribly moved. The +revelation had come to her as a great shock, and I could not help +seeing that a look of anger and disgust flashed from her eyes. + +"My father wish that I should marry Roger!" she exclaimed, huskily. +"Never! It cannot be!" + +My heart sank like lead; but no further word was spoken. Soon the +family conclave broke up, and we adjourned to the dining-hall. + +I felt very strange, sitting at the head of the table in my father's +chair, and for a time was almost overcome; but I rallied presently, and +during the dinner was quietly thinking what was best to do. Although +the head of the family, I felt I was quite alone. Everything told me +that all in the house, excepting, perhaps my sisters, were in league +with my mother against me. + +I made up my mind, however, that I would not speak for three days to +Ruth concerning her father's wish, and that then I would, if I dared, +say the words my heart was burning to make known. + +Nothing worthy of mention passed during the dinner-hour, but +afterwards, having occasion to go into the library, I found Ruth alone. +Instantly I wanted to refer to what had been said concerning us. My +blood rushed madly to my head and my hands trembled. + +I do not know, but I think she saw what was in my mind, for she turned +away her face and walked toward the window. + +"Ruth," I said, "why do you go away from me?" + +She began to sob violently. + +"Ruth," I continued, "something must grieve you to make you cry thus. +Is it because of what has been said about us? If so, do not grieve any +more. I will never ask you to do what would give you pain." + +Her sorrow was terrible to see. Was it because of me that her grief +was so bitter? + +"Don't give way so," I went on. "Shall I leave you alone? I am sure I +do not wish to give you any trouble. After our walk the other night I +determined I would never say another word to hurt your feelings, and +I'll be true to my determination. I did not mean to speak about the +will for some time, but perhaps it would be better if I were to tell +you now. Ruth, it is the dearest wish of my life that we should fulfil +our fathers' wish in this matter. I have loved you ever since--since +that terrible night, when you first came, but I never realized it until +the day that Wilfred came home from Oxford. Then I was nearly mad with +jealousy. I am afraid I have been very rude to you since, but it was +because I love you so, for Ruth, I would do anything to make you happy." + +Still she sat leaning forward on a table, her head buried in her hands, +and sobbing as though her heart would break. + +"It hurts me to hear you cry so," I said, "and I can see now why it is. +But cheer up, Ruth. I will not speak of this any more. I will never +ask you to obey your father's will. You shall not have the pain of +linking your life to mine. I love you too well for that. God bless +you, Ruth. I will try and find out what will make you happy, and then +you shall see how I love you; for I will do all in my power to give you +what you want." + +She held up her head. There was an expression of thankfulness on her +face; a look of intense relief, as though a burden was taken away. + +I knew my fate then; and while it gave me joy to give her one minute's +pleasure, yet it was agony to think that the promise of my absence +should be the cause of it. So great indeed was the pain that I could +not bear it, and stumbled blindly out. In spite of the fact that when +I got into the hall I thought I heard her calling "Roger" I rushed away +to the cliffs, whither I always fled in my hours of trouble. + +But the events of the day were not yet at an end. As I stood alone +looking at the sea I saw a great cloud rising in the northern sky. +Soon I knew we should be enveloped in it and feel its darkness. In +like manner was there a cloud, darker than all the rest, rising in the +sky of my life. What it was I could not say; but I felt its coining, +and I shuddered. "Coming events cast their shadows before," says the +old adage, and looking backward I can see how true it was in this case. + +Aimlessly I wandered on while the evening shadows gathered around, and +the sea sobbed its sad song, telling me of the storm that was surely +coming. As chance or fate would have it, I passed by the cottage of +old Deborah Teague, and there in the grey twilight I saw her, with +Mally Udy, quietly smoking. They looked up at my approach, but spoke +not. A low chuckle escaped both of them, however, but I had no heart +to speak to them. Still, their gruesome appearance added to the dark +feelings that possessed me, and the dark shadows became more real. + +At length I made my way back to the house, and although I was its +lawful owner, and although every inch of land for a long distance +around was mine, I felt that I was a stranger and an interloper. It +was cold, too, cold as a vault, and as I passed along, the stone paved +hall made a clanking noise which echoed through the silent rooms. I +heard the wind howling too, and the sea began to roar, and when this +was so there was always a ghostly, weird feeling about our old grey +house. + +As if drawn on by a spell, I made my way to the library, and on +arriving there found my mother sitting alone. + +"I have been waiting for you, Roger," said my mother quietly. "I felt +there were some things about which I ought to speak to-night, and so +would not retire until I saw you." + +"And what about the girls, mother?" I said. "Where are they, and where +is Wilfred?" + +"They are all gone to bed. It has been a terrible day for them all, +especially for Ruth, and so I sent them off. Besides, we must speak +alone to-night." + +"Speak alone, mother? I thought everything was settled. I am weary, +and desire no business to-night. I have had much to do for three days, +and have more to do to-morrow. I must rest." + +"There is such a thing as duty as well as pleasure," said my mother +severely. "You are now Trewinion's lord, and surely it is your duty to +care about the happiness of others. Besides, a mother should ever be +able to command her son?" + +"Just so, mother," I said wearily. "Tell me what you wish, and I will +do my best to obey you." + +"Roger," she said in an altered tone, "you have had the reputation of +being kind-hearted and generous. I know you have often thought me hard +upon you; but if I have been so, it was only from the desire to make +you gentle as well as generous." + +I looked upon her in surprise, and in spite of my sorrow my heart +bounded with hope. Perhaps my father's death had destroyed all hard +feelings, and now I should know the meaning of a mother's love. + +"Mother," I said, "I have been rough and harsh. I'll try to be a +better son, and perhaps we may be happy in the future." + +A sharp spasm, as if of pain, crossed her face, but she spoke naturally. + +"It may be," she went on, "that what I shall say may hurt you, but I +only want to be a kind, loving mother." + +My heart warmed more than ever. "I am sure that is your desire, +mother," I said. + +She was silent for a minute, and again I saw the look of of pain which +crossed her face. + +"Roger," she burst out, "what I have to say nearly kills me," and she +burst into a flood of tears. + +I went to her side and soothed her. + +"Don't grieve, mother," I said, "and don't say anything that will give +you pain." + +"No, no, it's not that," she said, and then cried out, "I can't tell +him, I can't." + +"Don't, mother," I cried. "Wait until you are stronger, and then tell +me. These few days have been terrible for you. I have been thinking +too much about myself. I have been remembering that I have lost my +father, but have forgotten that you have lost your husband. I know +it's terrible, mother, but dear father is happy now, and Wilfred and I +will take care of you." + +At the mention of Wilfred's name her face changed. A look of +determination came upon her face, and her hands clenched nervously. + +"Roger," she said, "I am calm now, and hard as it is to tell you I will +do so." + +I sat down before her, wondering what was coming. + +"You remember the night of your--your father's--death?" + +"Yes, mother." + +"He said it was his wish, and the wish of Mr. Morton that you should +wed Ruth." + +"Yes," I said, my heart beating violently. + +"Roger, that must never be!" + +"Why?" + +I spoke harshly, for my heart became hard as a stone, and yet it seemed +to grow too big for my bosom. + +"Because," she answered, her voice trembling as she did so, "she +loathes, shudders at the thought of marrying you." + +"How dare you say this?" I cried angrily, and yet I knew her words were +true. Ruth's face had told me the same story only that very evening. + +"If you wish to drive her mad, kill her, murder her!" went on my +mother, "ask her to do as her father wishes." + +"What is there in me to drive her mad, or to murder her?" I cried. "I +have always been kind to her." + +"Nothing, nothing, Roger. She loves you as a brother. You have been +very good to her. None of us forget that twice you saved her life." + +"Then why do you say she loathes me?" + +"Can you not see what I mean? She does not loathe you as a brother; +but she loathes the thought of your being her husband, and were you to +insist on a marriage, you would kill her!" + +"Why? You say she loves me as a brother; why, then, should the other +thought be so terribly abhorrent? Could she not in time learn to give +me more than a brother's love?" + +"Never!" + +"Why?" + +"Because she loves another!" + +"Another! Who?" + +"Can you not guess?" + +Guess! Ah, yes; I could indeed. Had I not seen it for weeks? My +mother need not tell me more. I knew perfectly well. + +"Surely you have seen that they have been lovers from childhood," she +went on. "She has been all in all to him, while--well, you must have +seen how she regarded him. He did not speak to her about it, however, +until he came home from Oxford, and then, on the day of his arrival, he +told her what he had felt for years." + +"And she?" + +"She told him--that--what in short he had been longing to hear, and, +although we knew it not, they became betrothed." + +It was what I had thought, it did not surprise me, and yet I felt sick +and giddy. It was some time before I could speak, and then I could +only stammer out: + +"And she promised to be his wife?" + +My mother nodded. + +No words can describe what I felt, for never until then did I realise +how I loved her, or what pain it was for me to lose her. + +"Do you love Ruth very much, Roger?" asked mother. + +"Love her!" I cried, "love her! I would die for her." + +"And she loves Wilfred, and would never be happy away from him." + +I fought it down after a while; crushed all my envy, jealousy, and +hatred--for hate did possess me for a time--and then turned to my +mother again. + +"Let Ruth and Wilfred be happy," I said, "I shall put in no claim, her +happiness is more important than mine." + +"They cannot," said my mother. + +"Cannot!" I cried. "Why?" + +"Because it was her father's wish that she should marry Trewinion's +heir, and she will do it, though she dies the next day." + +"I do not understand." + +"You know how much she has ever thought of her father. No one I ever +saw loved a parent, or a parent's memory, as much as she loved her +father's. And now, although she would have to sacrifice everything +dear to her heart, she will be true to his wish." + +"But I will not have it so. I will not call for the sacrifice." + +"Then you are hindering her father's wish from being fulfilled, and you +will still be keeping Ruth and Wilfred apart." + +"But what can I do?" + +My mother was silent. + +Then I saw her meaning. My very existence was the great evil. I was +Trewinion's heir, whom her father wished her to marry, and yet she +hated the thought of it; while she could not marry the man she loved +because of her father's will. Meanwhile she was suffering a terrible +torture--and I was causing it. + +I tried to look at the whole matter fairly and boldly. What were the +alternatives? I was Roger Trewinion's eldest son, and if I allowed my +father's and Mr. Morton's will to be carried out, I doomed my darling +to a loathsome life--a living death, while, though I should attain the +object most dear to me, I should live in hell, the hell of being with a +woman who loved another man. If I refused to marry her, things would +be nearly as bad. I should still be dooming her to misery; she would +not marry my brother, I should never be free from the thought that I +was keeping others from happiness, while the two houses of Trewinion +and Morton would not be united. + +Slowly it came at first! Then the full meaning of the thought flashed +upon me! I could not do it, I could not! And yet it was the only way. + +Renounce my name, my possessions, my identity! Go away and never +return! + +That was the alternative, the only way by which the houses could be +united, the only way Ruth could be happy. + +"I see what you mean, mother," I cried out at last, "but I must have +time, I cannot decide in a moment. I must speak to Ruth, to Wilfred." + +"Why speak to Ruth? You will only give her more pain. You spoke this +afternoon. Why cause her to bear more than she is already bearing?" + +Ruth had told her, then, and doubtless told her, too, what were her +feelings towards Wilfred! I saw the truth, the force of her words, and +yet it was very hard. + +"I must think, mother," I said. "I know you love Wilfred the better; I +know you think him far more fit to be the head of the house than I; you +think I ought to make the sacrifice, but I must have time to think." + +"How long, Roger? The day after to-morrow Ruth leaves Trewinion Manor." + +"Leave! Why?" + +"Need you ask? She cannot wait here in the house with the man she +thinks she has to marry, when the thought of such a thing is terrible." + +I was driving Ruth away then. Not only was I giving her pain and +sorrow, but because of me she was going to leave the only home wherein +she could be happy. It was true she could return to her own home, +which had been kept in repair, but I knew she did not intend going +there until she came of age. + +"She does not wish to be with me longer than she thinks she is forced +by her father's will?" I said. + +"She knows she is not expected to marry you until she is twenty-one. +That will not be for some time, and so she is going away." + +This was hardest of all to bear, it drove me to madness. Her +detestation of me was so great that she determined to shun me. + +"Just one word more, mother. Have you spoken to me because of Ruth's +desire, or with her sanction?" + +A strange look flashed across my mother's face; then she said, "Roger, +never think I can answer that question." + +My brain seemed on fire, and I could not tell what to do, I could not +decide. I simply rushed out of the room saying, "You will soon know." + +I made my way to my room upstairs, and in passing along a corridor I +saw a light in Mr. Inch's room. Immediately I knocked at his door, and +on receiving permission, entered. I found him busy with a lot of +papers. + +"Is it correct that you and Miss Morton are going to leave us, Mr. +Inch?" I said. + +He bowed, and said, quietly but distinctly, "It is so decided." + +"Might I ask the reason for this abrupt departure?" I said. "I have +heard nothing about it until to-night." + +He looked at me for a moment steadily; then he said, + +"It is not for me to say; surely you should know that it is next to +impossible for her to remain here now." + +He also had told me in words as plain as words could tell what she +felt. I must think, think alone. I found my way to my bedroom, but my +mind would not work there. I must get out under the broad sky, where +all was free. So again I left the house, went away towards the highest +point on the headland, where, hundreds of feet below, the waves were +lashing themselves into foam as they broke upon the great rugged rocks. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +NIGHT + +"And Esau hated Jacob. . . . And Esau said in his heart, the days of +mourning for my father are at hand; then will I slay my brother +Jacob."--_The Book of Genesis._ + + +It did not rain, but the wind blew a wild hurricane. Now and then it +seemed to cease, and I could hear a kind of moaning sound which the sea +made, but again it came as though it would sweep away the great rocks +that grimly defied the fury of the elements. I did not mind this, +everything accorded with my feelings. I found ease in breasting the +storm, I breathed more freely when the wind blew its loudest. + +By and by the thunders began to roar and the lightnings to flash, still +no rain fell, so I did not mind. + +But it was terrible to be alone on such a night, and with such a +problem to solve. For hours I think I was mad. I am sure that in my +frenzy my voice could be heard above the wind and wave. Nothing, +however, made me forget what lay before me. The future ever haunted +me, and turned the thunderings of the wave into derisive mocking +laughter. + +Now and then I would stand and look at the old house, which I could +dimly see in the stormlight, and when I did so it became dearer than +ever to me. It was the home of my fathers, the place wherein they had +died, and my heart clave unto it. I felt proud of my name--proud that +I was born the representative of my family, and to give it up seemed +like pulling at my heart-strings. + +And thus I was tempted in the night; I would maintain my position as +Trewinion's heir. I would wed Ruth. I would brave everything and +carry out the wish of my father. Ruth did not love me now, but she +might learn to love me in time, besides, I could not give her up. I +loved her--loved her supremely. All the strength of my nature, moulded +largely by wild surroundings and an uncultured people, was given to +her. I did not love tamely. It was no tender passion I felt, it was a +mad, passionate adoration. I can call it nothing less. Fer her I +could brave danger, difficulty, death; but I could not give her up. + +And I would not! + +Why should I? I was master, I would remain so. I would maintain my +rights. I would let Wilfred know that I was the elder brother and he +the younger. And Ruth should be mine. My father wished it, and so did +hers, and so I would claim her. I would take my father's place and +reign righteously. I would be a pattern to the neighbouring gentry, +and my name should be respected far and wide. This was what every +eldest son of my race save one had done--that is, they had all claimed +their position, and so would I. Wilfred's happiness! Well, Wilfred +had always defied me and treated me as an inferior. Wilfred must take +care of himself; he must be thankful that I gave him the annuity my +father had mentioned. I could not help being born the first; besides, +what had I to do with his happiness? What right had he to seek to win +Ruth's affections? Doubtless he who was so friendly with Mr. Inch +would know her father's wish. Thus he must have acted like a sneak to +have sought what could not be fairly given to him. And Ruth! Did I +not love her, would I not humour her every wish, grant her every +desire, and devote my life to make her happy? + +And mother? + +She had never cared for me, never trusted me, never treated me as a +son, never told me of her intentions. I did not know, indeed, if she +were my mother. Why, then, should I trouble about her? If need be she +could go and live with Wilfred; at any rate, I would be Trewinion's +lord, and maintain my rights. + +Then the other side presented itself. If this were carried out what +would be the result? I should see Ruth suffering, pining day by day. +She would loathe my presence, she would shudder at my embrace. By my +selfishness I should wreck her life. I should be her murderer. Then +what happiness should I have? Could I be happy while the woman I loved +was being cursed by my presence? + +Then I put it this way: If I went away--not that I should, but +considering it suppositiously merely--if I went away, what would be the +result? Wilfred would claim to be master; he would be Trewinion's +heir; he would wed Ruth, who would gladly join her life to his--for +were they not affianced lovers?--my mother would rejoice, and all would +be happy. My black shadow would be taken from their lives, and they +could for ever live in the sunshine. + +The picture seemed bright, and for a moment the thought of it gave me +pleasure. Then I remembered that I should be leaving Ruth for ever; I +should be leaving my old home for ever; I should not die in the great +chamber where all my ancestors had died. I should be a wanderer, a +vagrant, homeless and friendless. + +Besides, what could I do? Strong and hardy I was, as a man could well +be, but I had no trade or profession. That is the curse which befalls +eldest sons who expect fortunes; if anything happens to them they have +no profession on which to rely. What did I know? Something of the +management of an estate, but not enough for a steward, nor would anyone +hire a steward without an assurance as to his abilities and past +career. I was not fit for that, and if I went away the name of Roger +Trewinion must be sunk for ever, so that I could not seek such a post. +The only thing I could say I was fit for was the post of a sailor. If +I went away I must try and get a place in a trading vessel. + +I thought of all this, but would not confess to myself that I was +seriously thinking of leaving my home, the sacrifice was too great. + +Meanwhile the storm was raging, and flakes of foam were blown against +my face. Then I felt some raindrops falling, and the sky became more +lowering. + +I would go in and go to bed, and on the morrow I would speak to Ruth. + +Then came the moment of final struggle. Ruth was leaving the house +because of me, because she loathed the thought of being my wife, and +because she wished to be free from me as long as she could. + +This thought took away much of my interest in home, as well as my +desire to remain among the scenes of my early childhood. It chilled +those warm feelings of attachment for the homestead, and for the people +who had become a part of my life. + +Ruth leave because of me! And yet it was because of Ruth I wanted to +stay. I would look at the matter again. I wanted to make Ruth happy; +but what was the course I must take in order to do that? The great +hindrance to her happiness was myself. I was the black cloud that hid +her sun. If I did not exist her joy would be complete, for then she +would be free to wed the man she loved. + +And while I was fighting this battle the storm beat furiously upon me. +Never shall I forget how the wind blew, nor how the waves became more +and more maddened. Dimly I could see the great mountains of waters, as +with thundering roars they hurled themselves on the rockbound coast and +became churned into foam. How stern and pitiless nature was, how +careless of all human joys or sorrows! It was well I had my dying +father's assurance that God was love, or I could never have believed it +then. To me there was an almighty devil ruling the universe. A being +who hated us, and sought our destruction. + +I was however glad of the storm. It helped me. I had to resist, to +exert myself. It gave play to my active nature; it kept me from +succumbing to the dark cloud of sorrow in which I was enveloped. + +I know not how, nor can I tell the exact moment when the decision was +made; but, in the end, I decided to leave the old homestead and to give +Ruth happiness. I claim no virtue for my act. There was not much in +it after all. I should never be happy if I remained at home; nay, +Trewinion Manor would be hell to me, while spectres that I should +constantly be raising would haunt my life. Besides, I might find some +relief away. I would go, I would roam the world all over, and, +perhaps, away from the scene of my misery, I should find peace. My +heart was breaking, and it was not worth while for me to add misery to +that which was already felt by those by whom I was surrounded. + +It may be said by those who read this that my act was one of great +self-denial; but if it was it brought none of that peace and inward +satisfaction which are said to come from such deeds. My misery, if +possible, became more intense, and the storm seemed to mock me with +shrieks and howls of derision. + +With a great weight on my heart I crept back to the house, and slowly +went to my room. When should I go? + +"To-morrow" was the response of my weaker nature. "Get a good night's +rest, make an impressive scene before Ruth, and go away with a flourish +of trumpets." But that would not do. I doubt whether I could have had +the heart to go away in the daylight if I saw Ruth near me. Besides, I +did not want to go away openly; I would leave in secret, when no eye +should see me, and when no one should be able to trace me. When should +I go? + +"Now!" + +That was the answer of my stronger and sterner nature. Leave in the +night, alone, and at once. Never look at the sweet face of Elizabeth +and Katherine, never be weakened by the beauty of Ruth, never be shaken +in my resolve by the patronising pride of Wilfred or the unloving look +of my mother. Delay would be dangerous. On the one hand were +influences leading me to stay, by making me defiant, hard, and bitter; +on the other, by making me weak and yielding. I would go at once then. + +Where? + +That mattered not for the time. I would leave the house at once, and +decide my course when once away and alone. + +Should I let any one know what had become of me, should I write a +letter to Ruth, or Wilfred, or mother? I dared not. To do that would +weaken me at once. Still, it would be better that I should let them +all know that I was gone away, never to return. + +I clothed myself in a strong plain suit of clothes, which I had used +when shooting on our boggy rough moors, put twenty guineas in my +pocket, and then went down into the library again. I did not look +around me and think of the hours I had spent there. If I did Ruth +could not be happy, for I should not have sufficient courage to remove +my black shadow from her life. I went to the writing desk and began to +try to say good-bye. That I found I could not do, so I simply wrote +the words: + +"From this time Roger Trewinion is no more. He ceases to be so that +Wilfred can be Trewinion's heir and Ruth can be happy. Let Wilfred do +his duty, or Roger Trewinion may come to life again." + +That was all, and after I had written it I felt more calm. Then I took +a stout oak stick, on which was engraven my father's name, and one +which he usually took when out walking and went away from the house, in +my heart bidding it good-bye for ever. + +I walked rapidly northwards, keeping close to the cliffs. It was now +early morning, but the sun had not yet risen. The black clouds had +passed away, but the sea forgot not its anger, and still broke +furiously upon the shore. + +I must have walked five miles when I saw signs of day. The sky changed +from nearly black into a sombre grey, while the sea became like unto +the sky. The birds creeping from their night resting-places, began to +sing, and from the farms by which I passed I heard the sound of the +cocks crowing. + +On I tramped, anxious to get away from the neighbourhood where I was +known, the light becoming clearer and clearer as I went, until I could +see the outline of the coast. Then before me I saw a great jutting +headland, similar to the one on which our house was built, thence I +should be able to see my old home. + +By the time I got there it was broad day, I think about five o'clock, +and wistfully I scanned the coast. Yes, there was Trewinion clear and +plain, although miles away. The grey, rugged walls stood out +distinctly and striking, while the tower lifted its head proudly into +the sky. And this home I had given up. Back from it stretched broad +acres that were mine, and these I had renounced for a woman. + +"Treat her well, Wilfred, or by the Creator of us both you shall curse +the day on which you were born." + +I muttered this between my closed teeth, for at that moment I knew I +hated him. + +Then I remembered the Trewinion's curse. + +Do I believe in supernatural agencies, in witchcraft? Am I prey to +superstitious fancies? I cannot answer. The unseen world is so linked +with the seen that they are but one world. I cannot tell where to draw +the line between natural and supernatural. To me the two are one. But +this I know; the moment I realised that I hated Wilfred, I was cursed +with a terrible curse. Evil passions surged within me, I planned dark +deeds, murder did not seem hateful, and hell far worse than that which +I had felt when I had been struggling on the cliff was now my doom. + +A bottomless pit! I was in it. A pit of slavery to evil desire, of +savage joy which was not joy, at the thought of evil. This was where I +was. + +He, the miserable sneak, had robbed me of my love, my all. And yet I +could not go back. The house was mine, the lands were mine, yet I +could not claim them. I was bound, yet I could not see the fetters +which chained me. + +Does a curse like unto mine follow the footsteps of men who hate, or +does the Trewinion race stand alone. Be that as it may, I felt cursed, +the clear fountains of my manhood were gone. Roger Trewinion was more +demon than man. For hatred poisons the soul. + +And yet I loved Ruth. This, I think, was the power that kept me from +going back and doing evil, and yet this love did not make me hate the +less. Nay, it made hatred more intense. + +Long I stood alone in the grey morning, watching the bleak house that +stood in the distance, while the sea moaned and sobbed miserably, as if +to add another feeling to the misery of my heart. I seemed riveted +there. I looked at the five prongs of the "Devil's Tooth" like one +entranced, and thought of their associations. I saw the place where I +had saved Ruth, when she had fallen from the cliffs. I fancied I +detected the place where the witches' cave stood, and I remembered all +that had been said. + +"Ah," I cried, "Deborah Teague is indeed a true prophet. Dark omens +have a meaning. I am indeed homeless, friendless, forsaken, and the +Trewinion curse is come. I go now, never to return, while my love is +given to another, and my power is taken by my younger brother. Yet +seemingly I have done nothing to merit this." + +For a time I was mad. I shook my fist and called down curses upon +Wilfred and my mother. I prayed that they should never have rest or +joy, and that the ghost of my father should haunt them. And yet I +could give no real reason for this, only that my heart was black. + +I felt I must go on. I must get farther away from the place where my +life had been spent; so I gave one look more, one long hungering look +that was full of agony, and as at last I turned my eyes away, my heart +strings seemed to snap. + +Then I set my teeth together, clasped my stick firmly, and, with +lowering brow and a black heart, trudged wearily northward. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +A WANDERER + +I went on heedlessly for a mile or so. I was stunned, and felt strange +and giddy; but by and by I felt I must come to such decision in regard +to my course. So I struck into the main road, and continued my journey +northward. By this time I felt the warmth and brightness of the day. +The sun was now clear of the horizon, and revealed the glittering +dewdrops that hung on grass and flower. The majestic hills rose on +either side of me, the waving cornfields presented a rich and beautiful +appearance. + +The glories of nature did not soften me, however. My heart was still +hard with hatred and disappointment, and I was too busy with my sad +thoughts to decide what to do, or to what town to steer. + +Presently a man met me, the first I had seen since I started. He was a +farm labourer, taking his oxen to the fields to plough, and on looking +at my watch I found that I had been walking for about six hours, and +that I must be at least twenty miles from home. The man touched his +hat, although I was sure he did not know me. Evidently my dress was +not that of a workman. If I was to get a place as a workman, I must +dress like one. + +"Where does this road lead to?" I asked of the man. + +"Dun knaw, zur, I'm sure, but they do zay as 'ow it do go to +Waadbrudge." + +"Wadebridge, eh? Do you know how far it is away?" + +"No, zur, I doan't, for I never bin more'n vive mile away from +Treloggas, which is my home, zur, but my maaster es a bit of a +traveller, zur. He've bin to Bodmun, and he do zay as 'ow Waadbrudge +es fifteen mile on." + +"Fifteen miles. Is it a good road?" + +"Oi, iss, zur. You do git into the turnpike dreckly (directly), and +then the roads sa smoove as a booard." + +"And is there a publichouse anywhere near?" + +"Iss, zur, 'bout three mile on thurs a kiddley-wink (beershop) that do +belong to Tommy Dain, he as can raise the devil, you do knaw, zur." + +This helped me to decide what to do. Wadebridge was a little seaport, +and there I should perhaps get on board a vessel that would take me +right away from home. Then, perhaps, when I was away on the rolling +seas, I should forget my disappointments, and find ease from the +gnawing, bitter hatred that had gripped my heart. + +Inspired by this thought I hurried on rapidly. I was beginning to feel +hungry and faint after my long walk, so was glad to know of the inn, +even although Tommy Dean, the landlord, possessed such powers. + +Arrived there I had a good breakfast of ham and eggs, after which Tommy +brought out a tankard of ale. I was about to drink it when I +reflected. But for drink my father's horse would not have been +frightened and I should not now have been fatherless. But for drink I +should not now be homeless and friendless. Drink had deprived me of my +dearest, best friend, and I would have none of it. So much did this +impress me at the time that I made up my mind never to touch intoxicant +again; at any rate, until I saw sufficient reason to alter my mind. + +After breakfast I felt that the twelve miles which lay before me were +as nothing. In three hours, if nothing happened, I should be in +Wadebridge. + +Nothing of importance happened on the way. Milestone after milestone I +passed wearily. I had little object or hope in life. I had sacrificed +my all for the sake of others, and it brought me no happiness. When I +reached Wadebridge my interest was somewhat aroused. My knowledge of +towns was very limited. I had only paid two or three visits to our +county towns, which are, to say the least of them, small and to some +extent uninteresting. Twice I had been to Truro, and once to Falmouth; +thus when I came to Wadebridge, I was somewhat excited. Such a thing +seems strange to me now, when I remember the facts of the case. +Wadebridge was only a little village composed of one street, which led +down to the river Wade, over which a bridge is built, hence the name of +the port. + +There is a curious story among the Wadebridge people as to how their +bridge was built. Many years ago there was a ferry across the river, +but it was the frequent custom of farmers to ride their horses or drive +their cattle across it when the tide was low, but often men and beasts +were lost in the quicksands formed in the rising tide. After one sad +accident of this sort, the Rev. Mr. Lovebone, the vicar of Wadebridge, +determined that a bridge should be built, and after great pains and +struggling it was finished with seventeen arches of stone. But in +spite of their great labour, disappointment and defeat followed in +their track, for pier after pier was lost in the sands. A "fair +structure" was to be seen in the evening, but in the morning nothing +was left. Mr. Lovebone was ready to give up in despair; but one night +he dreamed that an angel came with a flock of sheep, that he sheared +them, let the wool fall in to the water, and speedily built the bridge +on the wool. Then the holy man awoke with a new idea. He appealed to +the farmers, who sent him all the wool they had, which was put into +sacks; these were placed thickly on the sands, and on these piers were +built. Thus the wisdom of the angel of the dream was manifest, for the +bridge remains to this day. + +The harbour is not very wide or large at Wadebridge, and vessels of +large dimensions can only come in when the tide is high. + +The first thing I did on my arrival was to go to a small shop where +seafaring apparel was sold. The owner looked at me curiously, as I +asked for a general rig out, but showed me what I wanted nevertheless. +I was not long in making a bargain, and then asked for permission to +change my attire. + +"Ain't bin doin' nothin' wrong, I hope?" he said. + +"Not to my knowledge," I replied. + +"Cause you do'ant look much like a chap as is used to wearin' a +sailor's clothes," he said. + +"No," I answered. "What do I look like, then?" + +He looked at my hands, then at my shooting suit, and again at my face, +and replied slowly: + +"Why, you do look look like a passen's son as hev got into trouble and +be now runnin' away; ed'n that about right, now?" + +"Not exactly," I said, "but I'm sure you'll allow me to change my +clothes, won't you?" + +He gave an unwilling consent at length, and I confess that, when I had +put on a rough suit of seaman's clothes, I hardly knew myself. I went +across the bridge to the little village of Egloshayle, and walked +towards Slades Bridge, which lay in the direction of Bodmin. + +"Now," I said to myself, "you are no longer Roger Trewinion, but a +common fisherman, who is desirous of going to sea. Forget the past. +Forget that you are the heir to a fine estate, forget that you have +given up all for love." + +But I could not do this. True, there was a sense in which all seemed +like a dream, so that the past was misty; but above all was the fact of +my great and burning love for Ruth, a love so intense as to lead me to +sacrifice everything that she might be happy with the man whom she +loved, and whom I hated, although he was my brother. + +The thought was madness. My sacrifice seemed madness, and once I +thought of going back again. That, however, was soon banished, for +although my coming away might be the action of one who did not know +what he was doing, to go back would be to strike despair and anguish +into the heart of Ruth, and that would be hell for me. + +No, I had fought that battle. I had made Ruth happy. I should soon +become as nothing to them, and thus Wilfred and my mother would have +their own way, and be joyous because I was no more. That was +something, and yet I was sure that Wilfred had schemed for such an end. +What definite reason I had for this I could not tell, but I was sure of +it, and I hated him. True, I had gone away freely, and yet I had been +driven away; things had been so arranged that I could not stay to be a +skeleton at the feast, a hindrance to all joy. + +I ceased to think about it at length, and tried to bring myself into +harmony with my surroundings. What should I call myself? I could not +ask for a sailor's position as Roger Trewinion, and yet I did not like +to give up my name. Finally I decided to call myself Richard +Tretheway. It was a very common name, and by this name I should still +retain my initials. Where I came from was a matter of little +importance; there were lots of little fishing villages all the way down +the coast; so I settled on one near my old home, and made my way to the +riverside where some vessels lay. The captain of one of them struck my +attention in a minute. He stood quietly watching some men who were +loading the boat with corn. He was not swearing or bullying as some of +the others were, and I determined to speak to him. + +"And what may you want, my lad?" he said as I went up to him. + +"A job, sir," I said, with a strong Cornish accent. + +He looked at me keenly. "What can you do?" he said. + +I named the work I could do on a ship. + +"Let's have a look at your hands?" he said. + +I showed him my hands. They were not so soft as those of most young +men in my position. I had done an amount of harvest work, and thus, +with constantly rowing and engaging in other physical exercises, they +were almost as hard as an ordinary seaman's. + +"What have you been brought up to?" he asked. + +"Fishing." + +"That's a lie. You are neither a fisherman nor a sailor." + +I hung my head. + +"Yes, you may hang your head, my lad, for you are not what you seem." + +Again in a clumsy way I repeated the duties of both, but the captain +would not listen. + +"Yes, yes, my young gentleman, you may know about these things as well +as I do, but that don't deceive me. You were never brought up to work, +you weren't; but you are a strong likely chap for all that." + +I tried again to assure him that I could do a sailor's work well. + +"Now, look here, young man," he said, "I'm an oldish chap, and have +seen a bit of the world, and have learnt to read a little of men and +things, and although you are not what you want to pass off to be I like +your looks. What you mean by being here I don't know; but that's not +my business, and I do want a likely young fellow like you. Answer me +square and fair. Are you seeking to get on this vessel because you've +done anything wrong, are you in fear of anybody or anything, and is +anybody after you now?" + +I liked his plain question, and I answered plainly. + +"I have done nothing wrong, sir," I said; "I am not afraid of anything +or anybody, and no one is after me now." + +He looked at me straight in the eyes, but I met his gaze fearlessly. + +"What's your name, my lad?" + +"Richard Tretheway." + +"That is not your real name?" + +"No." + +"You are sure you are doing nothing wrong in concealing your true name? +Be perfectly honest." + +"I am doing nothing wrong. I am doing what's right." + +"I'll take you," he said. + +I thanked him. + +"Look you," he said, "expect no favours; you must do your work fair and +square like the rest. We go from here to Padstow, then on to Falmouth, +from there to Plymouth, then to London. From there, if you behave +well, I'll take you to France and down the Mediterranean. Do what you +have to do here quickly. It's high tide at six this evening, and then +we shall sail." + +"Thank you," I said; "I have nothing to do, but I'll go and get some +dinner and then come straight back." + +As I said this I turned to go; but the captain laughed and called me +back. + +"Look you, Tretheway," he said, "if I hadn't known you were a greenhorn +to this kind of thing before I should know it now. You haven't said +anything about wages." + +"I'll leave that to you," I said confusedly, and then went back to the +town. + +I shall not dwell on my experience that evening, nor, indeed, shall I +speak of many of my adventures, as I want to relate only those facts of +my history which are vitally concerned with the name I bear, with its +associations and legends. + +The next afternoon we sailed past my old home. Long before we drew +near it, I saw the grey tower on the great weather-beaten cliff, and +with beating heart I stood on the deck and watched while we drew nearer +and nearer. I strained my eyes to catch sight of any of my family, but +no one could be seen. Closer and closer we came, the great prongs of +the "Devil's Tooth" standing out more clearly as we swept on. + +Did anyone there think of me? I wondered. Yes, they would naturally do +that. My mother would think of me, and be glad I was gone, for her +favourite boy would be master. Wilfred would think of me, and wonder +if I should come back, and, perhaps, dread the thought of such a thing +happening. My sisters would think of me lovingly, and wonder what had +become of Roger. And Ruth--I dared not think of her. + +Who had seen my letter? I wondered. My mother was the most likely one +to do so, or Wilfred, and they would treasure up the words I had +written, they would weigh well their purport. But would it be shown to +Ruth or to my sisters? + +My dear, dear old home, how I loved it! It was there I was born, it +was there my father had died. So near was I to it, and yet so far. +Besides, it was mine no longer. I had given it up to make the woman I +loved happy, and to keep it from being hell to me. + +My thoughts were rudely checked. Two persons stood together on the +headland, the headland on which my home stood, and they were evidently +looking at the ship in which I was sailing. Who were they? I strained +my eyes to see. They looked like Wilfred and---- I dared not think of +it, the thought was maddening. I would not believe that Ruth was out +walking with Wilfred so soon after my departure, and on the very day +when she was reported to be leaving for her home. + +Yet why not? By this time they had, perhaps, publicly announced +themselves as lovers; and yet they dare not. My departure could not +yet be regarded as a settled thing, and my mother had told me that Ruth +would be true to her father's wish. As yet I must be regarded among +them as Trewinion's heir, and thus she would look upon me as her future +husband. How, then, could she be encouraging the man she loved, when +she would regard it as a sin to do so? + +But was it she, was it Wilfred? + +The captain's glass was near me, and I seized it. I brought it to the +right focus. I saw them plainly, Ruth and Wilfred standing side by +side, with her hand resting on his arm. There could be no mistake. + +Yes, she would know all by this time; she would know that I had given +up everything for her happiness, and she had accepted it without a +pang. She had come out alone with the man who had stepped into my +place. + +It was base ingratitude. She was not worthy the sacrifice. I would +leave the vessel at Falmouth, go home, and destroy their plans; I would +claim my own again. As for Wilfred, I would whip him like a dog, and +drive him from the place. + +I know my thoughts were confused, and unreasonable, but I think I was +mad, for I stamped my foot in my rage. + +I heard a noise behind me and turned round. The captain stood coolly +watching me. Instantly, my position burst upon me, and I was confused. + +"Well, Richard Tretheway," he said, "and what have you been using my +glass for?" + +"It is a fine old headland, sir, and I wanted to see it." + +"Ay, and it's a fine old house on the cliff, eh. Whom does it belong +to?" + +I was silent. + +"Ah, well, lad, I will not pry into your secrets; sometime, perhaps, +you may want to tell me," and he walked away. + +Still I watched, while the couple on the cliff became more and more +indistinct, and the old grey tower seemed to melt away in the steely +sky, and as it did so my feelings softened, for I felt I was bidding +good-bye to it for ever. My love for Ruth began to exert its power, +and although I felt bitter, the thought of going back to wreck her +happiness was repugnant. + +On, on we swept, until Ruth and Wilfred could no longer be seen, and +the old house was hidden by the prongs of the "Devil's Tooth." Then I +broke down and sobbed like a child. Now, indeed, I was alone and +without a friend. There was no brightness in my sky, no hope for the +future. Truly I was sad at heart. With that the words of old Deborah +Teague came back to me. + +"Mind, mind Trewinion's curse, tes comin', tes comin'. I see Maaster +Roger homeless, friendless, despised, disgraced. Mind, Maaster Roger, +mind." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +"A HOME ON THE ROLLING DEEP" + +I found Luke Miller, the captain of the boat, to be kind and friendly. +Not that he took any notice of me for several days. He did not. But +when we arrived at Plymouth, and were away from the crew, he began to +talk kindly to me. + +"Tretheway," he said, "I don't know anything about you, and it may be +that in talking freely to you I am in one sense taking a liberty. May +be you have been brought up well; fact, I'm sure you have. But all +that's no business of mine. What I want to say is this, I like you. I +daren't show it at sea, as there'd be jealousy. At the same time, if +ever I can show my real friendship to you, or if ever you want a +friend, you know where to come." + +I thanked him warmly. + +"There's just another thing to say, lad. You've had a quiet time on +board yet, for the men ain't known what to make of you, but they begin +to feel their way. They fancies you are a swell and a sneak, so keep +your weather eye open. The best men of the crew are leaving here, too, +and I am afraid I shall have to pick up a rough lot, so, as I say, keep +a sharp look out." + +I found this advice very much to the point a day or two after. Not +that I minded much. I was too terribly bitter towards almost +everything to care what happened to me. Still, when we were fairly out +at sea from Plymouth, and the men began to play practical jokes upon +me, I remembered the captain's words and remained cool. + +There were one or two discontented men on board who took it into their +heads that I had a doubtful past, and, moreover, that I had a secret in +my life of the discovery of which I was in constant fear. + +It was afternoon, and the men having nothing special to do were +standing lazily around. I was making my way to the bowsprit, and was +walking rather rapidly, when the biggest bully on the boat put out his +foot and threw me head foremost. This was received with a loud guffaw +of derisive laughter, and the man who had done it was highly +complimented on his achievement. I took no notice, however, doing that +which I had set out to do. This, instead of lessening their dislike +for me, increased it, and for days after I was subjected to many petty +annoyances. A few weeks before, I should not have stood it. I was +wild and passionate then, full of life and strength, now I was so +bitter that I scarcely felt any interest in anything. Besides that, +the men were so low and brutal that I disliked encountering them. + +At last I went to them and asked what I had done to make them +constantly wish to annoy me. + +"Because tha'art a coward and a snaik," said one. + +"A spy and a tell-tale," said another. + +"Cause you think yourself too good to mix with we, who are a mighty +sight better than you," said another. + +"Or else you're afraid we'll find out something of your dirty ways," +said two or three together. + +I felt sick and sad at heart. To mix with these men was bad enough, to +come into such relationship with them as would lead to a brawl was +worse. + +"I'm not a coward, a spy, a sneak or a tell-tale," I said quietly. "I +don't think myself too good to mix with any honest man, and I'm not +afraid of your finding out anything about me." + +With that the bully placed himself before me and spat in my face. In a +moment my calmness and self-control were gone, and in a minute more we +were engaged in a hand-to-hand fight. The devil that my hatred for my +brother had aroused now showed itself, and I fought with all the fury +of a demon. My opponent was as big as I, and as strong, or would have +been had he not abused his strength by evil habits; and in addition to +this, he knew many tricks of fighting unknown to me. Minute after +minute we fought, he more for the love of fighting than for hatred for +me, I with a mad heart, and with every evil passion aroused. If at +that moment I could in no other way have beaten him save by selling my +soul to the devil, I am sure I should not have hesitated to make the +bargain. I had allowed an evil passion to enter my heart, and it had +poisoned my whole being. Thus it was that I determined to die rather +than be conquered. + +A determined man can do almost anything. A mad man is supernaturally +strong. I was both. Thus, at length, by a trick of wrestling, and a +blow that would have felled an ox, I laid him bruised, bleeding and +senseless on the deck. This did not satisfy me. I turned to another +who had been prominent in seeking to quarrel and laid him beside the +first. Then like a mad bull I rushed upon the rest. + +I don't know what happened after that, save that there was a terrible +scuffle, and I found myself struggling in the grasp of brawny arms, +after which I felt a heavy stunning blow which rendered me oblivious to +all my surroundings. + +When I awoke to consciousness I was in chains, and the captain by my +side. + +"Well, Tretheway," said he, "and this is the way you carry on?" + +I was silent. + +"I took you for a decent lad, perhaps my better in many things, and +yet, here I find you fightin' like th' old Nick himself." + +"What have I done?" I said sulkily. + +"Done! Why disabled two men, unfitted them for work for a week at +least, knocked two more into a cocked hat, and would have killed 'em if +the whole crew hadn't seized you and took you below here and put you in +irons!" + +"Somebody has struck me," I said. "I've a wound on my head." + +"A chap said he were obliged to do that or you'd a bin the death of +him." + +"Captain," I said, "you know the truth about this, and that I sought no +quarrel; but now, now--if one of them dares to trifle with me I'll----" + +"You won't have the chance, Tretheway, my boy. Every man jack of 'em +declares they will not sail with you. They've all given warnin' unless +you are dropped at the first port." + +"Why?" + +"Because they say you are not a man but a devil. They say yer eyes +were red, and they see a flame a comin' from yer mouth as you fought, +and although they're a bad lot I hain't got time to get a fresh crew to +suit you, so you must either be left in irons until we get to London, +or be dropped at Dover." + +"I'll go to London," I said; "I may stand a better chance there." + +The captain left me, and I was again alone. I did not feel at all +excited, but a kind of despair possessed me. I was not at all +surprised or annoyed at the men. I felt that they were right. I +should have done harm to them had I remained at liberty. I was not fit +to have my irons knocked off. The spirit of hatred possessed me, +hatred that was dark and murderous, and hatred is the devil. + +I spoke to no one during the time I remained on the vessel. I spoke +not when the irons were knocked off my feet and hands by the captain. +I climbed to the deck, and saw the men huddled together as if in fear, +and I stood and watched them; then I looked and saw we were anchored in +a great tidal river, and that London, great London, was on either side +of me. Once it would have aroused all the enthusiasm and excitement of +my nature. Now I was unmoved. I was about to leave the boat, when a +thought struck me and I turned to the captain. + +"Captain Luke Miller," I said, "you know the whole meaning and history +of this matter, and that I picked no quarrel. I don't grumble; but I +want you to stretch a point for me. Can you give me a certificate as +an able-bodied seaman?" + +He did not speak, but put a piece of paper in my hand, and pointed to +the board by which I was to leave the boat. I gave him a look of +thankfulness and left. + +I tramped through the crowded London streets unheedingly. I did not +realise the seething surging, masses of people; I forgot that I was in +the greatest city of the world, the centre of thought, and power, and +learning. + +At length I came to London Bridge. I did not know it at the time, but +I have since learned that such was the fact. I stood for a little +while wondering at the great crowds of busy people, and then I looked +at the broad, dirty river. A large vessel was being unloaded of her +cargo, and I went straight to the captain. + +I asked him for a place among the crew. He looked at me suspiciously +and then said, "Who was your last captain?" + +I told him. + +"Let's have a look at your papers," he said. + +Although I had not looked at what Captain Luke Miller had given me, I +handed the certificate to this skipper, who read it carefully. + +"I'll engage you," he said, giving me back my certificate. + +I looked at it afterwards and found the reason of my ready acceptance. +Luke Miller had proved a friend indeed, and had spoken very highly of +me. + +In a few days we set sail, during which time I remained on board. I +had no desire to see London; I wished to be away on the broad, deep sea. + +I found that we were bound for a long voyage, and that the captain had +got together a very motley crew. This did not trouble me; in fact, I +was glad on both scores. The journey would take me away--I cared not +where, the savagery of the crew accorded with my own wild feelings. +They were a poor, degraded set, weak physically, and with the stamp of +villainy upon them. Their conversation was degrading, their every +thought was steeped with filth. I soon made myself a sort of +unofficial captain among them, and by a strong will held them in +subjection. + + +I dropped my pen at the last word, for I found myself beginning to +describe in detail my seafaring experience, and I must not do that. It +is not necessary, nor will it be interesting. One or two prominent +facts I shall relate, the rest must be imagined. + +I sailed with this captain and this crew nearly twelve months, then I +left them, and for the next seven years I went from ship to ship and +from crew to crew. + +I need not have done so, but I determined not to set my foot on English +ground. I wished to keep away from every association and thought of my +past life. There is not much that I need describe. I had the usual +experience of seafaring men. I experienced cold, hunger, and storm; +but was indifferent to them. I do not think I had any interest in +life. Often death stared me in the face, and I did not flinch. I +should not have minded had the hand of death struck me down. Indeed, +if I ever wished for anything it was that I should die, and still I +remained strong, and hearty, and well. + +But my love for Ruth died not, my hatred for Wilfred was as strong as +it was when I had seen him with Ruth on the great headland watching the +ship in which I sailed. Every fact of my early life, and of my +relations with Ruth, was as real and vivid as when I had lived at home. +The eight years I had been away had destroyed neither my memory, nor my +feelings. + +It was a wild life I lived. I had no friends, no ties, nothing, in +fact, to refine or purify. The hatred in my heart kept me from being +loved by my associates, and nothing kept me from sinking to the lowest +depths of degradation but my love for Ruth. Often, when I was on the +point of yielding to the low and the depraved, my love for her saved +me. That was a pure force in my life, and it was my salvation. + +Often did I think of the old home life. Often did I imagine what my +mother and the rest would be doing. Sometimes I asked myself if ever +they thought of me, or if they had any idea as to what had become of +me. I tried to comfort myself by believing that they thought about me, +or that they mourned me as dead. Then I hoped that they wished me +alive and waited for my home-coming; but that hope was speedily +dispelled by the remembrance of my last interview with Ruth and my +mother. + +Strange to say, I never once longed to return home; never once desired +that my feet should stand on the spongy turf on the great headland; +never wanted to speak to any one of the family. I felt that I was a +banished man, homeless and friendless. + +It may be that some will say the "Trewinion's curse" is merely an idle +tale. I know not; this I know: that ever since I realised my hatred +for Wilfred, on the morning of my departure, I lived a new life, a life +that was all dark. The skies were black, the earth was black, and, +worst of all, my heart was black. Never since then had I known real +joy or gladness. A terrible despair gnawed at my heart, and this I +carried everywhere. I had thought that by going away from the scenes +of my childhood I should escape my sorrow. I was foolish to think so. +I discovered that sorrow comes not so much from the outward; it comes +from the heart, from the man himself. Wherever I went I could not +shake off the shadow of self, and thus I was never free from sorrow and +pain. + +At the end of eight years there was a change in my life. I was now +more than thirty. My softer feelings, all but one, had gone. I was as +hard and callous as the cliffs which surround the Cornish coast. At +this time we were sailing the Indian seas, and our vessel was laden +with a valuable cargo. The men were lazily standing around on the +deck, while the captain stood with his glass to his eye eagerly +scanning a distant object. + +We took no notice for a while, then it was whispered along the deck +that the captain had seen a curious, suspicious-looking craft that was +evidently bearing down upon us. This whisper was soon confirmed by the +fact that our vessel's course was altered, and every stitch of canvas +that she could carry was hoisted. In spite of this, however, we saw +that the other boat was gaining rapidly upon us, and must in a very few +hours overtake us. + +I saw that a great fear had seized the crew, for there was but little +doubt that our pursuer was a pirate. For myself I did not care. I was +indifferent to life, and it mattered not what became of me. It was, +however, in my nature to fight for the side on which I found myself, so +like the rest I prepared for the struggle. When the two vessels were +near each other our pursuer hoisted a black flag, then we were sure of +what would follow. + +Never was a crew braver than ours; every man fought for dear life, but +we were no match for the assailants. They were double our number and +armed to the teeth. At length we were overpowered and bound. The +vessel was no longer in our possession, and the company to which she +belonged would have to suffer a great loss. It was not that of which +we were thinking, however. Every man was in terrible dread as to what +his own future would be. + +The captain of the pirate ship was one of the most striking men I ever +saw. He was, perhaps, forty years of age, and was of Spanish +extraction. His eyes and hair were as black as the raven's wing, and +his skin was of a dark, olive colour. His crew were likewise +Spaniards, plainly outlaws of the worst character. But I noticed that +they all loved and obeyed their chief. I did not wonder at their +obeying him, his personality was so strong, but I did wonder at their +loving him. He seemed stern, harsh, and violent. + +After we had all been bound, I saw the captain of the pirate ship +consulting with his men; evidently they were deciding what to do with +us, and there seemed some difference of opinion. Presently the captain +inspected us one by one. We were by no means as fine a crew as our +conquerors, not simply in numbers, but in kind. We were made up of +different nationalities, and I was the only Englishman among the whole +number. There were Greeks, Arabs, Turks, and one or two Austrians +among us. The captain and the mates were all Greeks, and the ship +belonged to a Greek company. Most of the men were small in bone, and +while strong and wiry, were by no means striking in appearance. + +After he had looked at us some time, there was another consultation, +and at length they decided what to do, and we saw that preparations +were being made. Eagerly I scanned the sea, but not a sail was in +sight, no help was near, and careless as I had been about danger my +heart felt heavy. + +With blanched faces our men saw a plank which reached a few yards into +the sea, placed on the vessel's deck, and with beating hearts we saw +the officers of our ship bound. + +I will not try and describe the scene. Hard and rough as I was, it was +terrible to see men killed in cold blood. In vain the captain pleaded +that he had a wife and little ones. No mercy was shown, and, although +we dreaded the sight, our eyes were drawn, as if by a magnet, to see +the men who had commanded us walking to their death. Even now their +awful shrieks as they fell into the sea ring in my ears. And we were +all bound, unable to help them, and waiting for a similar doom. + +Then we saw what caused us common sailors hope. A good-sized boat was +lowered, and provisions were placed in it; and one by one, the men were +told to board it, This they gladly did, until I was left alone. I was +preparing to follow, when the captain came up to me. He took a long +look at me and then spoke to his men. I had picked up enough of +Spanish during the years I had been away to understand an ordinary +conversation, so I followed every word he said. His opinion was that I +should make a splendid addition to their crew, and that it was a pity I +should be lost to them. + +"Your name?" he said to me abruptly. + +"Richard Tretheway!" + +"Ah, you are English?" + +"Yes." + +"How long since you were there?" + +"Eight years." + +"Why have you kept away from your home so long?" + +"For private reasons." + +"Ah!" he said eagerly, and he looked at me keenly. "One of us, eh? +Stand up, Richard Tretheway." + +I stood up. Tall as he was, I was taller, and broader too, for that +part. The Trewinions have ever been a race of giants. + +"What do you wish us to do with you?" he said at length. + +"I'm not anxious." + +"Then you don't mind walking the plank?" + +"It won't matter much. I must die some time, and I've not much to live +for." + +The captain's eyes sparkled. + +"What do you think of us?" he said at length. + +I looked at our crew, who were evidently to be sent away to die. I +thought of our officers who had only a few minutes before been +condemned to death, and I said savagely: + +"I think you are bloodthirsty villains--demons out of hell." + +He laughed a mirthless, cruel laugh, while the crew demanded my death. + +"What would you do if you had us in your power?" + +"Hang you." + +"Why?" + +"To rid the earth of such a crew." + +"Let him walk the plank," cried the men. + +But the captain was more forbearing. + +"Why, look you," he said, "you are just as bad as we. We sent your +officers to Heaven or to the other place for our safety, while you +would send us there for the safety of the world. Who has the most +reason on his side?" + +I was silent at this, and the captain went on: "You fought like a mad +bull when we were boarding you. There are three men down under lying +half dead because of you." + +"Serve them right," I said, "I was defending the party attacked, and, +while I don't care a fig for my own life, I would fight to defend those +who do." + +"Would you like to be one of us?" said the captain. + +"What would you have me do?" + +"Be a king on the high seas." + +In spite of everything I felt a liking for the captain. There was a +fascinating power about him, and I wanted to know about him. My eight +years on the wave had hardened me, and my hatred had dulled my higher +feelings. + +"Look you," he went on, "we are not wholly bad. We have freed hundreds +of slaves, and while we live by plunder we only take from the strong +and the rich. Only last week we set at liberty two hundred slaves who +would have been sold to a living death." + +He went on speaking in this strain until I was less bitter towards him, +but I said: + +"All this does not prove that you are not cold-blooded villains. The +officers of my ship are now dead through you. Your robbery is bad. +Your murder is worse." + +Again the men clamoured; but again the captain went on: + +"What, are we worse than your English man-of-war vessels? You go to +war with a country, you take her vessels, you kill her men, and your +crews divide the booty. What, are we worse? Nay, we are better!" + +I did not attempt to argue further with him, being maddened at the +thought of my captain being killed, and of the wife and children who +would have to bewail his loss. So instead of answering him I burst +into a torrent of abuse. + +"Tie his hands and blindfold him," cried the captain savagely. + +In a few seconds this was done! + +They placed me on the plank. + +"Walk!" cried the captain. + +In a second a vision of my old home flashed before me, but I walked +straight on. I felt the warp of the plank, and knew I was nearing the +end! + +Step by step I walked, then my foot went into space, and in a minute +more I fell bound into the deep sea, hearing the savage yell of the +pirate crew as I did so! + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +THE VOICE OF THE SOUL + +I had scarcely fallen into the water when I felt myself drawn up again. +Unknown to me a rope had been fastened around me, and in another minute +I stood upon the deck. + +"Good!" cried the captain. "You stood the test well, and are just the +sort of fellow we want." I looked at him in astonishment. + +"Yes, you may look," he said, "but at heart you are one of us. I can +see both discontent and defiance in your eyes, your face. You are out +of love with the world, and when you know my history you'll sympathise +with me, and won't take much persuading to become one of our crew." + +I was thereupon taken to a cabin, where I was supplied with dry +clothes, after which the captain came and spoke to me. Evidently, he +was desirous of my becoming one of his allies, for without hesitation +he told me the history of his life and his reasons for leading such a +life. + +I will not repeat his story at length. I do not wish to recall in +detail the terrible things he related. True to his Spanish nature, he +hated intensely and loved intensely. When quite a boy he had loved, +and his love had been returned. There were months of happiness, then a +rich nobleman appeared, and, fascinated by the beauty of his betrothed +sought to win her from him. Defeated in this, he used force. Then +followed a succession of plots and cunning intrigue, and, finally, +through the avarice and greed of his love's father, through social +influence, and through devilry of the worst kind, he, the pirate +captain, was robbed of the one for whom he would have died, while she +became disgraced and ruined. Then his passion burned to white heat, +and revenge was his one object. He did not rest until he had killed +his rival, after which he was obliged to fly. Others who had been +engaged with him in the fray left with him, and formed themselves into +a band, which gradually grew until they became what they were. + +I shall never forget the terrible intensity with which he told his +story; how at one time his eyeballs were red as fire, and at another +his hands trembled with passion; and again, when he told of the beauty +of his betrothed, how his voice became gentle, and his eye became +moist. In spite of everything I could not help sympathising with him, +and, afterwards, when he spoke of his buccaneering career and +remembered what led him to it I did not wonder. + +Need I tell how, little by little, I fell in with the captain's +proposals and vowed allegiance to him? I can scarcely realise what +happened now; it seems but as a half-forgotten dream; though real +enough then. In those days my better nature was dead, or nearly so. I +had allowed one passion to conquer me, and it had poisoned my whole +being. I had learnt the meaning of the words of Scripture: "For +whosoever shall keep the whole law and yet offend in one point, he is +guilty of all." This is more than mere words; it is a principle of +life. One passion corrupts the whole being, degrades the whole man, +and thus I, because I entertained hate for my brother, lost my finer +nature and joined a crew of pirates. + +I will not portray the life we led; how by sheer brute force and will +power I fought my way up until I was next in power to the captain +himself. I could fill a volume in narrating the battles we fought and +the hair-breadth escapes we had, but whoever reads these lines must +imagine for themselves how we dreaded being taken, and how we vowed a +terrible vow to die the most awful death rather than be conquered by +any vessel, of whatever nationality. Truly it was a wild life, full of +danger and peril; and yet I was happier in it than I had been for +years. There was freedom on the wide seas, there were interest and +excitement in our constant frays. The life suited my uncouth, rugged +nature, and thus for two years I almost forgot my past and lived only +in the excitement of the present. + +I had been ten years away from home, ten years without ever catching +sight of the British shores. Eight years I had served on trading +vessels of various nationalities, and two years I had been a pirate, +when another change came. + +I was sitting one evening alone, watching the setting sun, when I began +to think of my old life. I remembered all the legends of our house and +name as vividly as if I had been hearing them during the last ten +years. I thought of my father's warning that I should never leave the +Trewinion estate for six months at a time; if I did the race for three +generations would be cursed, while I should be haunted by dark spirits +on my deathbed. I remembered how he told me that if a Trewinion did +what was unlawful he brought down the vengeance of Heaven. And I had +been away ten years; I had become a pirate and was ever under a +sentence of death. I thought again of old Deborah Teague's warning, of +the cave full of evil women, and wondered. Then memories of Ruth came +back to me, and I saw her at Trewinion Manor as Wilfred's wife. I +wondered if I should ever see them all again--wondered, and then tried +to forget. I became oblivious of the beauty of the setting sun and of +my surroundings. The ship on which I sailed might be a ship of the +fancy for all I knew, for all I knew the crew might be spirits or men. +I was back again in my old home, and when at length I was aroused from +my reverie I could not get rid of the impression that I was wanted, +needed amongst the scenes of my childhood. + +Presently the captain came near and laid his hand on my shoulder. + +"Tretheway, I am getting tired of this roving life," he said. + +"So am I," was my reply. + +"I have been thinking," he went on, "if there may not be happiness and +peace for me even yet. I have been wondering if I may not return to +the land of my birth, and maybe find someone whom I can love and who +can love me." + +I looked up into his face. There was a soft expression in his eyes, +and his lip was tremulous. + +"Perhaps the way may open up soon," I said. + +"It shall," he replied, sternly, and walked away. + +Soon after this I turned in. I did not expect to sleep, but no sooner +had my head been placed on the pillow than I fell asleep and dreamed. + +I saw the old home again as plainly as if I were there, and recognised +several of the servants. Katherine and Elizabeth I could not see, but +my mother was there, and Wilfred. In my dream I wandered from room to +room. I felt sure that Ruth was in the house, but I could not find +her. At length I entered the library. I thought I could see +everything, and yet I was unseen. It appeared to me that while my +spirit was there my body was elsewhere. All my thinking powers were +supernaturally awake, but my body was asleep. + +The room was in darkness, or nearly so, and I thought no one was there +until I heard a sigh, and then I saw Ruth. She moved in her chair as +if weary. A servant entered bearing a light, and then I saw her face. +It was wonderfully changed. It was not that she looked older, but that +she was so weary and wan. The old joyous light was gone from her eyes, +and she was very thin and fragile. + +"Ah!" I thought, "the marriage has not been happy. Perhaps Wilfred has +not been kind to her; perhaps she has children, and they are sickly." + +I looked at her hand, but could see no wedding ring. Then I heard a +noise outside and a whispering, and I saw that her face had a look of +terror upon it, as though she dreaded some great calamity. + +The door opened, and in walked my mother and Wilfred. + +I looked at both their faces and watched their expression. Hers looked +somewhat haggard and hard; while his was cunning and yet fascinating. + +They sat down beside her, and mother asked her why she looked so +troubled and wan; but she was silent. Then Wilfred spoke to her. + +"Ruth," he said, "the ten long years have come to an end. You know +your promise. Think how patiently I have waited, and how I must have +loved you to wait so long. Now, Ruth, let us wed at once, so that we +may fulfil our fathers' wishes." + +Then I looked at her again, and from her eyes tears fell, and on her +face was such a look of misery that her enemy, had she one, could not +help pitying her. + +"You are not Trewinion's heir," she murmured. + +"How can you say that?" he replied. "Roger is dead, of that we are +sure. You know that his body was found a few days after his departure, +bruised and battered, 'tis true, but still my mother recognised him, +and so did Mr. Inch, and Mr. Polperrow. All believed it was Roger but +you, and so when I asked you to fulfil our fathers' wishes you would +not. Then the months and years passed on, and Roger came not; so I +pleaded with you again, and you said if Roger came not within ten years +of his departure you would believe him dead and wed me. Those ten +years are complete this very night, and I am come again to claim my +promise." + +Then I saw Ruth bury her face in her hands and sob bitterly. + +Again the door opened, and I saw Mr. Inch enter with a roll of papers +in his hand. + +"Mr. Inch," cried Ruth, "will you not be my friend, will you not tell +me that this need not be?" + +Then I saw Mr. Inch and Wilfred change glances, and the former open his +roll of papers. + +"I am your friend," he said; "and I am also your father's old servant, +and I would see his wishes carried out." + +Then he began to read:--"'I desire my daughter Ruth to dwell in the +house of my friend, Roger Trewinion, and that she shall be wedded to +his heir, so that the two estates shall be united. And it is my will +that she shall be wedded to him as soon as possible after she comes of +age, and to remain at Trewinion Manor until within a month of the +wedding day. Then she shall return to Morton Hall to prepare for the +marriage ceremony.' This is an extract from the will," he went on, +"and I should not be a friend to Miss Ruth if I failed to see this +carried out. We have waited now many years beyond the time, and if +this be not done soon the bodies of the dead fathers will rise from +their graves to know why their wishes have not been fulfilled." + +Then I heard Ruth speak again. + +"Oh, Roger, Roger," she said, "why did you go away?" + +"Why?" said my mother, "because you drove him. He was mad with love +for you, and because you scorned him he ended his days. Be careful, +or, perchance, you will drive my other son to his death as well." + +At this she looked up to the faces of those in the room with an +expression of dull despair. + +"I will obey my father's will," she said huskily, "make what +arrangements you choose." + +Then I saw Wilfred move towards her, as if to embrace her; and I +thought I went forward too, as if to hinder him, but Ruth looked up and +gave a scream, half of joy, half of fear. + +"Roger is here!" she cried. + +I thought I saw consternation on every face, then all melted away, and +I awoke. + +I was lying in my cabin in a pirate vessel, was not at home at all; +what I had seen was a mocking dream. And yet all was real. I could +not believe that I had not been at home, though I knew it could not be. +I was away on the broad seas, hundreds of miles from land. My +imagination had been excited, and I had dreamed--that was all. I tried +to sleep again, but could not, I was constantly thinking of what I had +seen in my vision. Then I remembered the day of the month and the +year. Yes, ten years ago that very night I had left home. I had not +been thinking of that, but in spite of everything it had been revealed +to me in my dream. Was it a dream, or was it real? Had my spirit +travelled home, the spirit that knows no boundary or limits, had I seen +a vision of what really existed? + +Such a thing was without precedent in my experience, and yet why should +it not be? Our bodies are not ourselves. We are distinct from the +flesh, the bone, the sinew, why then might not the spirit have liberty +to go home to its early associations? + +I could remain in my cabin no longer. I rushed up to the deck, saw two +sailors standing at the post of duty. I spoke a word to them, and then +went towards the forecastle alone. + +The night was as still as death, not a ripple could I see on the +waters. I looked around me, and all was smooth, placid sea. I looked +upwards and saw a cloudless sky, the full moon was almost as bright as +the sun itself, so much so that the stars barely showed themselves. +Now and then I could hear the gentle lapping of the water against the +vessel's side, but beyond that--nothing. + +I stood alone, minute after minute, thinking. I could not forget my +dream, for such I had forced myself to believe it was, when---- + +What was it I heard? + +The cry of a woman! A wail of distress! + +My heart seemed ready to burst; but I listened. + +Then I heard words. I heard my own name uttered by a woman' voice! + +And I was alone on a vessel, with nothing but men on board, hundreds of +miles from land, and no other vessel near. + +"Roger! Roger! where are you?" said the voice. + +I answered not, I could not, for my tongue clave to the roof of my +mouth, but eagerly I listened. + +"Come to me, Roger! Come to me, or they will kill me!" + +It was Ruth's voice, carried by the power of God to me. I was wanted +home. I was sure of it, yet I could make no answer to what I had +heard. For years I had forgotten God, but He had not forgotten me. He +had revealed Himself in the voice I had heard. He had carried the +message of Ruth's heart to me. I was sure now that there was a God in +Heaven, and that He was telling me to frustrate evil. + +Then something told me that all this was fancy, the result of an +excited brain. I had been dreaming, and now I fancied I had heard what +only existed in a mind half mad. I rushed to one of the sailors. + +"Did you hear a woman's voice, just now?" I said. + +"Woman's voice?" said the man, evidently surprised, "why no, sir!" + +Had I been mistaken? Was it all delirium? + +Again I strained my ears, and again I heard the voice. + +"Come, Roger, I am all alone. Oh come to me!" + +I answered, but whether articulately or no I cannot say; the words I +said in my heart were, + +"I am coming, Ruth, I am coming." + +Then it seemed to me that the broad waste of waters reiterated my +words, until away in the far distance, where the sea lost itself in the +sky, I could hear them repeated "I am coming, Ruth, I am coming." + +I know that this will seem strange to whoever may read it, but I only +speak the truth. Perhaps my sons and my sons' sons may say it was +simply the result of an overwrought mind; but I believe otherwise. + +For hours I walked the deck, but I heard nothing more. I expected +nothing. I weighed what I had seen in my dreams, and connected it with +what I had heard in my waking moments. What did it mean? First my +fears said it was but the deceitful words of the devil, who would drag +me deeper into sin. But my heart cast that off. I felt that there was +no evil agency at work. Then I thought it was only a dream; but how +could that be? Why should it come that night, exactly ten years from +the time I had left home, and why should I hear the voice afterwards? +And so I came to the conclusion that I had been allowed by God to know +that I was needed at home. + +The thought gave me new life, new energy. The passion of my hatred was +stunned by some greater passion. If my dream were indeed true, if the +voice were not a mockery, Ruth was not yet married, and she loved me. +For hours I lived in blissful ecstasy, the smooth waters were written +all over with messages of joy, the sky seemed full of the angels of God. + +Then I became possessed of a feverish anxiety to return home. I must +not lose a minute, but great difficulties lay in the way. I was +thousands of miles from England, and there were no civilised ports we +dared enter. Piracy on the high seas is a crime, and so there would be +great difficulty in landing at any port from which I could sail for +home. But the difficulty must be managed somehow. Ruth wanted me, and +I would go home. + +I must speak to the captain at once, he could sympathise with me; he +would help me. + +Then I saw a streak of gold shoot across the waters, and soon the sea +was flooded with glory. The king of day rose, triumphant, grand. The +night was over, and I felt the light of day in my heart. + +I turned to the gangway and saw the captain wistfully watching the +glowing sea. + +Without hesitation I went to him, and began my story. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +AFTER LONG YEARS + +"I wish to say a few words to you, captain." + +"Say on, Tretheway." + +"I have never told you the history of my life, now I wish to do so." + +He nodded his head as if ready to listen. Accordingly I began, and +related in some detail the story of my life. He listened attentively; +evidently, he was interested. Step by step he followed my narrative, +until I came to the previous evening. Then as I told him of the dream +and the call I had heard, his face became pale as death, and he +clenched his hand nervously. + +"It is the voice of God, or of the mother of God. You must go, +Tretheway," he said. + +"Yes, I feel I must, and that soon," I replied. "But how?" + +"Last night I told you that I was tired of this life," he said. "This +morning I feel I must leave it. I have been a wild, lawless fellow, +Tretheway; but I have been more sinned against than sinning, and I want +to go home, where, by gifts to the Church, prayers, and penances I +shall surely receive forgiveness." + +For an hour we talked together. + +It was all settled at length. The vessel should sail under his +direction with all speed to the coast of France, where we were to make +over the whole cargo and ship to the crew, and then leave it for ever. +Accordingly we altered the course of the vessel, and after a few days' +fast sailing reached the desired position. Then the captain called the +crew together and appointed officers to command, ordered a boat and +provisions to be lowered, and told them he meant to leave them for ever. + +At first the men demurred, they could never agree under another captain +they declared, but when Salambo (the captain) told them that the vessel +and all its belongings were theirs, and that he should make no claim +upon it, they became pacified. + +We were now a few miles from land, at the nearest point between France +and Spain, and we could see the lights of St. Sebastian in the +distance. It wanted but an hour to daybreak, and we wished, if +possible, to land without attracting any attention. To me this seemed +almost impossible; but the captain was confident, so I trusted him. + +We left the pirate vessel at length, I feeling a great load lifted off +my mind. All the time I had been with the crew I had seemed to breathe +foul atmosphere, and when I was once rid of them a new life opened +before me. We had drifted, perhaps, a mile from the vessel when +Salambo hoisted a small sail, and the wind being favourable we were +wafted quickly towards land. This being done, he opened a box, which +he had taken care should be lowered into the boat, and took from it two +complete suits of gentlemen's attire. + +"I always like to be ready for emergencies," he said, coolly. "If we +go on shore dressed as we are we shall be objects of suspicion +immediately." + +He changed his clothes, which completely altered his appearance, after +which he bade me follow his example. + +"Now," he said, when I had finished, "you look more like a civilized +man; but there is a pirate's fire in your eye even yet. I don't know +that I should like having you for an enemy, for I think you would still +make short work of the man you disliked." + +Involuntarily, I thought of my brother Wilfred, and clenched my hands +nervously. Salambo watched me with a curious look on his face, and +then continued: + +"But we must get rid of these things, or they will not fit in with my +story when we land." + +"Why, what are you going to say?" + +"Say! Why, that I am a Spanish gentleman from Santiago, that you are +an English friend of mine, and that we have for a freak come over here. +I speak the Spanish language perfectly, of course, while you speak it +with an English accent. Leave all to me. I'll manage it." + +We landed at St. Sebastian in the early moming without difficulty. The +change in Salambo's clothes had not only altered his appearance, but it +had apparently made a different man of him. He was no longer the wild +sea robber, but a refined, courteous gentleman. Instinctively the +peasantry saluted him with respect, and we were soon installed in the +best place of accommodation in the town. + +I was anxious to get away, and feverishly asked him as to my best means +of getting to England. + +"I have been thinking whether we shall ever meet again," he said, +without answering my question. "We have been together nearly two +years, and we have come to regard each other as friends. Should we +ever settle down, which I doubt in spite of our desires, I hope we +shall be able to meet--meet in peace as brothers." + +"Why not?" I said, boldly and confidently, "nothing would give me more +joy than to welcome you in my old Cornish home." + +"Ah, Senor Trewinion," he said, for I had told him my true name, "we +have both been away ten years, and when we get to our respective +birthplaces we shall find things much changed. And--well, my heart is +sad, and I have many doubts." + +"I feel that my Ruth is alive," I said, confidently, though my heart +sank within me. + +"She may be alive, and yet who knows if she loves you? Ah! Senor, do +not build your hopes too high. A woman is for ever a woman, a puzzle +to themselves, and an unfathomable mystery to men." + +"Well, I'm going to see if all is well, anyhow," I said. "What are you +going to do?" + +"Trewinion, I feel I have acted wrongly," he said. "I came away +leaving my Inez unprotected. The man who stole her from me is dead; +but what has become of her I know not. Methinks I never loved her +well, or I should not have left her because of fear of pursuit. She +was guilty of nothing, and she loved me, and I have left her all these +long years." + +I was silent, for I felt it would be useless to speak. + +"But I shall try to find her," he went on, "and--who knows?--it may be +that she will forgive me and we shall be happy. I trust so, I pray it +may be so." + +"And if you do, how shall I know?" I said. + +"I have been thinking of this ever since we decided to leave," he +replied, "and this is the plan I have marked out. You had better go +first to Bordeaux. From there you will be easily able to get a vessel +for England. I, on the other hand, shall go across The Pyrenees to my +home at Barcelona. If I am alive, this address will find me," and he +put a piece of paper in my hand. + +"Will you be safe there?" I asked. + +"I think so. You know my people are wild and passionate. They easily +forgive such sins as mine when they remember my provocation. Indeed, I +have known the perpetrators of similar deeds lauded as heroes. My only +thought is, if I shall find Inez--if I do not I shall not care to live; +but if I do, the past will be forgotten, and I shall be happy." + +The tears stood in his eyes as he spoke, and then I realised that all +his sinful deeds had not destroyed his heart. + +I left that same afternoon for Bordeaux, while Salambo made +preparations to go to Barcelona, where he hoped to find his Inez. + +In spite of all my eagerness and anxiety it was one month from the +night on which I received my summons home to the time I landed at +Falmouth. Without waiting an hour I made preparations to hurry on to +Trewinion Manor. I shall never forget my feelings when, after ten +years of absence, I first saw the Cornish cliffs. At one time it +seemed as though the past ten years were only a dream, and that I had +never left Cornwall at all, and again I felt as though my life prior to +my leaving home was an unreality. + +I found a coach at Falmouth that would take me within a few miles of my +home, so I quickly took my place, and then fretted and fumed as we +slowly rumbled on. It was towards afternoon when the coach arrived at +the spot where I could be set down, and there with fast beating heart I +watched the retreating conveyance, while I stood not far from my +birthplace. + +How quiet it was to be sure! There were no houses near, save one +little wayside cottage and a small farmhouse among the fields. All the +features were as familiar as if I had never left them. Hill and dale +alike were known to me, I had roamed over them all long years since. +All these rich green meadows were mine. I, who had been an alien and a +wanderer on the face of the earth, was the lawful master of all I saw, +and yet nothing was mine, for had I not renounced them long years ago, +renounced them for the sake of the woman I loved? + +I set out for the old homestead and walked rapidly. Eagerly I passed +by every landmark which told me I was nearer home, and when at last +only one little hillock stood between me and the sight of the place +that was ever dear to me I almost lost control over my actions. + +Up I rushed, heedless of everything, until nothing hid it from my gaze. +I was like the old Israelites who travelled towards Jerusalem, and +anxiously waited for the last hill to be reached in order that they +might see the place they loved best in the world. + +And this was the place I loved best. There it stood, grey, rugged and +stern as in the olden days, its sturdy tower still braving the wind and +weather. Long I stood and looked at it. My home! The place where my +father had taught me to love him, the place where he had died, blessing +me! Eagerly I watched for signs of life, but I could seen none; all +was silent and lonely. I looked seaward and saw the smooth, glittering +waters as they played around the base of the "Devil's Tooth;" I watched +the yellow beach, which sloped up towards the witches' cave; I saw the +rugged cliffs and the rocks over which I had helped Ruth years before, +when Wilfred had left her alone. And, as I stood, memory after memory +flashed through my mind, old sayings came back to me, and scenes which +I had not thought about for years excited my mind, until my whole being +was moved to the very centre, and in spite of all my hardships and +buffetings I sobbed like a child. + +I was surprised that no signs of life appeared. I looked at the fields +and saw not a single soul. I looked at the little cove. A few boats +were rocking idly on the waters, but no human being was near. Was the +place deserted? Then I began to think. The day of the week was +Monday, and it was the third Monday in September. Yes, that was the +feast day of Trewinion parish. Yesterday the parish church would be +crowded; to-day the parishioners would meet at the Churchtown, where +there would be great festivities. It was a general holiday for the +whole parish, and the people had congregated on the village green over +by the church. + +Still, I expected a few servants would be at home, and mother, and, +perchance, Wilfred. He would never mix with the rowdy villagers, as he +called them, and would probably be in the library following some +favourite literary pursuit. What should I do? Go home and proclaim +myself as Roger Trewinion, owner and master of everything? No, I did +not like to do that--yet I must know how things stood. I must know +about everything, where Ruth was, and what position she held! + +And still I stood gazing on the old house on the cliff until I saw a +man come out and slowly saunter down the drive. + +It was Wilfred. + +I started to go forward and speak to him, but stopped immediately +after. Long years of foreign travel and passing through dangerous +scenes had made me careful. I knew not how I should be received, and I +must not give Wilfred the whip hand of me. No, I would find out what +had happened at home during the intervening years. I would go on to +the village green, and there, perchance, I should see those who knew me +in the past, and should give them a chance of recognising me. + +Passing near the church, however, I could not resist the temptation to +enter. To an ordinary sightseer, it would doubtless possess small +attraction, but to me who accompanied my father there more than twenty +years before, and where I had received what little religious +instruction I possessed, it was of more than ordinary interest. +Besides, my father was buried beneath the altar steps, and I longed to +see the place again. Accordingly I entered the churchyard, and finding +the church door open, entered the sacred building. Instinctively I +found my way to the eastern end of the church, and there experienced +one of the strangest sensations of my life. On the wall just above my +father's tomb was a tablet erected to the memory of my father, giving +not only the year of his birth, but the manner of his death. But this +was not what affected me. I had expected to see some memorial of my +father, but what startled me was the sight of another tablet +immediately beneath it, on which were written these words:-- + + SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF + + ROGER TREWINION + + ELDEST SON OF THE ABOVE + + WHO MET HIS DEATH BY DROWNING, AND WHOSE BODY + WAS DISCOVERED ON THE SANDS. + + "_Thy brother shall rise again!_" + + THIS TABLET WAS ERECTED BY HIS LOVING MOTHER + AND BROTHER. + + +Whether wonder or anger were strongest within me I know not, but both +strove mightily. For first of all it is a strange experience for any +man to see his own tombstone, and in spite of myself I could not help +shivering. But strong as was this feeling, anger well-nigh overcame +it. It seemed to me that both my mother and brother were so eager for +me to be dead, that they were glad of any excuse for making me appear +so, and I determined that I would understand what it all meant. + +Accordingly I walked towards the village and soon found myself in the +midst of about two hundred people, which was regarded as a great crowd +in that neighbourhood. In one corner of the green was a wrestling +ring, and in another was a group of young folk dancing to the music of +two or three instruments, which had evidently been specially obtained +for the occasion. Some very coarse sweetmeats were being sold at the +sweet stalls and a general holiday air pervaded the scene. I saw as I +came up that I was curiously regarded. My dress was of foreign make, +and I was bronzed by years of exposure. My beard, too, was long, and +my whole appearance was different from those whom the people would be +likely to see. Moreover, it was very seldom a stranger visited that +neighbourhood, and thus naturally I was regarded as a sort of curiosity. + +I looked from face to face, but could see no one that I knew. During +these years middle-aged men seemed to have grown old, and children to +have sprung into men and women. I made my way towards the wrestling +ring, where two youths struggled with each other, while the people +looked at them with open mouths. Here I saw two or three farmers whom +I knew, but I did not care to enter into conversation. + +It was very strange. I was home, and yet no one knew me. The parish +was called by my name, the church was called Trewinion Church, and yet +I, Roger, the oldest male member of the house, was a stranger, and +looked at curiously by the people. Eleven years before I had been at +the feast, and then everyone had paid respect to "Maaster Roger"; but +now, the bronzed, bearded, foreign-looking man, was an alien. + +At length one of the two men who had been wrestling was thrown, and +then I heard a voice which I thought I knew, saying, "That's a feir +vall." It was spoken by the man who had been selected as umpire, and +when I caught sight of his face I recognised Bill Tregargus, the man +who climbed the "Devil's Tooth" on the stormy night when Ruth was +rescued. I had always remained friendly with Bill up to the time I +left. I determined I would speak to him. + +As this was the last "hitch" of the day, the ring was broken up, and I +saw Bill going with the rest towards the village alehouse. + +I went up to him and touched him upon the arm. + +"You seem to be a man of some importance here," I said. + +Bill looked very modest, but nodded. + +"I want to have a little talk with some respectable man in the parish," +I said: "one who knows the worth of land and one who knows the people." + +"Wal, I think as 'ow I knaws everybody," said Bill; "I've bin ere oal +my life, and don't owe nobody nothin'. I've got three booats, and a +daicent little farm." + +"I can quite fancy that," I said, "by the way people regard you. Is +your farm your own land now, or do you rent it?" + +"Nobody farms their own land in this ere parish," replied Bill, "it do +oal belong to Squire Trewinion, but who be you and what do you want to +knaw about the parish for?" + +"I'm a stranger," I said, "and I used to know young Roger Trewinion; +can you tell me anything about him?" + +"Knaw young Maaster Roger, did 'ee?" cried Bill, "why he was a friend +to me; ain't 'ee 'eard un spaik of Bill Tregargus?" + +"Bill Tregargus?" I said; "many a time! why, did you not go out with +him one night and rescue a young lady whose ship was wrecked upon a +great rock?" + +"Why, iss," said Bill excitedly, "ded a ever tell 'ee 'bout that?" + +"How should I know it else?" I said; "but now I want to know about him +and the family." + +He took me away from the people by a pathway that led through a meadow. + +"You was a friend of Maaster Roger's," said Bill, "zo I can tell 'ee. +He's dead, and there's been foul play." + +"Foul play? How?" + +"It's my belief 'ow 'e've bin murdered, zur." + +"Murdered! Why should you think that?" + +"When did you knaw Maaster Roger, sur?" + +"Oh, twelve years ago, just before he came of age, I think." + +"Well, sur, ther've bin awful doin's up at th' House since then, +things, sur, as I'm amooast 'fraid to tell 'ee, 'cause----" + +Then a frightened look came into Bill's eyes, and he looked round +nervously. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +REVENGE! + +"You doan't belong to this neighbourhood, do 'ee?" said Bill, at length. + +"I have not been in England for years," was my reply. + +"Well, sur, I'll tell 'ee oal about it. Perhaps you knaw that the +young lady who was saved was stayin' at the house?" + +"Yes, I've heard of it. Miss Morton was her name, wasn't it?" + +"Iss, that's it. Well, Maaster Roger and Maaster Wilfred was boath in +love wi' her; and Maaster Wilfred he stood the best chance 'cause Mrs. +Trewinion dedn't like Roger, and she amoast worshipped Wilfred. Of +course, we doan't know all about it, but we've heerd as 'ow there was +somethin' in Squire Morton's will which made Miss Ruth marry the Squire +of Trewinion. Anyhow the ou'll squire got killed, and jist after that, +altho' Maaster Roger wur maaster of everything, he runned away and left +Wilfred to be the squire. Of course, everybody wondered at that, and +grieved too, for Maaster Roger wur a fav'rit' with us all. Then we +heerd from the sarvents that Mrs. Trewinion and Maaster Wilfred had +worked it out. She had tould Miss Ruth that young Roger had been +boasting that she would 'ave to marry him, although 'ee didn't care +anything 'bout 'er, and we heerd as 'ow she tould Maaster Roger that +Miss Ruth loved his brother, but couldn't marry him 'cause he was in +the way, and that the thought of marryin' him, that is Maaster Roger, +was drivin' her mad. We doan't knaw 'bout oal these things, sur, but +anyhow, Maaster Roger was missin' dreckly after his father's funerl, +and hev never bin seed alive since. Well, after he was gone, Miss Ruth +nearly broke her heart. You never see such a pale thing as she went +to." + +"But I think I heard that she liked Wilfred best; at least, Roger told +me so." + +"Ded Maaster Roger tell 'ee that, sur? Well, everybody thought so. +She would go out a walking with Wilfred, but 'ardly ever with Roger; +but wimmin be curus critters, and it 'pears that all the time she wur a +dyin' for 'im, only she wur too proud to let 'im know it." + +In spite of myself my heart gave a great bound. I saw it now. I had +been the tool of my mother and Wilfred. I had spent long years of +grief because of them; my life was perhaps wrecked, but I kept calm +before Bill, and bade him go on with his story. + +"Well, sur," Bill continued, "while everyone was talkin' 'bout Maaster +Roger, and was wonderin' what 'ad become ov him, the body of a man wur +found at the bottom of the headland oal bruised and battered. Of +course, everybody said 'twas Maaster Roger. In fact, Mrs. Trewinion, +and the passon, and Maaster Inch swore to him, an' 'cordingly it was +took into the house, and in a day or two was buried in the Trewinion +vault, under the Communion in the church there," pointing to the grey +tower, which we could just see between the trees. + +"But were proper steps taken to indentify it?" I asked. + +"Well, sur, you see, when a young fella's mawther sweers to 'im there +can't be much more zed. Anyhow, everybody believed it but Miss Ruth. +She stuck out that 'twadn' Maaster Roger, and wudd'n go to the funeral. +Of course, there were a lot of talk, but we people only heerd jist bits +of gossip like. For my oan paart, I 'greed with her. I knawed that +Maaster Roger knawed too much 'bout the cliffs not to vall over um, +while as fur killin' hisself, he wadn't the sort of chap to do that." + +"Did you say so?" + +"'Course I did, but people laughed at me, and zed I worshipped Maaster +Roger, which wur purty nigh true. But what vollied wur strange. +People zed as ow a strange figure wur seed in the churchyard, and that +it went wailin' up an' down, and then went in through the church door, +and then up to the Trewinion vault, where it vanished." + +"But how could anyone see it go through the door, and then up to the +vault?" + +"Dunnaw, sir; but sperrits be curse things. Any-rate, thur wur lots of +talk, fur 'twas seed not only in the church, and churchyard, but up at +the house." + +"Who was it supposed to be?" + +"Well, some do say as 'twas this man that was buried that wasn't +Maaster Roger. Some do say as 'twas th' oull squire hisself, who come +back to tell un that they didn' bury his son; while others do say that +the squire com back to tell Miss Ruth to marry Wilfred. Anyhow, things +went on like that for a week till the passon was called up to the +house, and was tould to lay the ghost." + +"How do you know if that is true?" + +"Well, sur, that es what people do say. They say that Mrs. Trewinion +and the passon went first into the library and then to the church, and +there the passon ded read the funeral service over again, and took care +to turn the Prayer-book upside down so that the ghost couldn't rise any +more." + +"And was it seen afterwards?" + +"No sur, it weren't; but some don't think 'twas the passon laid the +ghost, but 'cause Debrah Teague had summin to do wi' it, and the passon +had a row wi' her." + +"Well, what happened afterwards?" + +"Things went on quiet for a bit, sur; then we heerd as 'ow Maaster +Wilfred, who took 'pon him the place ov squire, was plagin' Miss Ruth +to marry un, and she wudden, then it laiked out that she said she +wudden marry un 'till ten year after Maaster Roger 'ad gone." + +"My dream, my dream!" I thought. Surely the hand of God was in this; +but I did not know all then! + +"Well, are the ten years up yet?" I said, as quietly as I could. + +"'Twas up 'bout a month ago, sur; and then, sur we've heerd as 'ow a +strange thing happened." + +"What?" + +"I have to go up to the house a goodish bit, sur. I take fish there, +and I'm friendly weth the sarvents, too, and so I heer more'n anybody +else." + +"Well?" + +"They do say as 'ow Mrs. Trewinion and Maaster Wilfred went botherin' +'er again to marry 'im, tellin' her that the ten years was up. They +say, too, that Maaster Wilfred got Miss Ruth's old steward Inch into +some scrapes, and can make un do moast what he've got a mind to. +Anyhow they oal got at her, and got her to promise, when she screeches +out 'Roger es ere; I see un!' There were a sarvent in the 'all that +eerd her and she tould me!" + +"Merciful God," I thought, my dream again. + +"What happened afterwards?" I said, excitedly. + +"Why, sur, Miss Ruth she fented away, and lyed like one dead for a long +time, and when she came to she looked oal dazed." + +"And then?" + +"The next day she went to her own house." + +"What for?" + +"To prepare for the weddin'. She believed, so she tould her maid, that +Roger must be dead, and so she went home tu fulfil her father's will, +and prepare for the weddin'." + +"What, did Wil--, that is, the other brother, persist in her marrying +him, though he knew she didn't like him?" + +"That he did, sur. You see, he've bin livin' wild, and people do zay +that the whole estate es mortgaged up to its eyes, and he ded want to +get Miss Ruth so as to kep Trewinion." + +My heart grew hot with anger, but I only urged the man to go on with +his story. + +"Well, I do'ant knaw much after that 'ow things went on; but I've heerd +that she pined and pined, and still Maaster Wilfred kept her to her +promise. The banes (banns) was called in church, and the day fixed; +but she got thinner and thinner, till 'bout a week ago she--she----" + +"She what? Tell me?" + +"She died. Goodness gracious, who be you?" + +"Ruth dead! Died of a broken heart! Wilfred, your cup is full! You +shall die for this!" I cried wildly. My brain was on fire, my heart +was breaking. I had come home for this! The message was a mockery, +nothing was before me but despair and--revenge. + +"Look you!" cried Bill, "you be--iss, good Lord--you be Maaster Roger!" + +"Yes, Roger," I said, "come home for this!" + +"Oa, Maaster Roger, I wish I 'ad'n tould 'ee. I'd a bite my tongue out +fust; but I ded'n knaw, and yet I thought you was somebody I'd seed +before. Oa, Maaster Roger, do'ant 'ee give way so. Oa, to think you +should 'ev bin dead, and come back livin', and that Bill Tregargus shud +hev bin the fust to tell 'ee the bad news. Ef I'd only knaw'd I'd ev +altered it; but I ded'n." + +I conquered myself at last. I had been in a hard school during the +last ten years, living almost without hope in life, and so I felt it +less than if I buoyed myself up with joyful hopes. Still, it was +terrible, terrible. If I had come home a month before it might have +been different, but I was too late. Ah, I was cursed, cursed with the +Trewinion's curse! + +"Bill," I said, after many wild questions on my part, and excited +exclamations on his, for he could not realise that I was alive, "tell +me all about it, all about her death, and everything." + +"Well, Maaster Roger," said Bill, "what I knaw is through Jane Treloar, +who was Miss Ruth's maid, and she came back yesterday by the coach. +She do live here, you do knaw, sur. Well, she tould me and the cook +that she only made one request when she got very ill, and that was that +Maaster Wilfred shouldn't see her. She got weaker, sur, very fast, and +never spoke to anybody, and died without a murmur." + +"When was she buried?" + +"Two days agone, sur." + +"Where?" + +"In the church, sur, near her house, in the vault under the Communion, +so Jane Treloar said." + +For a long time Bill and I remained together, until I saw the evening +shadows fall, then I made up my mind I would go to the Hall. + +"Bill," I said, "did you know me at all while we were talking?" + +"Not until you got wild, sur, then it struck me who you was. Nobody +would recognise you at once, sur, you've so altered." + +"I don't want you to tell anyone you've seen me until you hear from me +again, Bill." + +"All right, sur, I won't do nothin' you do'ant want me to do; you +be'ant goin' away, be 'ee, sur, y'll stay and be squire!" + +"I don't know what I shall do yet," I said, "I'm almost mad; but you'll +know by and by." + +Then I went away towards the house. I knew Wilfred was home, and I +determined that we should meet, and that he should give an account of +his dealings with the woman for whom I had left my home. + +Daylight was nearly gone when I reached the headland so I went to a +spot near the house, where I could watch. It was a glorious September +evening, and nature was on every hand beautiful. The flush of summer +had gone; but the decay of winter had not set in, and the cornfields +which had been shorn of their crops were by no means destitute of +loveliness. The fruit trees were laden with their crimson and golden +clusters, and the first tinge of brown that was just beginning to +appear only added to the beauty of the foliage I felt this rather than +saw it. The spell of the night exists more in my consciousness than in +my memory. The music of the waters comes back to me rather as a +half-forgotten dream than as anything I distinctly remember. My mind +was then too busy with other things. I was thinking of Ruth, Ruth +loving me through long years, and then dying of a broken heart. +Through the wilful deception of my brother and mother I had been bereft +of everything I loved. Through them I had sacrificed love, hope and +comforts; through them my darling--who loved me all the time--was +murdered. Oh! If I had but known. If I had but known we might have +been happy--so happy! But no, they had remorselessly pursued their +course, until they had killed my darling. + +If I felt hatred on the morning I left home, I felt it ten times more +now. Then my hatred was blind hatred without knowing the reason, now I +knew that it only foreshadowed what should come after. It was a +prophetic power in my soul, which told me vaguely perhaps, but truly, +what my brother would do; now I realised it. Then, if I may so speak, +it was abstract, now it was concrete. What I had only dimly feared was +become a fact. Ruth, who had loved me, loved me without my knowledge, +had been killed, murdered, as truly as if an assassin had used a knife +or cudgel for his devilish work. Nay, it was worse, it was a slower +and more cruel death. She had died because of the fear that her life +was to be linked to a man she did not love. + +I was very calm I remember, even though the fires of hell burnt in my +heart. After all, the anger which is most dangerous is not that which +raves and cries aloud, but that which makes no noise. Calm as I was, I +felt my muscles grow hard, and I had a kind of savage joy within me as +I pictured the death agony on his face and heard the death rattle in +his throat. Nevertheless, I would not act foolishly, and I set myself +to thinking how I could bring my desires to pass. + +How should I enter the house? How should I be able to get Wilfred away +alone? + +Surely, the powers of darkness were on my side, for while I waited and +watched I saw him come out of the tower entrance, and walk in the +direction of the gate that led out to the headland where I was. + +"Ah!" said I, "God is going to give you into my hands. He is a just +God! He will not grant me love, but He will grant me hate, and He will +find a means of vengeance." + +He came out of the gate and wandered slowly on. I was too far away to +see his face clearly in the evening light, but could see he moved with +the old, careless swing. Ten years had scarcely altered his +appearance. He was still the elegant, handsome Wilfred. + +He walked towards the vicarage, and took the coast path. So much the +better--it was the most lonely path in the countryside. It suited my +purpose exactly. I followed silently. No sound of footsteps could be +heard, for the grass was soft and spongy; the grass on which we had +often played together as boys. + +He wandered along aimlessly as though he had come out to be alone. He +did not look back; but every now and then stopped and gazed at the +"Devil's Tooth," the five great prongs of which could be clearly seen +in the evening light. + +Presently I thought we had gone far enough for my purpose, and so I +went up to him. + +"I desire to speak to you," I said. + +He turned round sharply, and looked straight at me. + +"Who are you?" he cried. + +"Look and see," I said. + +The moon had risen, the sky was clear, and my features could be plainly +seen. + +He looked at me steadily with his sharp brilliant eyes, and spoke again. + +"I do not know you." + +"I think you do," I said. "You and I have often played on yonder +headland, often wrestled there; look again." + +Then he gave a great start, and trembled. + +"My God, it is Roger!" he cried. + +"Ah, you remember at last, do you? Yes, it is Roger." + +He seemed to detect something fearful in my voice, for he asked harshly: + +"Where do you come from, and why are you here?" + +"I am come from silence, and from mystery, as far as you are +concerned," I replied, "and I am here in the name of righteousness and +justice." + +Something in my answer seemed to startle him. + +"Alive?" he said, with a gasp. + +"Yes, alive," I said. "When I left I told you to be careful, or Roger +might come to life again. I told you to be kind to the one for whom I +sacrificed my all, or the dead would arise. Let your own memory answer +the question whether there is cause for me to come back." + +He caught my meaning, and began to stammer. + +"But, Roger, I--I have done nothing, and----" + +"Stop," I cried, "I know all. You know that I was deceived into +believing that Ruth loved you, and that I was the hindrance to her +happiness. And I know now that it was a lie concocted by my mother and +you. I know how you have imposed upon and deceived her. I know that +you have tried to frighten her into marrying you, and I know, too, that +by keeping her to a promise that her soul abhorred, you have murdered +her! I know all this, and now I have come back for revenge." + +"What will you do?" + +"I do not know as yet. First of all confess to me this; did not you +and my mother deceive both Ruth and me to get me away, so that you +might have what was mine?" + +"You said you knew, why do you ask?" + +"I wish to hear what you say; answer me!" + +"Mother put in into my mind, and I thought that--that--you didn't care, +so I--I----" he stopped in confusion. + +"Coward! to put the fault on your mother. Now another question. Did +you villify me to Ruth, did you wear away her life by trying to get her +to marry you, even when you knew she loved me?" + +"Roger, I wanted her so, and you were gone, and we thought you dead, +and our affairs got entangled so----" + +"You killed her," I said savagely. "But for your accursed cunning and +greed she would be alive now." + +"I didn't know, Roger. I knew she didn't like me after--after--you +went away, but I didn't think I should----" + +"Did you hold her to her promise to the last?" + +"Yes--that is, I thought she might get better again and so----" + +"You drove her to her death, and now my turn has come." + +"But you will not hurt me, Roger; you will not hurt your brother! What +will you do?" + +This touched me to the quick, and for a time I felt I could not hurt +him. + +Is there unspoken communication of thought? Is there a subtle +interchange of mind which is instinctively felt? I think so, for no +sooner did I feel that I could not harm Wilfred than his evident fear +left him. He acted on the aggressive immediately, and spoke boldly. + +"Yes, what will you do?" he said. "I refuse to know you. I refuse to +recognise you. My brother Roger is dead, and was buried long years +since. You are some impostor come here to claim what is not your own, +under the paltry pretence of revenge." + +My brother's villainy was now manifest, and my old hatred came surging +back. + +"Roger is not dead, and that you will soon find out," I said. "All +your authority and power are gone, the son and heir has come; but +Ruth's avenger is come too! 'An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a +tooth.' You shall suffer as she has suffered, you shall die as she +died. I have a long score to pay. I have ten years of misery in the +past to account for. I have a blackened future from which you are not +free." + +We were standing near the cliff as I said this, but I had my eye upon +him, and it is well it was so, for he jumped at me savagely, and, had I +not been prepared I should have fallen from the dizzy height to the +ragged rocks below. + +"Curse you," he cried; "but you have not a child to deal with, or the +puny boy whose weakness you used to take advantage of. I am not going +to let Trewinion go. I have not enjoyed it for ten years to lose it +now. If Roger did not die ten years ago he shall die now." + +With that he sought to drag me nearer the cliff, while I gripped him +firmly. He did not fight defensively now. For him, everything +depended on the struggle. To rob me of my love, and to rob me of my +money, he had schemed to get me away, and now that I had come back he +determined to hold by all he had stolen. Nor did I fight defensively. +I felt I had lost Ruth, ay, I had lost my life itself through him, and +I gripped him with a grip of iron. I thought of misery, and revenge; +he of disgrace and the loss of what he held dear. + +I soon found out that, as he had said, I had not a child or a puny boy +to deal with. His muscles seemed of iron, and he coiled around me like +a serpent. If I hated, he hated still more, and with the malignity of +a demon he sought to master me. I was, however, the bigger and the +stronger man, while the past ten years of my life had developed my +physical strength greatly. Toil and exposure had given me power of +endurance unknown to him, and soon I felt his grasp weaken. Little by +little I mastered him, until with the grip of a giant I crushed him in +my arms. + +He looked up at me despairingly. + +"You will not kill me, Roger?" he gasped. + +"Would you not have killed me if you could?" I said, for there was +murder in my heart. "You have killed my Ruth, and now----" + +I did not finish the sentence, for, in spite of myself, I felt him +dragging me nearer the edge of the cliff, nor was I able to stop him +until we were within a foot or so from the awful precipice. Then I +lifted him from the ground and held him. His strength seemed gone, +while mine was unabated. + +What should I do with him? He was the destroyer of my life's +happiness, he had killed my love, he had filled me with despair; but he +was my brother. Should I destroy the venomous life that wrought only +evil? or---- + +"Hurl him over!" said the devil within me, "he is your blight, your +curse! Show him no mercy, let him be dashed to pieces, and thus you +will avenge your misery, and avenge Ruth's death!" + +[Illustration: "'Hurl him over!' said the devil within me."] + +"No, no, he's your brother, forgive him!" said another voice. + +All this passed through my mind in the moment, that I felt him struggle +again, then, with an awful shriek, he fell from me. + +I stood alone on that dizzy height--alone! I was the conqueror. I was +avenged. Ruth's murderer was dead. + +I looked around me, and I remembered where I stood. + +Long years before I had gone to the vicarage, and on this spot I had +seen a shadowy, shapeless figure in white! + +On the night my father had died I was standing on this place when I saw +between the prongs of the "Devil's Tooth" the omen of darkness. + +Now, standing there alone, I realised what had been done on this place +of evil memory. + +I stood on the edge of the cliff and looked down I could see nothing, +but below me I heard the waves break upon the rocks, and they seemed to +laugh with fiendish glee, and mock me in my black despair. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +HELL! + +I cried to God, "Oh, I am so weary." + +God said, "You have not seen half hell." + +I said, "I cannot see more, I am afraid. In my own narrow little path +I dare not walk, because I think that one has dug a pit for me; and if +I put my hand to take a fruit I draw it back again, because I think it +has been kissed. If I look out across the plains the mounds are +covered houses; and when I pass among the stones I hear them crying. +The time of the dance is beaten in with sobs, and the wind is alive. +Oh, I cannot bear hell."--OLIVE SCHREINER. + + +For some time I was conscious of nothing, but by degrees I realised +what I had done. An awful crime rested upon my soul, a crime only the +shadow of which had rested upon me before. + +The hatred of years had found expression at last. The serpent that had +lain in my heart, writhing and turning, and growing for years, had at +last lifted its head, the latent devil had asserted itself, and I was a +murderer. + +A murderer! + +The ghastly, terrible truth pressed itself upon me more and more. I +was alone on the weather-beaten cliff, around me all was still; beneath +me was the ever sobbing sea telling me of what I had done. + +A murderer? + +Oh! The terror of that thought. Even now, after long years, I +trembled at what I then realised. I, Roger Trewinion, trained by a +godly father, surrounded during my early life with every good +influence, was a murderer. In my madness I had arisen like Cain and +taken away my brother's life; in my hatred I had wrought desolation. + +Alone! alone; with only the mocking sea to speak to me from without; +while within I felt the fires of hell. + +I saw, as in a lightning flash, the events of the past twenty years. I +saw myself and Wilfred playing, rollicking on the cliffs, I saw us +rushing home from school, and nutting among the woods. Again we were +together in the waving cornfields, or swimming in the shining seas. We +were reared in the same home, and had through our childhood slept in +the same room. We both bore the same name, and the same blood ran in +our veins. + +And I remembered more than that. Thousands of incidents concerning the +happy days of childhood flashed through my memory. Then we had few +cares and many joys. I saw us sitting in the old family pew in church, +and the lines of the old hymns we had sung came back to me, hymns about +the love of God and the Cross of Christ. + +And I had murdered him! Never, in my wildest moments, did I dream that +my hatred of Wilfred would ever take outward form in actual killing. I +did not mean to kill him when we stood together, and held him in my +arms. But he fell from me--fell from that awful height, down, down, +among the cruel jagged rocks, and would be dashed to pieces, while the +mocking waves would sweep over him. + +Now, where was the purpose of my hate, my revenge? They had not won +back the lost years of my life, they had not given Ruth back to me. My +evil deed had only made the evil more evil; had poisoned my own soul +with a poison more deadly. What right had I to visit vengeance upon my +brother's wrong-doing? Was I perfect? Had not hatred mastered my life +for years? Had I not allowed my lower nature to conquer my higher? +Yet I had dared to avenge my wrong. I had dared to take the work of +God into my own hands. "Vengeance is Mine, I will repay," said the +Lord. + +Bitterly now did I feel the truth of this, for God was taking His +vengeance on me! I--I had broken His laws, I had yielded to the devil, +I had hurled the crown of my manhood from me. + +And I still stood alone, with bare head and burning eyes, while in my +heart burned a scorching, tormenting, yet non-consuming fire. + +Then a more terrible thought came. What I had done could never be +undone. Never! Age upon age might pass away, but that fact, ghastly +and black, would remain! It might be possible, I did not think He ever +would, but it might be possible that in the far-off future God would +forgive me. But then, even God could not undo the fact that I had +killed my brother. + +But I had not intended to throw him over the cliff. His death was due +to an accident; I had not altogether yielded to the strivings of the +devil. True, true, and yet murder was in my heart, for did I not hate +him and had I not hated him for years. + +"Whoso hateth his brother is a murderer." So said the disciple of the +Son of God, and I had hated him, and now neither God nor eternity could +undo what I had done. + +I thought of my mother. Soon she would learn that Wilfred was dead, +and then her sky would be black, and it would be I, Roger, who had +blackened it. The deed which would bring her grey hair with sorrow to +the grave, had been done by me. + +"Ah," I thought, "if I could only cease to be, cease to think," but +that, I knew, could never be. Had I hurled myself from that dizzy +height, so that my battered body might be beside my brother's, the +awful thing I had done would remain, and I should remain. I might kill +the body, but I could not kill the soul; and self-murder would make my +crime greater, not less. + +Oh, how desolate the world was. The summer sky had no beauty; the +fields, which I could still dimly see, were shorn of every loveliness. + +Then I looked seaward, and the only visible object was the ghastly rock +which was ever a nightmare to my soul. + +What was it I saw there? It was a light, like the light I had seen on +the night of my father's death, a weird, ghostly light, moving between +the great grey prongs. + +I remembered then of what that light was supposed to be the omen, and +my senses seemed to leave me. Everywhere, everywhere, I could hear +taunting voices crying "Murderer! Murderer!" The winds as they swept +by said it, the sea playing with the pebbles on the beach said it, and +thousands of voices all around me uttered the same dread word. I put +my fingers in my ears to keep away the hideous sound; but not so could +I silence conscience. The word came not from without, but from within. +It was my guilty soul that repeated it, until I longed to have the +power to flee from the self which I loathed. + +Not only did my ears hear the word; my eyes saw it. Everywhere it was +written. On the broad sky I could see it written from end to end. I +turned to the sea, and on its silvery waters the same awful word was +traced, in letters that were black as the blackest night. I turned my +eyes landward, and it was there, and when I closed them I saw it still. + +Yet I was not sorry for what I had done! I suffered the pains of hell, +but I was not sorry, nor did I hate my brother the less. Could I have +shed one bitter tear or realised one true feeling of repentance I +should have suffered less; but I could not, and this made my hell +harder to bear, it made my hell a hell of the blackest kind. Dives did +not feel the burning so keenly as I, for in his pain he could still +love his brothers and long for their salvation; but I was in worse +straits than he. I hated all, because of my hatred of one. + +And all the time I felt this, I stood on the verge of the cliffs +hundreds of feet above the ever-sounding sea. My loneliness was +terrible! I longed to hear some voice, to feel the grasp of some +friendly hand, yet I dreaded the approach of any one. + +My eyes and ears were, after a while, delivered from the terrible word, +and looking again I saw the mysterious light moving among the prongs of +the "Devil's Tooth," then I saw a form approaching me, a grey, bent, +ungainly form. + +Trembling I waited as it approached, until it stood close by my side. + +"What do 'ee zee?" said a croaking voice. + +I did not reply. I felt that I could not. + +"Es it the light you be lookin' at? That's Betsey Fraddam's lantern, +that es, and that do'ant tell'ee of any good luck." + +I knew now that it was old Deborah Teague who spoke. The years had not +softened her harsh features, nor did she seem older than when I had +left Trewinion, save that she stooped more. My blood curdled when I +knew it was she. When I stood on this place last she had come to me +and had repeated some lines of the Trewinion's curse; she had told me +of the darkness that was approaching, and now on the night that I had +come back, the night on which I had been engaged in a deed of darkest +dark on this same dread spot, she had come to me again. + +Yet did I not reply. + +"Who be you?" she continued. + +I remained silent, looking again towards the "Devil's Tooth," where +angry flames leaped up. + +The old dame laughed when she saw my evident fear, and continued in her +hoarse, croaking voice: + +"That's ou'll Betsey cookin' her broth, that es; and it was made where +you do'ant want to go. I shudn't stay there much longer or ou'll +Betsey 'll bring'ee some, and nobody ever refuses her." + +With that she hobbled away, leaving me again alone. But I did not stay +long. A maddening desire came into my heart to get away, and with +eager feet I rushed landward. + +Where should I go? Somewhere, anywhere away from Trewinion, away from +this dark deed of my life. For a mile I rushed blindly on. Then I +stopped. I must make up my mind what was to be my destination. + +Morton Hall! I had not been thinking of it, but that was the place +that impressed itself on my thought and memory. I would go there. For +what purpose I did not know, but in my misery that one place seemed to +invite me. I could do no good, for Ruth was dead, and laid in the cold +tomb. Dead, dead, and she had died loving me! The thought softened my +hell, and yet it made it harder to bear, for while it put tenderness +into my heart, it made me feel more than ever unworthy even to mention +her name. + +I stopped in my journey again, for I had started in the direction of +Ruth's home, and, looking upward, I saw a star that was nearer to me +than any other, and it seemed to look lovingly upon me; then my heart +was subdued, and I sobbed like a child. + +Again a mad frenzy possessed me, and I rushed away in the direction of +Ruth's home as though the powers of darkness pursued me. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +TOWARDS RUTH'S GRAVE + +But if you look into it, the balance is perfectly adjusted, even here. +God has made His world much better than you and I could make it. +Everything reaps its own harvest; every act has its own reward. And +before you covet the enjoyment which another possesses, you must first +calculate the cost at which it was procured.--FREDERICK W. ROBERTSON. + + +Morton Hall was about thirty-five miles from Trewinion, in a +south-easterly direction. It lay on the opposite side of the county, +and the country between was hilly, but fertile. I did not know the +road well, but I knew it well enough for my purpose. By travelling at +the rate of four miles an hour I could reach the Hall in nine hours. I +could give no reason for going thither except that I was drawn by an +irresistible power, a power by means of which I hoped to quench the +awful fires in my soul. + +The night was clear, and the stars shone brightly overhead. These I +had studied through the long years of my seafaring life and so knew +their location well. Fixing on one which lay in the direction in which +I desired to go, I followed it as my guide. + +To analyse the feelings that possessed me that night would be +impossible. One hears sometimes of a murderer "escaping." That may +never be. The officers of the law may not suspect him, the hangman's +rope may never come near him, but no murderer escapes. He never +escapes the terrible undefinable fear which constantly dogs him, the +ghastly gnawing which eats at his heart. + +At every step I saw my brother Wilfred. I constantly heard his voice, +and every footfall spoke of what I had done. The hedges were full of +grinning devils, which mocked me, while the stars that spangled the sky +spelt the word that was dragging me deeper into hell. + +Time after time I tried to comfort myself with the thought that I did +not intentionally kill him, that it was an accident which caused him to +fall upon those cruel rocks hundreds of feet below, but I found no +comfort in the thought. I could not get rid of the fact that I hated +my brother, and that whosoever hateth his brother is a murderer. Even +had I not done the deed, even had Wilfred been alive, I was still a +murderer at heart. I had hated him alive, I hated him still, and even +now I had no sorrow at what I had done. + +On, on I went, wildly yet wearily; tired I was, but I never rested, nor +abated my speed, and ever as I went ghastly thoughts tormented me. Now +I pictured him lying bruised and bleeding among the rocks, alive yet +helpless; and as he lay I saw the tide rising all around him, and +laughing at his cries for help. Then I saw him a ghastly, mis-shapen +mass, crushed and battered beyond all recognition, with eyes red as +blood and bursting from their sockets. Again I saw him, and the scene +was more terrible still. He was entering a great gulf which I knew to +be the mouth of hell, and as he went I saw that he was attended by +ghastly, pallid creatures, who were cold and clammy in spite of the +fires that burned in their breasts. + +"Who sent you here?" they cried, in harshly grating voices. + +"My brother Roger!" he answered. + +"Breathe the prayer dearest to your heart!" they grinned. + +"May he wallow in a hell a thousand times blacker and more painful than +this," he said. + +"Your prayer shall be granted," they screamed. + +Then I lost him amidst gloomy caverns, that burned with fires giving no +light, and I realised that I was still tramping madly on towards the +south-east, but I knew his prayer was answered--my hell was blacker +than his. + +Oh! the length of that awful night. Every second seemed a minute, +every minute seemed a day, nay, a night, a thousand dark nights! I was +in eternal punishment! I had died into eternal death! + +How many hours I had tramped on I knew not, when I saw in the eastern +sky a red tinge which made the whole horizon seem a wall of heated +steel, set in diamonds. North and south the sky appeared more blue +because of the brighter colour in the east, and it looked more distant, +more unfathomable. Of what moment was this earth of ours in this vast +space which separated it from the nearest star? It was but as the fine +dust of the balance, and yet I, the loathsome thing that walked the +earth, could feel--could suffer--I was something more than the earth! + +Slowly the day dawned, brighter and brighter became the flush in the +east, one by one the stars sank out of sight, and suddenly I saw a +golden streak of light flash across the hills, then another, and still +others, until a disc of the king of day became visible. A minute more +and it was day! Day! and yet I was still in night, the gloomy fires of +my heart were still unquenched, the darkness of my soul was still +unillumined. + +I now began to think about what my mother would say, what she would +feel. When Wilfred did not come home a search would naturally be made, +and in time he would be found. And what then? I dared not think of +that! + +Presently I saw a labourer with hedging tools on his shoulder. I would +speak to him, it would relieve my feelings to hear the sound of a human +voice. + +Closer and closer we came until we were within a few yards of each +other. I could not speak to him. I was ashamed. I was a guilty +wretch, and could not look an honest man in the face, so I passed by +without looking at him or speaking a word. Another mile I tramped, +then I saw a farmer coming in his cart; evidently he was going to some +distant market. I would speak to him. I had now got over the shock +which the sight of the other man had given me. + +"Could you tell me," I said as he came near, "how far Morton Hall is +from here?" + +"Morton Hall," he replied, "I' sh' think I cud. I ain't a lived in +this ere neberhood for vive and vorty year wiout knawin' that?" + +I waited for him to go on, but he did not speak another word, and then, +looking at me strangely, prepared to drive on. + +"_Will_ you tell me, then?" I said. + +"You asked me if I _cud_," he said, "not ef I _wud_. Es, I'll tell +'ee, tes nine mile'n haaf," and the farmer drove on. + +Nine miles and a half! I had walked twenty-five miles then, and more. +I was very tired, and I knew not why I should go there; but, impelled +by a strong power, I hurried on. + +By this time the day was quite warm, and soon I began to feel the +perspiration ooze from my forehead, so seeing a stream of clear water +running by the roadside I stooped down and washed myself. It helped +and refreshed me much, and enabled me to think more calmly. Then I +remembered that many a long hour had passed since I had tasted food. I +felt hungry and faint, but I walked on, for there seemed small hope of +obtaining food for some time. Happening, however, to pass near a +farmhouse I heard some one singing. It was a milkmaid sitting among +her cows, singing as she worked, and her song was the expression of a +light heart free from guilt. Jumping over a stile I made my way +towards her, and seeing me coming she stood up and curtsied. + +"Can you sell me some milk, Mary?" I said. + +"No sur, I can't sell any, and my name edn't Mary but Em'ly, but I can +give 'ee zum." + +With that she ran to the house, and soon appeared with a quart jug, +which she dipped into the bucket and filled, then handed it to me. I +drank it greedily, and I did not take my lips from the jug until I had +nearly emptied it. To me it was both meat and drink, and it gave me +new life. I offered the girl money, but she refused it indignantly. + +"As thoa," she said, "anybody cud taake money vur a drap a milk." + +I had no difficulty in accomplishing the remaining distance after this, +and soon after I came to the park gates of Morton Hall. Then the real +difficulty of my position was revealed to me. What should I do now I +had travelled these thirty-five long miles? what object could I have in +visiting the house? what should I say if any one asked me my business? + +Although I could not settle this in my mind, I opened the gate and +strode up the long drive. It was a fine house, and had been kept in +good repair. Great trees bordered the way, but hid not the colossal +pile that was plainly to be seen at the end of the widening avenue. + +Without waiting a second, or being able to give a reason for what I was +doing, I went to the main entrance and rang the heavy bell. + +An old, grey-headed servant appeared, looking exceedingly solemn, and +asked my business. + +"I want to see the owner of this place," I said, speaking on the +impulse of the moment. + +"There is no owner," was the reply. + +"How is that?" I asked, abruptly. + +He looked at me keenly for a minute, as though to sum up my social +position and qualities before answering. Evidently he was an old and +trusted servant. + +"It is not a matter for strangers," he said, "but if you have any +business I will convey it to the person who is at present in charge." + +"My business is of importance," I said, speaking from secret impulse, +and not knowing what I should have to say next. "I can only entrust it +to the owner." + +"But the owner is dead," he replied, "and who the new owner will be is +not known yet. There are many claiming to be next-of-kin, and Mr. Inch +and the lawyers are busy at work." + +"Mr. Inch is the steward, I suppose?" + +The man nodded, but did not speak. + +"The late owner was a lady," I said, speaking more calmly than I had +thought myself capable. "I used to know her. Miss Ruth Morton was her +name. I have a message of great importance; but you say she's dead." + +Again the servant looked at me keenly. + +"I know Mr. Inch too," I went on, "and I must see him. Perhaps he was +not as faithful to his mistress as he should have been; he must answer +me that." + +This I said as one in a dream, for I had not thought of it before. It +caused a light to flash from the man's eyes, however, and he spoke more +freely. + +"I will tell Mr. Inch you are here," he said, "and I will answer any +question I can. I have been a servant in this house all my life, and I +loved Miss Ruth like as if she were my own child." + +"Did she ever live here after her father's death?" I asked. + +"Not until she came of age; then she used to come here through the +summer months, but returned to Trewinion, I believe, because of her +father's wish." + +"What did your mistress die of?" I asked, abruptly. + +The old man was silent. + +"Can you not tell me?" I urged. + +"I cannot," he said, stiffly. "I dare say you could know by applying +to the doctor." + +I could not help noticing a strange look in his eyes as he spoke, but I +said quietly. + +"Then you will, perhaps, tell Mr. Inch I wish to see him." + +"Yes sir. What name?" + +"No name." + +"No name? He will not see you." + +"Tell him a friend of the Trewinion family wishes to see him." + +He gave me a searching look and then went away, and in a minute more +came back and showed me into a room, telling me that Mr. Inch would see +me immediately. + +I had not to wait long. Soon I heard a slow, measured step along the +hall; then the handle of the door turned, and Mr. Inch and I were +gazing steadily into each other's face. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +"VISIT HER TOMB" + + O, how blest are ye whose toils are ended! + Who through death have to God ascended! + Ye have risen + From the cares which keep us still in prison. + --LONGFELLOW. + + +"I am at your service for a few minutes," he said stiffly; "but our +interview must be short, for I have much to do." + +"And I have much to speak to you about," I said, still confused as to +the issues of our interview, but dimly feeling that he was in some way +responsible for Ruth's death. + +"I am ignorant as to what it can be," he said, looking at me curiously, +"for certainly I do not remember ever seeing you before." + +"You do not remember," I said, "but you have nevertheless seen me." + +"Yes?" he said, still questioningly. + +"Yes!" I replied. "I am at present travelling like that ancient god of +night whom men call Nemesis. I was for years lost to the earth, now I +am come back, if not to restore the righteous to their true position, +at any rate to punish betrayers and oppressors, and you are both a +betrayer and an oppressor." + +"Do you know to whom you are speaking?" + +"Yes." + +"Then I will call a servant and see that you are shown off the +premises." + +"No, you will not." + +He looked at me strangely. "A friend of the Trewinions," he murmured, +"surely he must be mad." + +"Yes, I am nearly mad," I replied, "but I am sane enough to know that +Ruth Morton was not fairly treated, and although there is nothing but +darkness for me in the world, and although every deed I do leads me +further into the thick darkness, it shall be my work to unmask +villainy." + +"Unmask villainy?" he said, as if in surprise, and then made a movement +towards the door. + +"No," I said. "Think one minute before you call a servant. Let your +mind go back a few years. Remember a dark, wild night many years ago, +when you and your mistress were shipwrecked upon a rock on the northern +coast. Think of who saved you." + +"It cannot be!" he said, staring amazedly at me. + +"You did not like him, did you?" I said. "You cared more for the +younger brother, and played on the elder's trusting nature and helped +to get him away. You swore that a body which was washed on the shore +was his, although in your heart you knew it was not. You persecuted +your mistress by constantly trying to make her marry the man she did +not love, and on the tenth anniversary of his departure you appeared +armed with her father's will and drove her to the promise which killed +her." + +He grew as pale as a sheet. + +"You are Roger!" he gasped. + +"I am Roger," I said. + +"But what will you do?" he said, his face ashy pale. + +"Do?" I cried. "I will destroy Ruth's destroyers, and then destroy +myself. I will sift your dealings to the bottom and then----" + +"Stop, Roger," he cried; "stop! I have sinned, but I have also been +sinned against. I loved Ruth, ay, loved her like my own child; but +Wilfred got me into his power, and then, like the devil he was, he made +me do his will. Oh, I have suffered as well as you, more than you! He +found out the one weak place in my life, as he found out everything +else, and then he held me fast. Oh, I have waded through the blackest +slime for him. But for his power over me I should have scorned to do +what I did; I would have died before I would have taken advantage of +her loyalty to her father's slightest wish; and now----" + +"Now, because you had no mercy on her or on me, I shall have no mercy +on you," I said. "Everything shall be made known, all your deeds shall +be dragged into the light of day." + +"No, no, Roger; she would not have done that. She forgave me +everything, for at the last I confessed to her all that had been done. +She suffered terribly at your departure, and more, I believe at the +thought of wedding Wilfred, and yet she forgave me. Oh, I wish you had +seen her at the last, so calm, so patient, and so beautiful. She loved +you to the last, Roger, and one thought that cheered her in the hour of +death was that she would soon see you again." + +"Did she think I was dead?" + +"She believed you died soon after you left home," he replied. But I +did not believe him. + +"And she loved me; did she confess it?" + +"Not to me, but to the maid who was with her; her whole life and being +seemed to be gone over to you; and thus it was that the thought of +obeying her father's will killed her." + +And I had been away from her all these years; I had been robbed of what +was most dear. I was glad I had been revenged on Wilfred now, and the +gladness was fiendish. This man, too, should reap as he had sown; as +he had helped to make me suffer I would make him suffer. I knew that +sooner or later my struggle with Wilfred would be made known, and that +I should be suspected of his death; but I did not care, madness was in +my heart again. + +I burst forth with expressions of hatred and determinations of revenge, +the old man still cowering meanwhile before me. Then he spoke. + +"Roger, who are you that you should seek revenge? Is your life wholly +pure and free from stain? Think, you, if you ruin my life by bringing +me to disgrace, or if you destroy your brother Wilfred, that Ruth could +welcome you to Heaven, if God should even allow you to go there? She +died with the look of a glorified angel on her face; I wish you had +seen her, you would not talk of revenge." + +All the time I had been living as in a dream. A vague feeling of +darkness and revenge possessed me. I felt drawn on by unknown +influences--whither, I could not say. + +These words of the old steward and friend to the Morton family aroused +me. Who was I, indeed, that I should seek revenge? I was the murderer +of my brother, I had yielded to as low impulses as they, and yet I +talked of myself as Nemesis. How, indeed, should I dare to meet Ruth +again with such a sin on my soul? + +Without a word I left the house, Mr. Inch staring amazedly after me. I +strode down the drive towards the park gates, and had gone, perhaps, +half the distance, when I was chained to the earth by the memory of the +old man's words:--"She died with the look of a glorified angel on her +face; I wish you had seen her." + +No sooner had these sounded in my memory than another voice seemed to +speak. + +"Go and see her," it said. "Visit her tomb." + +At first I was almost stunned by the thought. To see my Ruth again +would indeed be ecstasy, but even as I so thought I heard another voice +speaking in cruel mockery. That which I should see would not be Ruth, +she would be far away, where I might never go. Yet the idea still +haunted me. I would go. It might ease the terrible madness of my soul +if I could see even in death the lips that had confessed their love for +me. + +How should I accomplish my object? I remembered Bill Tregargus's +words, "She was buried in the vault under the Communion." To the +church then I would go, and I would see her face again, although it was +the face of the dead. + +My first work was to go to the village sexton and get the church keys, +so when I arrived at the village I enquired for his house. I +discovered that he was a bachelor, and lived alone on the outskirts of +the village. I quickly made my way thither, and, on arriving, found +the door locked. Evidently he was out. On making further enquiries, I +found that he had that day gone to the nearest market town, and +probably would not be home until dark. It was now about noon, and, +faint and hungry, I found my way to the village alehouse, where, after +having had something to eat, I tried to think. + +Since yesterday, I had lived a lifetime. Yesterday at that time I had +not arrived home, I had not seen Bill Tregargus, I knew nothing of what +had occurred. Now I was branded with the brand of a murderer. The +wild deeds I had done when I sailed the seas as a pirate scarcely +weighed on my conscience at all; but this deed, though I did not +repent, and though my hatred remained unabated, made life unendurable. + +Hour after hour I sat in the parlour of the village inn, thinking, +wondering and fearing. Would the landlord be so obliging, I wondered, +if he knew what I had done; would he not loathe my presence, and +deliver me to the justice of man? + +Yet who are the murderers of the world? Are they to be found among +those only who do actual murder, or are murderers a class of people who +are capable of murder? Is not every man who is not filled with Divine +love capable of murder, and are not many free from the stain of +murderous deeds merely because they have never been provoked, tempted? +Who shall judge as to who are real murderers? None but God alone! + +Night drew on at length, and full of the thought which became dearer +each hour, I found again my way to the sexton's house. This time he +was at home. He stared at me in astonishment when I told him what I +wanted. + +"Want to go in th' oul church after dark!" he said. "You must be +mazed." + +"Why?" + +"Why! You cudden git more'n two people in the parish to do it. Me and +the passen be the only two that be'ant afraid." + +"But I don't want you to go with me," I said. "I simply want you to +lend me the keys, and I'll bring them back to you again." + +"And you we'ant want me to go in the churchyard nuther?" + +"No." + +"I must'n do it," he said. "The passen 'ud give me the sack straight +off ef 'ee was to knaw it." + +"No one need know," I said. + +For a long time he held out. I could see that he would willingly have +let me enter the church at daylight, and would himself have gone with +me; but at night he was afraid to do so, and was also afraid to let me +have the keys. + +"I ca'ant 'ford to lose my place," he said; "not that the burryin' es +wuth much. I ain't a berried a livin' soul for a long time, so times +es bad in that way; but I git a goodish bit for clainin' the church." + +"How much do you get a year?" + +"I make so much as ten shillen a week oal the year round," he said. "I +do'ant knaw how much that es a year." + +I took fifteen guineas from my pocket, and put them before him. + +"There is more money than you would get in a whole year," I said. "If +I don't bring back the keys in safety, you'll have that money to take +you where you like to go, and if I bring back the keys you shall have +five of them for your trouble in lending them to me." + +"You'm sure you won't do no harm." + +"Perfectly." + +"Then take 'em," and going to a little recess in the room he took the +keys from a nail and gave them to me. + +"I expect you to be waiting for me here when I come back," I said. + +"Oa, never fear, I sha'ant steer out of the 'ouse," was his reply. + +I took a lantern, in which the old man had placed a candle, and +prepared to start. + +"You'm sure you beant goin' to do nothin' wrong," he said. + +"Perfectly," I replied. "You will not regret it for an instant." + +He looked at me again, then, as if they were an enormous fortune, at +the guineas that lay on the table, and seemed reconciled. + +"Tha's the kay of the church," he said, pointing to the biggest in the +bunch, "the churchyard gates is allays left unlocked. And I'll be +waitin for 'ee when you come back. How long shall 'ee be?" + +"I don't know; perhaps an hour," and with a beating heart I went away +towards the church. It was a great, grey, gloomy pile, the four +steeples on the square tower at the western end reminding me of the +prongs of the "Devil's Tooth." + +I entered the churchyard gates. All was silent as death. I had +expected it to be so; no one ever dared to enter there after dark, +unless it was a cluster of worshippers gathered together in church +time. Even this did not happen often, for rarely was an evening +service held there. Like many other country churches in Cornwall, the +time of worship was morning and afternoon. Had I got into the church +in the afternoon I should not have been free from observation, for the +country folk are courageous in the daytime, and often prowl around the +churchyard; but at night I knew if I entered I should be left +unmolested. + +Slowly I wended my way down the churchyard path. I began to realise +now what I was going to do, and for the first time the thought struck +terror. Yet did I not hesitate in my purpose. I remembered every +superstitious association of my early childhood. Stories of the +troubled dead roaming around their graves came back to my mind. I saw +the grey tombstones grim and lonely, as if inviting those in whose +memory they were erected to bear them company through the silent night. + +A lonely churchyard is an awful place, and this one seemed more awful +than others to me, who was about to visit the dead! + +How plainly my footsteps sounded as I went down the gravelled footpath. +I felt as though I were disturbing the dead in their graves. + +What was that dark grey form moving among the tombstones? Was it the +village witch gathering the nettles that grew on the suicide's grave, +in order to work her mystic spells and secret charms? Was that sound I +heard her dark laughter, as she plucked the mugwort of evil repute? + +No; it was only my excited imagination conjuring up dread objects and +noises. + +I stood at the door of the belfry tower. It was grey, and iron +studded. Should I enter this way? No; my passage among the bell-ropes +might set the bells jangling in ghastly discord, and quickly I hurried +to the church porch. + +I stood and listened; but could hear no sound. The stone seats around +the porch looked very cold, and the parish notices that were pasted +around its walls looked to me like the letters of departed spirits. + +I lit the candle in my lantern, and fumbled among the keys, my hands +trembling as I did so. I found the right key at length, and placed it +in the door. I tried to turn it, but it would not move. I pushed it a +little farther and tried again. The lock was very stiff, it was but +seldom moved--once or twice a week at most, and even more seldom oiled. +In spite of the rust, it at length yielded to the strength of my hand, +the bolt shot back with a rough grating sound, the great door swung +back on its rusty hinges, and I entered the silent church. + +I withdrew the keys and shut the door. It closed with a bang that +sounded terrible in the great building, but I did not heed. I went +eastward towards the Communion, under which was the tomb of the Mortons. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +THE VAULT UNDER THE COMMUNION + +There are certain themes of which the interest is all-absorbing, but +which are too entirely horrible for the purposes of legitimate fiction. +These the mere romancist must eschew, if he do not wish to offend or +disgust. They are with propriety handled only when the severity and +majesty of truth sanctify and maintain them. We thrill, for example, +with the most intense of "pleasurable pain" over the accounts of the +Passage of the Beresina, of the Earthquake at Lisbon, of the Plague of +London, of the Massacre of St. Bartholomew, or of the 123 prisoners in +the Black Hole at Calcutta. But in these accounts it is the fact--it +is the reality--it is the history which excites. As inventions we +should regard them with simple abhorrence.--EDGAR A. POE'S _Tales of +Mystery and Imagination_. + + +I stood alone in the old church. How silent everything was! The great +grey granite pillars, surmounted by circling arches, appeared in +ghostly array before me; the high-backed pews seemed to be peopled by +dim, shadowy figures, who had come back to watch me as I looked on the +face of my loved. Everyone of the tablets on the wall was to me a face +of warning. My footfall echoed and re-echoed, until I fancied the +silent church peopled by innumerable visitants from the spirit land. + +A dim light which caused weird shadows to fall across the old building, +came in through the small windows, while the light of my lantern made +other shadows more dark, more forbidding. + +I wended my way towards the Communion, for even there Bill Tregargus's +words came back to me. "She was buried in the vault under the +Communion," and there I should see all that remained of the only woman +I had ever loved. I passed by the reading desk, then came to the +pulpit, but I did not pause either to examine the curious carvings on +its front or the ancient worm-eaten wood of which it was made. + +At length I stood by the Communion, and a great fear laid hold of me. +Tremblingly I looked around the church. All was silent save the night +winds as they moaned in the tower at the western end. Then an owl +hooted dismally, and soon after I heard three distinct raps at a +window, as though a large bird had tried to break the glass and thus +enter the church. + +What did it mean? Deborah Teague had spoken of three raps as a sign of +death. To whom could it apply? To me? I was not anxious to live, and +yet I shuddered. + +"Perhaps I shall die," I thought, "and see my darling again; but how +can I meet her? Have I not a murderer's hand and a murderer's heart?" + +I turned the light of my lantern upon the altar table, and on it I saw +a cloth, on which was embroidered a cross, the symbol of the Saviour's +death, and this made me remember how He had spoken to a dying thief. +For a moment the thought gave me comfort, but in the next I recollected +that the thief was penitent, and that I had no proof he was, as I was, +a murderer. And I was not penitent; I still hated Wilfred. He had +robbed me of earthly happiness here and Heaven hereafter. I hated him; +and I was a murderer. After that the cross brought me no comfort. + +Before going to the sexton's I had provided myself with a short pointed +piece of iron. It was the only instrument I could procure with which +to open the vault without attracting suspicion. + +I quickly found the burial place of the Mortons. A tablet was on the +wall, on which were written these words:-- + + "Under this stone, and waiting for a joyful + resurrection, lie buried all the mortal + remains of + + JOHN MORTON, + + OF MORTON HALL, + + Who lived and died in the fear of the Lord. + He was hated by none, and beloved by all." + + +Then followed a eulogy of his life and works, his gifts to the church, +his kindness to the poor, together with many other things. + +I looked beneath the tablet on the floor of the Communion, and saw that +a large slab had been lately moved. No doubt, then, that Ruth had been +buried in the family vault. + +With trembling hands I placed my piece of iron beneath the joints of +the floor, and with but little difficulty lifted it up; then I slipped +my hands beneath the stone and lifted it still higher. + +Air, stifling, unwholesome, came from underneath, and again I felt like +leaving my purpose unfulfilled; but a stronger impulse urged me to +proceed, and I moved the stone still farther. A minute later I had +turned it back, and Ruth's grave was opened. + +For a minute my heart ceased to beat; then it seemed as though my bosom +were not large enough to contain it. Not that I feared the dead, at +any rate not Ruth. Had I not been guilty of that awful deed the night +before I do not think I should have been so moved; but with murder on +my heart, to look on the face of my beloved was terrible. And yet I +felt I could never rest until I had seen her. + +I stared into the vault. + +At one end were steps by which I could descend. At the other was a +dark object. + +My blood seemed to freeze in my veins, yet I went down the steps, +slowly and steadily, until I stood in the abode of the dead. + +Never shall I forget how I felt. Never while consciousness remains +will the awful sensations that possessed me be altogether taken away. + +Around me was the dust of departed generations of the Morton family, +while close to me was the face of one whom ten years before I had seen +a bright and beautiful maiden. Ruth, whom I had ever loved, and who +had died of love for me, was there! + +Vague thoughts of how she would look floated in my brain, and in my +delirium I fancied that her spirit had come back to watch me as I took +one last look at her dead face. + +The coffin was placed in a recess in the tomb. I knew it was hers, for +it was new, and had been only lately placed there. + +I thought I had heard a sound above. I listened for a second, but +could hear nothing save the wild beatings of my almost breaking heart. +Then I placed my hand on the coffin. + +It was fastened with what looked like golden clasps, large and strong, +which pressed closely on the grey oak of which the coffin was made. +Mechanically I moved the clasps, and then lifted my lantern nearer. + +Again I listened, but all was silent. If the spirits of the dead were +there they made no sound. + +I lifted the coffin lid. + +For a second I held it in my hand, then I turned it back. + +Even then I could not bear to look in and see my darling's dead face, +and stood trying to gather together sufficient courage. + +I let the light fall upon the head of the coffin and looked. + +Yes, it was Ruth, little altered from when I had seen her last, except +that she looked thin and pale, oh! so pale. + +She was not like anyone dead; in spite of her stony stillness, there +was the shadow of colour upon her thin cheeks. + +I looked at her like one entranced, then glanced fearfully around the +vault, which was only faintly lit by the flickering candle burning in +my lantern. + +A longing came over me to get away, but I felt I dare not, I must +remain longer with Ruth. I felt that she was glad I was there, and +would not have me leave her so soon. + +Yet she lay like a beautiful piece of marble. Her hands were folded on +her breast, and she looked peaceful, so peaceful. + +How I loved her, and how I longed for one word, one movement whereby I +could know she loved me! + +I do not know how long I stayed there. I lost all thought of time as I +stood gazing at the face of my darling. Everything like fear passed, +for in spirit I was with her. + +I kissed her cold lips, as if to bid her good-bye, then seeing the +candle in my lantern had burnt low, I began to think in a dazed kind of +way that I must go. But it was so hard, so terrible! If I could only +have some memento to take, something I might aways keep until I, too, +should be laid under the cold sod! + +What was that? + +Flashing from her finger that lay on her heart I saw a ring. Dare I +take it? + +At first I shuddered at the thought. Robbing the dead seemed +sacrilege, yet it did not seem like robbery. And was I not sure that +she would wish me to take it? It might comfort me during the little +time I had to live, for I could carry it everywhere with me. + +I took her hand in mine. + +Slowly I began to remove the ornament. It was a thick gold circle, and +three large diamonds had been inlaid and flashed brightly. + +It was rather hard to pass over the joint, but I was determined to +possess it. Then I stopped as if stunned, and trembled like an aspen +leaf. + +I felt the hand move! + +Yet I did not drop it. I could not, it seemed welded to mine. + +Was it the judgment of God for seeking to rob the dead? I looked at +her face, as if expecting a curse, and my heart seemed to come into my +mouth. + +Her eyelids began to quiver, her mouth to twitch,[*] and her whole body +to give signs of life. + +To say that I was awed would be but to hint at my feelings. At first I +thought it was her ghost rising to denounce me, but soon I saw it was +physical life, and then I thought God was working a miracle. + +Almost unconsciously I went on rubbing her hands, while evidence of +returning life became plainer and plainer. + +Then I trembled lest the shock of seeing me there in that silent vault +should kill her, or do her serious injury, and yet I longed to hear her +speak, I longed for expressions of her love. + +Still more plainly did life appear, until I saw her open her eyes. +They were dull and had a blank expression, but by and by they became +brighter. She looked around the vault as if in wonder, then her eyes +rested on the lantern, and again she turned them towards me. For a +minute she gazed, then with a cry she sat upright. + + + +* Although the reader may regard the foregoing as wild and impossible, +I can vouch for the truth of a story identical in many points with that +told by Roger Trewinion. The wife of a nobleman of the West of +England, whose name is well-known in Cornwall, was supposed to be dead, +and was buried in the family vault situated in the old parish church. +A valuable ring which was on her finger when she died was allowed to +remain, and it was known by the servants and villagers that this +ornament was in the tomb with her. The sexton determined to get it, +and accordingly at midnight made his way to the church. In seeking to +remove the ring he caused the latent life to assert itself, and seeing +the lady move he ran out of the church, leaving the lantern behind him. +She became conscious, took the sexton's lantern, and found her way back +to the hall. She lived long enough to become the mother of a son, who +afterwards became the heir of his father's estates.--_Note by the_ +EDITOR. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +THE VOICE OF THE DEAD + + Oh, one more kiss from your lily-white lips, + One kiss is all I crave; + Oh, one more kiss from your lily-white lips + And return back to your grave. + --_Old Cornish Song_. + + +Long years have passed since the events I am now narrating, yet my +flesh creeps as I write. Imagine, if you can, the circumstances that +surrounded me; think of the position in which I was placed. I had +learnt amidst anguish and despair that the woman I loved, and who I +thought had called me home, was dead, and I had determined to visit her +grave and to see her dead face. Then when I had found my way to her +tomb, and uncovered her resting-place, I had seen the one whom I had +thought dead move, and give other signs of life. When she sat up in +her coffin my blood froze in my veins. + +Was it my Ruth who lived? Was her death only fancied after all? Now I +saw a purpose in all my blind wanderings! Now I understood the cry +which I had heard sweeping across the weary waste of waters, "Come home +and save me, Roger!" Now I saw meaning in my mad impulse to come to +Morton Hall, even when the fires of hell burnt in my soul! Now I knew +why I had heard the strange words, "Visit her tomb!" + +Merciful Heaven, from what had I saved her? Suppose she had regained +consciousness while within the narrow confines of that narrow coffin! +No air, no room, no light! The horror of the thought is enough to +drive one mad; what then must the reality be? + +This flashed through my mind in a moment, but I did not stay to think +of it. How could I? The dread "might be" had not become a reality, +and my Ruth--the Ruth that I had been mourning as dead, Ruth for whom +my heart had been weeping tears of blood--was alive; she was sitting up +in her coffin, she uttered a cry. Ruth was not lost for ever. + +And still I did not know what to do; still I could not act or speak! +My mind was confused, my head was dizzy; the very vault in which I +stood seemed to whirl around. + +For a second we gazed into each other eyes; she with a fearful, yet +curious, wondering look, I with a look of madness, at once of joy, of +fear, of dread! + +Then she spoke, slowly, tremblingly, but still clearly, and I +remembered the voice. + +"What is this? Where am I? Is this Heaven?" + +"All is well!" I whispered. + +"It must be," she said, in a dazed kind of way. "I am so rested, so +free from pain, and then your voice is so familiar. Where am I, and +who are you?" + +"Think," I said; "but do not be afraid; remember where you were last, +and then know that all is well." + +"All is well," she repeated slowly, as if trying to impress the thought +on her half-awakened mind, "I am so glad." + +"You are safe here," I went on, "no one shall harm you in any way. Do +not be afraid whatever you may see." + +She looked around the vault, then a look of horror came into her eyes +as she saw where she sat. + +"I am in a coffin!" she gasped. "Am I dead?" + +"No," I said, "it is all a mistake; but all is well. Think, try and +remember the past." + +I saw that she made a mental effort, and then slowly light came into +her eyes. + +"I was very ill," she said, "and so weak and weary. I wanted to die +because--because--what was it? Oh, I remember now--because I was to +wed--Wilfred, and I did not love him, and my wedding robe was made, and +the wedding day was fixed, and I gave up hope that he was ever coming +home." + +My heart began to beat with joy. Life and light came back to my heart. +That "he" meant me--Roger. + +"And then?" I said, almost unconsciously. + +"And then I thought I was going to die, and I was glad, for I felt I +could not endure being wedded to another." + +She spoke as if dreaming, or as if she unknowingly expressed the +thoughts that dimly passed through her mind. + +"Well," I said, "you wanted to die; you grew weaker and weaker, until +your friends thought you were dead, and you were brought here." + +"Here! Here!" and she looked eagerly around. "Where am I? The light +is so dim that I cannot see." + +The candle was now very low in the socket of the lantern, and I +scarcely knew what to do, but I tried to assure her that all was well. + +"You need not be afraid," I said, "It was all a mistake. You were +thought to be dead, and you were brought to the grave of your family." + +"The grave, the family vault," she said, "in the church, under the +Communion! But how came you here, and who are you?" + +The time had come for me to tell her, and I trembled lest I should say +a mistaken word, or arouse a harmful feeling. I felt that the +slightest thing might unhinge her delicately-balanced mind, and I +scarcely knew what to say. + +"Can't you think who I am?" I said at length. "You called me home when +I was away on the distant seas. I heard you say 'Roger, come home,' +and I came, for I knew that you needed me." + +"Roger! Roger!" she said; "what! my Roger?" + +The words came out apparently unthinkingly. She did not know what she +was saying. + +"Yes, Roger," I said, "your Roger. I came back to find you, I heard +you were dead, and it drove me nearly mad. I felt I must come and see +your dead face, so I came here and found you, not dead, but only +asleep, and I--I awoke you." + +I watched her face as I spoke, still holding her hand in mine. Slowly +she realised things as they were; slowly one fact after another passed +through her mind, until she saw clearly. + +At first there was an expression of horror on her face, then she looked +eagerly at me and I saw tenderness--love in her eyes. + +I dropped her hand and opened my arms. She did not hesitate a moment, +but struggled to come to me, so I took her in my arms and pressed her +to my heart! + +Oh, how she clung to me, while I held her fast, my heart trembling for +joy as I heard her whisper, "My Roger come home to me!" Then I +realised how cold she was, and saw too, that she was wrapped only in a +shroud. + +"You are cold, Ruth," I said. + +"So cold, Roger; but I do not mind now!" + +The light in the lantern became dimmer, and I had no more candle. I +thought of the candles in the church, and wondered how I could get at +them. + +"Ruth," I said, "could you bear to stay here while I go into the church +for another light? Our candle is nearly out." + +"No, Roger," she said, clinging to me, "I could not bear for you to +leave me," and she clung to me more closely. + +I lifted her out of her narrow bed and prepared to carry her. I had +not much difficulty in this. She was very light, very thin. + +Taking the lantern in my hand I bore her away from her dread +resting-place. With what a sense of relief I lifted my darling through +the narrow entrance! With what gladness I realised that she was not +dead! When I went down my heart was cold and heavy as lead; now it was +warm; it beat with new life. I went down in what seemed to be the +darkness of death; I came out into the light of Heaven! + +I seized a candle which stood on the Communion table and lit it from +the one in my lantern which had almost gone out. + +Then I tried to take off my coat to wrap her in, but this she would not +allow me to do. She was still unselfish Ruth, suffering herself rather +than let another suffer. So I took the cloth that lay on the table, +the doth which was marked with a cross. I wrapped her in that, and +surely I committed no sacrilege in doing so. It was large and warm, +and entirely covered her, all but her white feet that peeped out from +under her shroud. + +I took another look at her, a longing, loving look. Her old beauty was +coming back; she was losing all fear as she realised my presence. + +"Ruth," I said, "it is your Roger who asks you, may I kiss you?" + +A faint smile came into her face, something like the smile I had seen +in the olden days. + +"Dare you kiss me in my shroud, Roger?" she said. + +Even then she could not repress the quaint, quiet humour I had loved +years before. + +Dare I! I covered her face with kisses, and as I did so I forgot +everything, forgot all I had done, forgot where I was. I only knew +that I held Ruth in my arms, and that her lips met mine! + +Then, in spite of her protests, I took off my coat and wrapped it +around her little feet. + +"What are you going to do with me, Roger?" she said. + +"I am going to carry you home," I said. + +"Home! Home where?" + +"Home to Morton Hall." + +"Can you?" she said. "It is a long way. + +"Can I?" I said with a laugh. + +She looked at me as though she gloried in my strength, and was glad she +could trust herself to me. + +I carried her down the silent church; but no longer did my lantern +throw weird shadows on the floor; no longer were the pews filled with +forbidding spectres. For now the church was full of bright rejoicing +angels. + +When I came to the church door, and saw the heavy clanging keys, I +wondered what I was to do with them. + +The old sexton would lose his senses if he were to see the precious +burden I bore. I locked the great door and took her out into the +silent night. + +I no longer needed the lantern; the light of the moon was clear and +bright. It was indeed a relief. To me, after being immured in the +church, the clear, pure air was welcome beyond expression. And if it +was welcome to me, it was a thousand times more so to Ruth. I do not +think she fully realised from what she had escaped until now. She gave +a cry of gladness, such as a bird gives when freed from a cage. Behind +her were suspense, cruelty, doubt, despair, death and the grave; before +her--ah, what? + +I bore her on, feeling no weariness, no pain, no sorrow. The +gravestones told me no sad stories, the shadows of the trees were only +beautiful pictures painted on the green grass. + +When I came to the churchyard gate I saw the old sexton. + +"What have 'ee got there?" he gasped. + +[Illustration: "'What have 'ee got there?' he gasped."] + +"Take your keys and lantern," I said. + +He took them both mechanically, and then looked at Ruth awestruck. + +"Where did 'ee take et from?" he said, in a hoarse whisper. + +"Her grave," I said. + +He took a look at Ruth's face, which was clearly to be seen in the +moonlight, and immediately recognised it. + +"Great Loard!" he cried, "'tes our dead lady's face, 'tes our dead +lady, and the devil have got her." + +With a cry which showed how real were both his fear and belief, he +rushed away from us. + +I did not stop him: I did not think it necessary; soon the truth must +come out, and then all his fears would be allayed. + +Never shall I forget the journey from the village church to the home of +the Mortons. My joy was so great that I did not feel Ruth's weight at +all, and when she asked me anxiously, yet lovingly, if she wearied me, +I only pressed her more closely to my heart, while she only nestled +more contentedly. And small wonder? Had I not brought her back from +the dead, and had she not found herself free from the terrible chain +that bound her, free to speak to the man she loved? + +Nearer and nearer we came to her home, the home which all thought she +had left for ever. We came within a few yards of the front entrance, +when a great dog came bounding up with a furious growl. I wondered how +I should get rid of him; but Ruth spoke only one word, and he did not +know how to express his joy; he walked by our side and licked the +shroud she wore. + +I seized the great bell, the bell I had rung that morning. Soon its +clanging voice echoed through the hall, and soon after we heard the +sound of voices, and footsteps echoed along the corridors. + +A minute later we heard the bolts shoot back from the door at which we +stood. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +THE SHADOW OF EVIL'S REWARD + +Avenge not yourselves; but rather give place unto wrath, for it is +written, Vengeance is mine, and I will repay, saith the Lord. . . . + +Be not overcome of evil; but overcome evil with good. + --_The Epistle to the Romans._ + + +When the door opened, I saw two men-servants, each bearing a candle, +each looking as frightened as men could well look. One I recognised as +the man to whom I had spoken in the morning, the other was evidently an +under-servant. + +Each stared at me and at the burden I bore in amazement. The one +recognised me, the other evidently wondered who I was. + +"May I ask what you want," said the old servant, "and why you arouse +the house at this time of the night?" + +"Show me a room where your mistress can rest," I said. + +"My mistress?" said the man. "Great God, who are you?" + +As he said this he took a look at Ruth's face, and then with a shriek +of fear he rushed away from us. + +"Come back," I said, "there is nothing of which you need be afraid." + +"Afraid!" he gasped, "that is the dead body of my mistress." + +"Your mistress is not dead," I said; "she is alive; show me a room +where I may rest her, and she will speak to you." + +Tremblingly he led the way to a room, where I laid her down, and then, +at my command, he went away to get food and drink for her. + +Soon after the other servants appeared. The shriek of horror given by +the man when he caught sight of Ruth's face had aroused the household. +Never shall I forget the expression on their faces as they looked at me +as I sat by the side of the precious burden I had borne. Evidently the +younger of the two servants had told them what I had said, for they +were afraid to speak, and kept gazing at us fearfully, yet wonderingly. + +Ruth was now becoming exhausted. After the scene in the church the +journey home had been too much for her. Perhaps, also, the awfulness +of her position together with dread memories, were too great for her to +bear, so I bade the servants hurry in getting refreshments for her. + +After taking some food she was, however, strong enough to sit up and to +talk. + +I will not describe what followed, nor how the servants crowded around +her, weeping and trembling. Some I found were on the point of leaving, +having received their discharge, while others wondered what their +future would be. There had been every probability that the household +would be broken up, and those who had grown grey-headed in the service +of the family grieved much at the thought of leaving. And now, when +all hope was gone, their mistress had come back, and their joy and +their astonishment knew no bounds. + +Presently we heard a tottering step outside the door, and in another +second Mr. Inch appeared on the scene. For a minute I thought he would +have fainted; but by a great effort he mastered himself, and came +slowly to the place where Ruth sat, looking at her steadily in the face +for, I should think, a minute. Then he heaved a great sigh, and said; +"Great God, Thy ways are wonderful!" + +I had been holding Ruth's hand all the while, and I felt her shudder as +Mr. Inch approached. I was sure that she felt that he had not acted as +her friend, and now, in spite of herself, she feared him, and +unconsciously she came nearer to me. + +I think the old man saw this, for a strange look passed over his face, +and he did not take her hand, as I was sure he had intended to do. He +turned towards me, however, and said: + +"Tell me, Roger Trewinion--tell us all, how this great miracle has been +accomplished." + +A look of intelligence passed over the servants' faces as my name was +mentioned. Apparently, it was well known to them, and all listened +eagerly for my answer. + +Then I told how, in leaving the house that morning, I had heard the +voice telling me to visit her tomb, and had determined to do so. I +will not describe the excitement and wonder of those who heard my +experiences. It would take a pen far more able than mine to convey to +the minds of my readers the terrible interest that was taken. + +Perhaps I ought not to have told the story before the servants; but we +were too excited to know what was right and seemly. Indeed, so +overwrought were we that Ruth had not been divested of her strange +garments, and soon after I had finished my narrative I felt how +thoughtless I had been, and how neglectful of her comforts. + +When Ruth was taken to her room, however, with two of the maids to +attend her, the excitement began to pass away, and the servants, with +the exception of the old man whom I had seen at my first visit, +returned to their rooms. + +For a few minutes Mr. Inch and I were left alone; he still trembled +with fear and wonder, perhaps also because of a troubled conscience, I +with a strange joy surging in my heart, thinking only of the blissful +present. + +"This will cause much talk, and necessitate much investigation," said +the old steward. + +"I suppose so," said I, absently. + +"A great lawsuit would have come on," he said. "Two parties were +claiming the property. Lawyers are preparing the case on either side, +and the matter has already become public." + +"That will all come to an end now," I said. + +"I suppose so; but it will be the wonder of the countryside. I wonder +what Wilfred will say?" + +I had forgotten Wilfred. The feelings aroused by seeing Ruth alive had +for the time quieted all my bitter memories of my struggle with +Wilfred, together with its awful ending. + +"I wonder what Wilfred will say!" + +The words struck terror into my soul. Wilfred, unless now discovered, +was lying bruised, battered, dead, on the great rocks beneath the +cliffs. Perhaps the fishes might know of his presence, and the great +sad sea would sweep remorselessly over his lifeless body; but Wilfred +would never know of what had been done. + +My heaven of joyful thoughts was gone now. The hell of bitter +memories, the hell of a murderer possessed me. + +The old man's remark was left unanswered. It had dashed me down into a +great gulf; it had led me to make what was to me a terrible resolve. + +A little while later Ruth came back to the room again. The servants +had tried to persuade her to retire; but she declared that she could +not sleep and she wished to come to me. + +She was Ruth again now, Ruth as I had seen her last. She had got rid +of her terrible garments, and except that she looked very pale, and was +a little older, I saw no difference in her. But there was a +difference. Love was shining out of her eyes, and she did not hide +from me the fact that I was the king of her heart. + +But this gave me no joy now, no heaven. The ghastly form of my brother +Wilfred stood between us. I took her hand as she came in, and tried to +soothe her, for I felt that she was still trembling, that she felt safe +with no one but me. Then the old steward rose up and left us, and the +servants likewise retired from the room. They saw our relations to +each other, and although it was night we were left in the room together. + +Again for a time I banished my dark thoughts, for a time I allowed +love, rather than duty, to fill my world, and I yielded to the gentle +witchery of her presence. I had made up my mind to tell her all; but I +postponed it for a while. "Time enough yet," I said; "let me have some +happiness before eternal night sets in." + +How gentle, how kind, how loving she was! Her every word told of the +love she bore me, and had borne me for long years, every word told me +how she believed in my goodness and purity. + +What we talked of, I may not recount. I only know that for a few short +minutes we lived in the blissful present. The thought of her great +love was more powerful than the dread remorse which had possessed me a +little while before. + +And was it any wonder? Think, if you can, how I must have felt! Ten +long years before I had left her, thinking she loved another, and all +those years I had roamed the world in misery and hopeless despair. I +had come back at the summons of a voice which I had heard, or thought I +had heard, sweeping across the wide seas, and when I had arrived at the +place where I had hoped to see her I had heard she was dead. Then, +after grief that amounted to madness, I had discovered her alive, and +had found that she loved me. More than that, she was with me, we were +alone, and I felt her hands in mine. Was it to be wondered at then, +that darkness should, for the time, be driven away? + +Swiftly the time passed, sweetly her gentle voice sounded as she told +me how happy, how safe, how contented she was, and, in spite of her +terrible experience, how little weakness she felt; and then she asked +me to relate to her my adventure since the night on which I left the +Trewinion Manor. + +Again I remembered what I had done, again the agonies of remorse, which +had been awakened by memory, began to eat into my soul. But I would +tell her all. I would faithfully relate the tale of the years that had +passed, I would faithfully tell her what I had done. + +And so I cast my mind back and told her what I have written in these +pages. How I had gone away to sea, and how, for years, I had sailed in +every clime, and with men of different nationalities. I recounted how +I had been taken by the pirates, and how for two years I had been with +them. I kept back nothing from her. I told her of many wild deeds +that I had done, and of the wild life I had led. By and by I came to +the night on which I had such a strange dream, or else had seen such a +strange vision, and here I hesitated. It seemed so wonderful, and +withal so unreal. I told it her, however, while she listened with +wonder-lit eyes. + +"Yes, Roger," she said, "it all happened just as you saw it." + +"And did you cry out, Ruth. Did you say, 'Roger is here?'" + +"I did. I felt you were there, although I could not see you." + +"And then, Ruth; what did you do?" + +"I went out into the night. I knew your habit of going out on to the +headland when you desired to be alone, and I felt I must go somewhere +where you had been." + +"Yes, Ruth, and afterwards?" + +"I went out and wandered for a long time, until I felt my heart was +breaking. I seemed all alone in the world, with no one to help me, and +I cried out in anguish, 'Roger, come home.'" + +"And I heard you, Ruth. After I had seen you in my dream, or whatever +it was, I went on deck, and while there I heard your cry, and I +answered back. Did you not hear me?" + +"No, Roger, I heard nothing in answer to my cry, save a kind of wail, +which, as it mingled with the splash of the waves seemed to be only a +mocking echo of my words." + +"And yet your words called me home." + +"Thank God--and then?" + +I told her how I had come home, and had met with the fisherman who had +informed me of her death, and how she had died because of Wilfred and +Mr. Inch, who had goaded her to do what was death to her. + +"And what followed, Roger?" she said, anxiously, as I hesitated a +minute. + +"I hated Wilfred as I never hated man before. I felt that he was +deserving of the worst that could befall any man, and I determined to +be revenged." + +Again I hesitated, and again she told me to go on. + +Should I tell her? Should I with a few words blacken her life, should +I destroy her every hope? Yet the truth must out. It always does, and +I should but put off the evil day by refraining from telling her. Yet +it was terribly hard, the man must have a steady hand who writes his +own death-warrant without shaking. + +She saw, I think, how terrible was the ordeal, for she nestled closer +to me and spoke gently. + +"Dear Roger," she said, "it must have nearly driven you mad to meet +him." + +I think this gave me strength, for I clenched my hands nervously, and +began to tell her of our meeting and of the darkest deed that ever +blighted my life, wondering in my heart what she would say and do when +she knew what I had done. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +CAIN + +And now art thou cursed from the earth, which hath opened her mouth to +receive thy brother's blood from thy hand. . . . A fugitive and a +vagabond shalt thou be in the earth. + +And Cain said to the Lord, My punishment is greater than I can +bear.--_The Book of Genesis._ + + +At last, I had told her. The dread truth which I had trembled for her +to know was made known. Word by word, sentence by sentence, often +hesitating, often stammering, I related our meeting, the awful struggle +on the cliff with its terrible ending. + +Then I felt her tremble. + +"And Wilfred is dead?" she gasped. + +"Dead," I repeated. + +"And you killed him?" + +"I--I killed him." + +"Then you are a--a----" + +"Yes, I am. My God, I am a murderer!" + +I felt her shrink from me, I saw the blood recede from her face, and in +another second she lay motionless in my arms. + +I laid her gently down in an old settle, and ran into the hall shouting +for help. The two women servants who had attended upon lier quickly +appeared. + +"Your mistress!" I gasped. "Make haste." + +They hurried to the room and found Ruth lying as one dead. + +I could not stay there while they tried to restore her. I felt I had +killed her, and my head whirled so that I could scarcely stand. Until +then I did not know what a man could bear and still live. No tongue or +pen can describe what I suffered. I had been in hell the night before; +it was worse now. Then only the death of the man whom I had hated +pressed on my conscience, now, I feared, I had by the same deed killed +my darling, whom only a few hours before, I had taken from a living +grave. + +Presently I heard the sound of horses' hoofs on the gravel outside the +house, and in another minute the village doctor entered. Unknown to +me, Mr. Inch had sent for him, thinking Ruth might need his advice. +Evidently, too, the servant who had been to fetch him had told him of +the strange event that had happened, for when he saw me he exclaimed: + +"Great heavens, you did it, did you? Well, its the most wonderful +thing that ever happened." + +I think he would have stayed a few minutes with me had I allowed him, +but I hurried him quickly to the room where Ruth was, while I stayed at +the door and listened. + +At length I heard a woman's voice say, "She's coming to," and a great +burden rolled away from my heart. At all events, Ruth's death would +not lie at my door, and so far my mind was at rest. By and by I heard +more whispering, and then I heard Ruth speak. Was she not asking for +me? I thought so; certainly, I heard my own name. + +I entered the room, and found Ruth sitting up, while the doctor was +walking excitedly round the room, rubbing his hands with satisfaction. + +She looked up and our eyes met. Then I knew that a great gulf was +between us, as great as the gulf that lies between Heaven and hell. +She could not come to me, I could not go to her. We were divided, not +by distance, but by my guilt. We were in the same room, and yet, now +that she knew what I had done we could not be as we were. + +In spite of this, however, I made a step towards Ruth as if to take her +hand, but I saw as I came nearer a look of terror came into her eyes, +and she shrunk from me with a cry of pain. Now I knew my doom was +sealed, and without a word I turned and walked away from her. I loved +her still; God only knows how; but I could not stay with her when my +presence caused her so much pain. Nay, I felt that if my love were +worthy the name, she must never see me again. Would she not feel that +she had loved a man whose hands were stained by his brother's blood? + +I did not even say "good-bye." I do not think I could have done so, +for weights seemed to hang upon my lips. Yet it was terribly hard to +go. We had been separated for more than ten long years, and then we +had met, as perhaps lovers never met before, met for a few brief hours +only to be again divided. + +I stood alone in the hall, as if waiting for some voice to recall me, +but I heard none, so I placed my hat upon my head to go out alone. As +I walked towards the door I thought of the sweet hours we had spent +together, and of the Heaven of which my sin had deprived me. But +nothing could undo the past. I must reap the harvest of my sin. +Before I had gone far, however, Mr. Inch stepped out of one of the +rooms and met me. + +"Are you going out," he said in astonishment. + +"Yes." + +"But why? Surely there is no reason." + +"Yes there is." + +"But you are not going far? You will soon return?" + +"I do not know how far I shall go; but I shall never return." + +He looked at me in wonder; then a look of intelligence came into his +face as though he had guessed the reason of my departure. + +"Perhaps you do not know Miss Morton's feelings toward you," he said, +with a smile. "This wonderful night has doubtless made us all +half-mad; but don't forget what it was that caused her illness and, as +we thought, her death." + +"I know all," I said, "but I must go." + +I placed my hand on the door handle when a thought struck me, and I +turned to him again. + +"But remember for all that," I said, "that Miss Morton is not without a +friend. Remember that I know how false have been your dealings with +her, and now, if she be defrauded of one penny in the future, or if you +in any way seek to take advantage of her, you shall be thrown into a +felon's cell. Your past shall only be forgiven on the condition that +your future be blameless." + +"Roger Trewinion!" he cried, "I know it may sound cowardly to shift a +sin upon another's shoulders, but your brother is guilty of all the +real wrong. I was only a weak tool in his hands. But for the future, +so help me God, I will serve my mistress faithfully." + +"See that you do," I said, and then, leaving him half dazed, I went out +of the house. + +Thus I was alone again, alone in the night! My sin had driven me away, +and now I was cast upon the world again, with no one to help me, no one +to love me. For I could not for a minute think that Ruth could love me +now that she knew what I was, and of what I had been guilty. + +Down the long avenue I tramped, thinking all the time of what might +have been, and hating myself for what I had done. For a time I went +heedlessly, and then I began to decide which course I should take. + +I have heard it said that murderers are always possessed by the ghastly +desire to look on the face of their victim, to visit the scenes which +are associated with the deed that cursed them for ever. Whether this +be true or not I cannot say, but I had not gone far, before I was +filled with the dread longing to go back to the spot where Wilfred and +I had struggled, and yielding to it I started to retrace the weary +steps which I had trodden only a few hours before. + +After walking two or three miles in a vague, half conscious sort of +way, I felt a great desire to sleep, and seeing by the light of the +moon a haystack in a field close by, I clambered over the hedge and +walked, towards it. I found it to be only half-built; evidently, there +was a late crop of hay being carried, and most likely the stack would +be finished the next day. A pile of hay was lying on one side, waiting +to be thrown on the stack, and on this I threw myself, and quickly fell +asleep. + +When I awoke it was broad daylight, and from the sound of voices near +me, the haymakers were evidently at work. I rose up from my +resting-place, and as I did so, those who had been partaking of +croust[1] gazed at me in astonishment. + +I was not dressed like an ordinary tramp, however, and so was treated +civilly. + +"Will you tell me what time it is," I said, after some remarks had been +passed. + +"Nearly leben o'clock in the vorenoon," said one of the men. "'Ave 'ee +bin slaipin' here oal night?" + +I nodded. + +"Then you must be awful ungry." + +"Yes," I said, "have you anything to eat?" + +For reply, a basket containing a good deal of wholesome food was placed +before me. I ate heartily, for I was hungry, and after making a good +meal prepared to go on. + +The men did not ask me who I was, or where I was going, but looked +smilingly on the few coins I gave them, and wished me a good journey. + +I went on in a dazed way the whole of the day, stopping only once for +refreshment at a little wayside alehouse. I inquired of the landlord +if he had heard any news, but he said, No, nothing had happened except +that his sister-in-law had got another, her eleventh baby. As I did +not regard this of much importance, I trudged on again as soon as I had +finished my meal. That I might be going in the teeth of danger did not +occur to me; in fact, I never troubled about any punishment for my +deed, except the terrible punishment of my conscience. + +About eight o'clock in the evening, I entered the parish of Trewinion, +and soon, as if drawn by a magnet, I found my way to the place where +Wilfred and I had met. + +How vividly everything came back to me, and yet I seemed to have lived +long years since we met. Only two days had elapsed; and I had seemed +to have grown old in that time. In my excited imagination I pictured +him coming towards me again; but soon my illusions were dispelled. + +I looked up towards my old home, wondering if I should see any signs of +what had happened, but the house was quiet, and, except for a few +lights that flashed from the windows, I saw no signs of life. The +prongs of the "Devil's Tooth" still lifted themselves in the air, but +no light was there; evidently Betsey Fraddam was not visiting her old +haunt that night. + +Again I stood on the place on which we had wrestled, again I looked +from the dizzy heights on the rocks below, as if trying to see Wilfred, +but nothing was visible. The rocks told no stories; the moaning sea +did not recount what had become of my brother's body. + +Had he been found, I wondered? It could scarcely be otherwise. +Fisherman were constantly tramping along the beach, and when he was +missed search would certainly be made. Still it might not have so +happened; I would go down to the beach to see. The tide was ebbing +out, and I could easily walk along the sands at the foot of the cliffs. + +I went to the place where a rough track had been made, and soon got on +the beach. It was a glorious night; the sea shone beneath the silvery +light of the moon, and had I any melody in my heart the splash of the +water on the beach must have made music to me; but there was nothing +but remorse and despair within me, thus, what would have otherwise have +been a song of gladness was only a wail of misery. + +When I came to the place beneath the point where we had wrestled, I +looked for a sign of Wilfred's body, but there was nothing to be seen, +nor was there any marks on the sand, not even a footmark was visible. +This was not altogether strange, for the tide would have washed away +any such marks, and yet I wondered at none being visible when such a +terrible tragedy had taken place. + +Near here was a cave, and, scarcely knowing what I was doing, I entered +it. I spoke, but was frightened by the echo of my own voice. I dared +not stay there long. Every sound was magnified so, and as the waves +broke upon the shore their echo thundered around the walls of my grim +resting-place, until it seemed filled with thousands of dark spirits of +the dead. + +I went out again into the night, and wandered on until I came to the +witches' cave. I seemed drawn, as if by a charm, and for a minute I +had a strong desire to go where I had gone long years before, when +Deborah Teague tried to make me promise ever to be her friend; but +fancying I heard sounds within the dark confines of the cavern, I +hurried away filled with superstitious fears. + +Then a new feeling possessed me. I must get away from England and +never return. There was no hope; no peace for me here. Wilfred was +dead--destroyed by my hand, and Ruth loathed me. I would go away on +the wild seas again, and perhaps, although I could never know +happiness, I might find forgetfulness. Here I should be ever haunted +by fears; here, too, I was in danger of the law, once away I should be +safe. + +The thought brought relief, it gave me something to do. It was an +escape valve for my feelings, and without waiting a second I started on +the road to Falmouth. + +A few days later I was sailing down the Bay of Biscay, bound for +Barcelona, where I hoped I might find Salambo, who had been captain of +the pirate ship. + + + +[1] "Croust" is a corruption of the word "carouse." This designates a +meal which harvesters and haymakers have between ordinary meals on +account of specially hard work.--EDITOR. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +THE VOICE OF A FRIEND + +The journey to Barcelona was uneventful, at any rate for me. During +the whole time I lived in a kind of hideous dream. I was ever thinking +of what I had seen and done during the little time I had been in +England, but nothing was real save a horrible weight that oppressed me. +I know that the captain sought to be friendly, while some of the +passengers seemed to be interested in the sad, silent man who ever +sought to be alone, but I paid little heed to their overtures. How +could I when two ghastly passions, hatred and remorse, possessed me? + +Sometimes I caught myself thinking of what Ruth had told me during +those two or three sweet hours we were together. I remember asking her +why she had seemed to love Wilfred the better, and why, when she saw +how I loved her, she did not in some way let me know that she cared for +me. And blushingly she told me that, besides the reports about my +boasting that she would have to marry me, which she only half believed, +she was afraid I would think her forward and immodest. This set me +thinking how it had all ended. How through misunderstandings our lives +had been ruined, until life seemed a tragedy, and Providence only a +dream. But no relief came to me, the burdens which I had myself made +still crushed me to the earth, and I could see no brightness in the +future. + +We reached Barcelona at length, and I set out to find Salambo. I knew +that if all had gone well with him I should have little difficulty in +this. He had given me instructions which were unmistakable as to his +whereabouts, so I started at once for the house at which he told me to +inquire. + +I found that this house was occupied by his own parents, and no welcome +could be warmer than mine when I told them my name. + +I asked them if their son was well, and I quickly found that he was +well and happy, that he had found Inez, that they had been wedded, and +were living not far away from them. + +Quickly I found my way thither, and soon Salambo and I stood face to +face. Only one look at him was enough to convince me that his parents +had told me the truth. + +"All is well with you, Salambo?" I said. + +"Ah, all is well," he cried, "the saints have been good to me. You +must see my Inez, she will be here directly." + +This gave me a little hope. Salambo had committed a sin similar to +mine, and yet he was happy. He had become wedded to the woman he +loved, in spite of the terrible past. Might there then be some chance +for me? Not that I expected to wed Ruth, I gave up all thoughts of +seeing her again; but I might find rest from the terrible pangs which +now made life almost unbearable. I resolved before the day was over to +have a long talk with my old captain, and, if possible, to seek the +same means to obtain ease and happiness. + +Presently his wife came into the room. They had only been wedded a +short time, and she blushed at being introduced as his wife; but I saw, +in spite of everything, that she was happy. Not that she looked free +from pain. There was a look in her great black eyes which told me that +she had suffered terribly in the past, and the silver streaks in her +raven black hair told the same story. + +She was very beautiful, and I did not wonder that Salambo loved her. +From the way her eyes rested on him I knew that he reigned king of her +heart. + +We sat together during the evening, sometimes talking and sometimes +listening to Inez--for such Salambo would have me call her--as she sung +some sweet Spanish love songs, until the time came for her to retire, +and then we two men, who had passed through many strange scenes, were +left together. + +"You are very happy," I said, when she had left the room. + +"Happy as man can be," he replied. "My Inez through all these long +years was faithful to me, and has ever been as pure as an angel. And +you, Tretheway, or rather, Trewinion, how did you find affairs at home? +not well, I fear." + +I told him, just as I have written it in these pages, all that had +happened since I left him. When I described my meeting with Bill +Tregargus, and how I had heard that Ruth had died of a broken heart, +driven to death by Wilfred, I saw the tears start to Salambo's eyes, +and he eagerly asked what followed next. Then I told him of my meeting +with Wilfred, what we had said to each other, and how we had engaged in +a deadly struggle on the cliff. + +"And didn't you kill him?" he cried, clenching his hands nervously; +"didn't you hurl the viper on the rocks beneath?" + +"Would you?" I said. + +"Would I?" he cried, "ay, and be proud that I had rid the world of such +a one. The saints would sanction such a deed." + +I told him what had happened, at which he gave a great sigh as if of +relief, after which a scornful smile played around his mouth as I told +him of the terrible sufferings I had endured. + +He did not speak a word during the recital of the visit to Ruth's home, +but gave a start as I told him of my determination to visit her grave. +Then he sat like one entranced as I described my entrance into the +church, and related how I lifted back the stone from the vault. +Breathlessly he sat while I narrated how I had removed the clasps from +the coffin and looked on the still face of my darling; and then leapt +like a madman from his chair as I told how I felt her hand move. After +that, while I related the remainder of my story, he walked up and down +the room excitedly, sometimes laughing and again giving a cry of +gladness, until I came to that part where I told Ruth of my sins, +whereupon he sat down again, still staring at me wildly. + +"And you left her because of that?" he said in astonishment, when I had +finished. + +"I could do no other," I replied. + +"Ah, but you could," he cried. + +"How?" I asked. + +"Why, that action of hers did not express her aversion of you, or if it +did it could be easily overcome. You should have remained with her and +she would soon have forgiven you." + +"How could she when I could not forgive myself? Besides, if I had +stayed in England I should have been arrested as a murderer, and that +would have brought her worse sorrow still." + +"That need not have been," he replied. "You could have brought her +here, ay, and she would have gladly come, too." + +I dismissed this suggestion, for I knew it was not possible. + +For three weeks I remained with Salambo, then I felt that I could stay +in Barcelona no longer, and must be on the move. Bitter memories still +urged me to go somewhere, it mattered not where, in search of peace. + +I told Salambo this, and he did his best to persuade me to stay with +him, Inez adding her entreaties to his; but I felt I could not. +Something, I knew not what, impelled me to leave them, so I got a berth +on board a vessel, and went away again to follow the calling I had +followed so many years. + +We shook hands at the vessel's side; he to go back to his home and to +happiness, and I to sail down the Mediterranean, still in search of +rest and peace. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +THE VOICE OF GOD + + Alone, alone, all, all alone, + Alone on a wide, wide sea! + And never a saint took pity on + My soul in agony. + --_The Ancient Mariner._ + + +For a year I sailed the Mediterranean as a common seaman. I thought, +or rather, I hoped, that by hard work and mixing in the society of men +who had borne something of the brunt of life, besides visiting +different towns at which we had to call along the coast, I should +banish from my mind what became more and more terrible to me. It was a +vain hope. + +At the end of the year I despaired of finding happiness or peace again. +"There is no such thing as forgiveness of sins!" I said, "and life is +but a bitter mockery." + +Ofttimes I wondered what had become of them at home. At night time +especially I found myself thinking of Ruth and how she bore her +terrible trials, and this led me to wonder what had become of +Wilfred--had he ever been found, and, if so, had I been suspected of +his death? Naturally, Bill Tregargus would think of me; but would he +tell of his meeting with me? Then again, would Ruth feel it her duty +to denounce me as a murderer, even though I had saved her from the most +horrible fate imaginable? I knew how great was her sense of right; I +knew, too, how much she had loved me, and I did not know what course +she would take. + +But never one ray of light, or hope, or comfort came in the thick +darkness. Sometimes I was tempted to drown my troubles in drink, but I +remembered my father's death, and refrained from doing so. Again I was +tempted to seek forgetfulness in what was unworthy, but I remembered +Ruth and was saved from that. + +One day, about a year after I had left Salambo, the vessel in which I +was sailing arrived at Smyrna, where we had to stay some days. Towards +evening we were at liberty to go into the town, and I as usual strolled +away alone. I had not gone far, when, lying on the side of the street, +I saw a little crippled child who had apparently lost its way, or was +in some trouble, for it was sobbing bitterly. I came close and lifted +the child to its feet, and as I did so caught sight of its face. It +was a little girl about five years old. She was by no means pretty, on +the contrary, her face was almost evil, and for a moment I felt like +passing on without taking further notice, when the prayer which had +constantly been on my lips of late came to my mind. Hitherto I had +received no answer to it, but now I felt that I loved this little +crippled, ugly child. + +In my constant visits to this coast I had picked up a smattering of +Greek, so I spoke to the little maiden, and asked her where she lived, +and without hesitation she told me. With a strange feeling in my heart +I took her in my arms, and carried her in the direction of her home. +As I walked on I met some of my crew, who laughed to see me with my +strange burden, but I did not mind, nay, rather, I rejoiced because of +what I was able to do. And all the while I continued to breathe this +prayer, "Lord, help me to love." + +We reached her home at length. A miserable place it was, and I found +out that the little maiden had no father. He had died a few months +before, but she had a brother and sister, both younger than herself, +who lived with their mother. I did not stay long, although I felt a +strange feeling of pity for the poor desolate ones, but I left some +money with them and walked away alone. + +As I did so I remembered the words I had heard often in our old church. +"Inasmuch as ye have done it to one of the least of these My little +ones, ye have done it unto Me." "Unto Me"--unto whom? I called to +mind that they were the words of our Lord, and I asked myself what it +meant. "Ye have done it unto Me." I repeated again and again. "How +have I done it unto the Lord?" + +One day while I had been in Barcelona, I had gone into a church, and +had made confession of my sins to a priest. I remembered that Salambo +was a Catholic, and I wondered if by making confession peace would come +to my heart. The priest had told me that I must forgive every one, and +do penance. But I was not able to forgive; as for penance, it seemed +to me that no man could suffer worse penance than I had already +suffered. Besides, I remembered that the priest was an enemy to the +faith which I had been taught to believe, and so, perhaps, prejudice +hindered him from helping me. + +His words returned to me that night, however, and I asked myself for +the hundredth time how it was possible for me to forgive Wilfred. + +"He is dead, and I have killed him!" I said to myself, "and yet I +cannot forgive him. I hate him still. He has robbed me of everything +I hold dear. How can I forgive him? How can I find peace?" Then, as +if in answer to my cry, came the words, "Come unto Me all ye that +labour, and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." + +I do not know how, but the message of our Lord had a new meaning. I +had heard it read a hundred times without ever thinking of its meaning, +but now my heart throbbed with a new hope as I thought of it, "Come +unto Me, Come unto Me, and I will give you rest." I kept repeating the +passage. + +"Lord, how can I come!" I cried, "and how can'st Thou hear my voice, +the voice of a murderer?" and then, as if in answer to my cry, I seemed +to hear the words, "Him that cometh unto Me, I will in no wise cast +out!" + +That night for the first time for years I truly prayed. I prayed for +light, for penitence, for forgiveness. Ay, I did come to Christ as a +poor penitent wayward sinner, and even as I prayed, I caught myself +thinking of my brother Wilfred. Without realising what I was doing, I +remembered some of our boyish freaks. I thought of the happy days we +had spent together and of the times we had knelt side by side and +prayed; and then, I know not how, I realised that the hatred I had felt +for Wilfred was gone. God had answered my prayer; I had learned to +love, and to love my enemy. + +Do not imagine that my burden was gone when I felt this. The memory of +that terrible night became more vivid; but I was changed. I was not +the man I was on the night when I madly wrestled with my brother. God +had answered my prayer, and in doing so He had changed me. + +I went back to the vessel a new man, with new feelings, new desires, +new aspirations. + +Night came on again, and still the vessel remained in the harbour at +Smyrna. I sat on the deck alone, looking sometimes at the lights of +the town, and again at the moonlit sea, still longing and praying for +rest. Hour after hour I remained, until my heart grew so sad that I +began to realise a misery as great almost as that I had known before +the hatred I had for my brother was taken away. + +"Oh, God, what shall I do?" I cried at length. + +What was it that answered me? A voice from Heaven, or was it my own +heart? All I know is that, sounding from I know not where, I heard the +words, "Go home." + +I felt I could not do this. I could not bear to go back to the scenes +of my misery and sin. I should be ever seeing the dead face of my +brother; there would be less rest for me there than here. Nor it would +not be safe to do so. Perhaps even now the officers of the law were +in-- But I would not think of that. + +All through the night I struggled and prayed, but ever in answer came +the same dread message: + +"Go home. Confess your sins." + +At length strength came; at length the battle was fought. I made up my +mind to go home, to give myself up to the officers of the law as my +brother's murderer, and in a moment the burden was gone, and I was a +free man. + +I will not try to describe with what feverish anxiety I made my way +back to England. I only know that some secret power seemed to be +urging me back, and although I felt I was going to my death, I was glad +when I landed in Falmouth harbour. + +Once on my native soil my love for life became strong, and I had to +fight my battle over again, or I should have had to do so if I had +allowed myself time to think of it; but I stifled all thoughts of +escape, and hurried on to my old home. + +When I arrived within a mile or so of Trewinion, I paused, and began to +ponder as to what course would be best. Should I go to the village +constable, Philip Pinch? I knew him well as a lad, and had seen him +when I had been home the year before. Or should I go straight to the +old house on the cliff, and there, before my mother and servants, +confess my sins. + +The desire to see the old place was so strong that I determined to take +the latter course. If I surrendered myself to Philip Pinch I should be +taken at once to the lock-up, and thence to Bodmin gaol, while if I +went home I should have one more sight of the old rooms which I had not +seen for more than eleven years. + +And so, with fast-beating heart and limbs trembling, I hurried onward. +Feverishly I opened the postern door which admitted me into the grounds +surrounding the house, and then, with a pain at my heart which no words +can describe, I went up to the tower entrance and rang the bell. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +WITHIN THE OLD HOME + +Eleven long years. Yes, it was that since I had last stood by the hall +door. I had left it with a mad passion in my heart, with fierce grief +raging within me; I returned saddened by sin, stained by crime, yet +subdued and repentant and hopeful. + +I could not help thinking of this as the bell clanged within the wide +hall and echoed through the silent house, while memories of the old +days flashed like lightning through my excited brain. + +How singular it was, that I, the rightful owner, should stand ringing +for admission like a stranger, and more singular still it seemed at the +time, that I should for long years have been a wanderer away from the +home of my fathers. And I stood there as a culprit. I was about to +enter my home, only to come out a prisoner, a man accused of an awful +crime. I was not sure if they would hang me, for his death was an +accident. I did not hurl him from me; he slipped from my hands in +spite of me, and yet murder was in my heart. + +And thus I stood at my own door after eleven years of weary wandering, +of lonely agony, of God-forsaken life, waiting excitedly, yet with a +numbing pain at my heart, for the meeting with my mother. Ah, how +should I look her in her face when she asked me for her son; how should +I withstand her withering scorn, her terrible wrath? It was eventime, +and the October winds had shorn much of the foliage from the trees, +what remained being russet brown. The wind, too, as it played amongst +the shivering leaves, told only a tale of decay and death. + +At length I heard a step along the stone, corridor, an aged step, as +though the one who came was weary and tired. All this I noted as I +stood waiting while the door opened. + +It was Peter Polperrow, who had been servant of Trewinion long before I +was born. He looked at me with some astonishment, not unmixed with +fear. + +"Whom do you want to see, sir?" he asked. + +"Mrs. Trewinion," I said. + +He eyed me from head to foot, as if afraid that by admitting me, he +should be doing wrong. + +"I cannot admit a stranger," he said at length, "and I cannot let you +see my mistress until I know who you are." + +"Is she well?" I asked. + +Again he seemed to wonder why I should ask such a question, and he +answered sadly: + +"Yes, considering all things; but what is that to you? Who are you and +what do you want?" + +I suppose I was not of a very prepossessing appearance. Like most of +my race, I was large and strong, but my clothes were somewhat coarse, +and my hands were brown and bare. Then my face was covered with a huge +brown beard, and I was tanned by long years of exposure to sea air. + +"Take me to some room where we can talk together, Peter Polperrow," I +said. + +"Peter Polperrow!" repeated the old man; "Who are you that you know my +name?" + +"I will tell you soon, Peter," I answered; "meanwhile lead me to Mr. +Roger's old room. I will promise you no harm." + +"Master Roger!" repeated the old man; "he has not been here for long +years. He has gone away, God only knows where for that matter; nearly +everybody believes him to be dead, and so I suppose he'll never return +any more. But what do you know of Master Roger?" + +"Lead me there and I'll tell you. I can tell you many things you would +like to know." + +He seemed to be staggered at my words. + +"Do you know him?" he asked. + +"Yes; I have seen him, and spoken with him." + +"What! Seen Mr. Roger!" + +"Yes." + +New life seemed to come into his withered, aged form, a new interest +came into his aged face. + +"Seen him! When, oh when did you see Mr. Roger?" + +"I have been with him to-day." + +Still the simple old man did not catch my meaning. He evidently could +not think that I was Roger. + +"Where did you see him? Is he coming home?" he asked anxiously. + +"Take me to his room and I'll tell you." + +Without another word he led me to the room I used to call mine, I +feeling a kind of shiver as I stood within the walls of the old house. + +At length we were alone, but it was dark there; we could scarcely see +each other's faces. + +"Get a light, Peter," I said. + +He hobbled away, and soon returned with a candle, revealing the +furniture of the room just as I left it years before. + +"No one has slept here since Mr. Roger left," said Peter tremulously. +"I don't think that anyone dare that knew him, and certainly no one +should with my consent." + +"No one but me, Peter," I said. + +"What do you mean? Who are you, and--and when did you see Mr. Roger? +Tell me quickly." + +"Peter," I said, "does nothing tell you? Hold the light to my face and +then think. Have you never seen me before?" + +The old man held the candle as I had desired him, and looked steadily +at me, but there was no flash of recognition, no look of joyful +surprise. + +"I doan't remember; I never seed 'ee before." + +He said this dreamily, and in so doing relapsed into the old Cornish +vernacular. + +"Look again, Peter. Remember how Wilfred and I used to wrestle on the +headland. Remember how I frightened you by telling you that Deborah +Teague had ill-wished you. Think of an awful storm, and that wreck on +the 'Devil's Tooth,' and of the young lady I saved. Can't you +recognise me now?" + +Then old Peter knew me, and tears rolled down his wrinkled cheeks. + +"Oh, Master Roger," he said, "thank God you've come home; but to come +like this, to come home as a----" But he could say no more, he sobbed +like a child. + +He had heard then. Somehow it must have been rumoured abroad that I +had killed my brother, and so my presence was painful to him. Perhaps +Bill Tregargus had told that he had seen me, and heard me vow +vengeance. Perhaps Ruth had in a moment of madness revealed the +terrible truth! + +"Do you think my mother will see me, Peter?" I said to the faithful old +servant as gently as I could. + +"Oh, Mr. Roger," he sobbed, "you was so young, so beautiful, so happy +in the old days, and I always looked forward to you becoming master, +and servin' you till I died, and now to see you come home like this, a +ringin' at the door, when you should have walked straight in, and to be +asked questions by me when----when----" + +"Never mind, Peter," I said, "it cannot be undone now, but still you +won't mind doing something for me now, for the sake of old days." + +"Do! I'll do anything," he cried. + +"I'm going down to the library," I said; "will you go and tell my +mother to come there? but don't tell her it is I who want to see her. +Simply say that a stranger is asking for her." + +I found my way into the library. Candles which cast a flickering light +were placed on the table, making the room ghostly enough. + +How well I remembered the old place, and how memory after memory came +back to me as I waited there. I often thought of the time my father +had led me there on my fifteenth birthday, and told me of the curse of +my race, and many other things which seemed to have cast a shadow over +my life. Then I thought of how terribly his words had been fulfilled. +The story of the curse was no meaningless jargon. It contained awful +truths, which had been fulfilled in me. And yet I was not sure. +Perhaps what had happened was the simple outcome of broken laws; +perhaps Trewinion's curse was an old wives' fable. Still, the truth +that my life was cursed was ever before me. I felt that even then I +was, humanly speaking, branded with the hand of Cain. God had forgiven +me, but man never would; the sin of my life could only be wiped out by +yielding myself up to the hands of justice. + +And this I had come home to do. I was waiting there to tell my mother +that I had murdered her dearest son, that I had taken all joy and +brightness from her life, and then, having brought the greatest sorrow +a son can bring upon a mother, I would go to meet my righteous judgment. + +Presently I heard the sound of footsteps, and soon my mother entered +the room. + +I had no difficulty in recognising her. Ten years had worked but +little change in her appearance. Certainly her hair was tinged with +grey, and the lines on her face were deeper, but otherwise there was no +difference. There was still the cold expression--which was ever the +same, except when her eyes rested on Wilfred--still the same stately +carriage. + +She glanced at me for a second, and then asked my business. + +"Mother," I said, standing up. + +She looked at me keenly for a few seconds, then she cried hoarsely, "My +God, what brought you here?" + +"Mother, forgive me," I said. + +I thought she recoiled from me as if in abhorrence. I know that she +stepped back from me. + +"Why have you come?" she said, and I saw fierce hate gleaming from her +eyes. "Have you not caused misery enough? Are you not content with +the lives you have poisoned? You went away; why did you ever come +back?" + +"I could not rest, mother," I said, humbly, for I felt I deserved her +reproach. "I wanted to tell you all; I wanted your forgiveness." + +"Tell me!" she cried, "as though I did not know. Forgive you, how can +I forgive you when but for you my boy might have been----" + +"Let me tell you everything, mother," I cried. "God knows I have +suffered much for what I have done, but He has forgiven me, and I +wanted your forgiveness before I die." + +"Do I not know? Have I not heard?" she went on. "Has it not been the +talk of the neighbourhood? Have you not ever been my son's enemy? +When you were children it was you who had your father's affections, it +was you who saved the life of the only one my Wilfred loved, it was you +who stood between Wilfred and his right position. It was you who kept +Ruth from loving him, and although you went away you were ever the +black blot on his life. And now you have come back again. Why? To +breathe more poison, to carry out more of your murderous designs." + +"No, mother, I have come to atone for the wrong I have done rather than +to do more wrong." + +"That can never be. You can never atone for the wrong you have done. +You were born to curse my son's life, and you have done it. You have +stripped my life of happiness, and now you come again, to take away +what paltry right, I suppose, you claim." + +"But, mother!" + +"Call me not 'mother,' you are no son of mine." + +"Not your son!" I cried, "how can that be?" + +She did not answer me, and my memory flashed back to the time when +Deborah Teague had hinted that she was not my mother. Now her mad +jealousy of my position was explained. Now I knew why Wilfred was all +and I was nothing. This woman was not my mother, and as a consequence +true affection had not existed between us. + +"Whose son am I, then?" I continued, after a pause, "and who is my +mother." + +"I shall not say," she said, "it is enough that you are not my son." + +"And my sisters, Elizabeth and Katherine, are they not really my +sisters? If not, who are they, and who are you?" + +"I shall not tell you," she said, and then stopped, as if in doubt. +"Yes, I will though," she continued. "You are not my son, for you are +the son of your father's first wife. No one here knew that he was +married before he married me, I made him promise none should. He never +brought his first wife home here, for he married her privately. He +would have brought her home when you were born had she not died. A few +months afterwards he married me, and I came home as his wife, and you +passed as my child, it being given out that we had been married more +than a year. When I had a child of my own I hated you, and when I saw +your father loved you best I hated you more. Now you know why I have +always been your enemy." This information stunned me. I had not +expected this kind of meeting. As yet no definite word had been spoken +concerning the real object of my coming all the way from Asia. I +determined, however, to do my duty and to confess my sin. Only when I +had realised strength to do the right had I realised ease of +conscience, and because Wilfred was only my half-brother was no reason +why I should keep back the words that seemed to burn my lips. + +I was about to speak again and tell all when I saw a form in the +doorway which made me think my senses must have left me, and I had +become a madman. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +TREWINION'S CURSE + +I rose from the chair on which I had been sitting during the latter +part of my conversation with my mother, and made one step forward. + +"Wilfred!" + +"Roger!" + +"You here!" I exclaimed bewildered. + +"Ah, my presence surprises you, does it?" he said, and every tone of +his voice told of vindictiveness--hatred. + +For a moment I could not think; my head whirled and I staggered to my +seat as though I were a drunken man. Wilfred was not dead, the guilt +of his murder did not rest upon me, I was free--free! I had not hurled +him to his death on that awful night; my gloomy forebodings had no real +foundation. + +How had he managed to escape? I had stood with him alone on that dizzy +height, and as far as I remembered the cliff was perpendicular there; +he had I felt slipped from me, and I had heard the sound of a falling +body. + +"What do you here?" he exclaimed, after a minute of silence; "how dared +you return to your native shore thinking as you did." + +"I thought you dead," I gasped, "dead by my hand, and I could not rest. +I wandered from place to place, but I found no peace, until I +determined to confess what I thought I had done." + +"And you came home for that?" + +"For that." + +"Fool, fool that I was not to think of the idiot's conscientiousness," +he muttered, "then all might have been arranged even yet; but now he +knows all, and I am undone." + +"But how did you manage to escape?" I asked, still in a dazed kind of +way. + +"I will tell you," he replied, with a bitter, mocking laugh, "for +nothing can be altered now. You thought you knew more than anyone +about our coast, but I had found a place of which you knew nothing. +There is a crevice and a broad ledge beneath that place where we +wrestled, and finding that you were stronger than I, I determined to do +by cunning what I could not do by brute force. So dragging you to this +place I slipped from you, fell down upon this ledge, and allowed you to +think you had murdered me!" + +He spoke with all the bitterness and cruelty of which any one could be +capable, and as I thought of what I had suffered, of the hell in which +I had lived through long months, I realised something of the old +feeling which I had entertained for him on that awful night. + +"And after all, I have served you out," he went on. "I have enjoyed +Trewinion's wealth for eleven years, and I have made the most of it. +You may claim possession if you will; but precious little you will +have. I have mortgaged it up to every farthing it is worth, and if you +hadn't come soon you would have found another family here. Even now +you will have a difficulty in keeping the house above your head," and +he laughed mockingly. + +As he said this, it struck me that he was trying to make me angry, and +as I saw the wickedness and meanness of his heart, I felt a great +bitterness rising within me. Then I remembered what I felt at +Smyrna--how I had prayed that God would help me to love, and in a +second the bitterness was gone, and all harsh feelings were turned to +pity. I saw the veil torn aside, and I knew that, much as I had +suffered, he had suffered more; that deep as I had been in hell, he had +been in a hell yet deeper. I did not remember the deceit, the fraud, +the treachery he had practised towards me, I only thought of the +possible Wilfred, the Wilfred as he might have been, and as God +intended he should be. + +"And what do you intend to do?" said my mother, for such I shall +continue to call her. + +"Do, mother," I said. "I shall do nothing." + +"Do! What can he do?" laughed Wilfred. "His hands are tied. I am +glad on the whole that he has come, for the place is accursed. It has +never given me anything but misery. I have been in a constant fever. +And Roger will suffer more, I am glad to say. As for you, mother, +serve you right if you never have another day's happiness." + +"Wilfred, my boy," said mother, "how can you say so?" + +"Say so," repeated Wilfred, "because you have been my real curse. Who +taught me first to envy Roger? You. Who taught me to hate him +afterwards? You. Who was ever at my elbow seeking to make me +misrepresent his every action? You. Who taught me how to deceive +Ruth? You. But for you I should have been content to be the younger +son, content to be the vicar of the parish; but bitterness was +instilled into my heart as a child, until I hated him as I hate all the +world. I wish he had killed me a year ago, for then I would have +haunted him until life should be such a ghastly possession that he +should seek death. But, never mind. Trewinion's curse is fulfilled in +him; he has suffered, and he will have to suffer." + +"How?" I said, with pain at my heart. + +"How?" he said, "You have broken every condition of happiness, you have +violated every law of our people. It is a law that Trewinion's heir +should never be away from the homestead for more than six months at a +time, and you have been away eleven years. It is written in the curse, +at which you have reason to tremble, that if you stray from God's pure +laws you shall be cursed and crushed by a younger brother. The curse +of our people ever rests upon the heir who hates, and you hate me." + +I did not believe in the "curse" at this time; I felt that Wilfred had +a purpose in speaking thus, and yet a strange awesome feeling crept +around my heart as he spoke. Did Wilfred really believe in this legend +of our people? I did not know. Certainly all our family had believed +it in the past, and strange things had happened to our race. Was +ill-luck ever to follow me? Was a dark pall ever to rest upon my life? + +All this time I had been living in a sort of dream. I had as yet +scarcely realised that Wilfred was not dead, as yet the awful weight +that had so long rested upon my shoulders was scarcely lifted. + +"Wilfred," I said at length, "why you speak thus I do not know. For my +own part I have ceased to believe in that old story which has been +handed down from generation to generation. Or if I believe it, I +believe that it is as applicable to the rest of the world as to me. If +we sin we suffer, if we hate we live in hell. I have sinned, and I +have suffered, I have hated and I have been in hell. But I trust it is +over now. I have repented of my sin, and I believe God has forgiven +me. I do not believe a curse can rest upon those whose hearts are full +of love." + +"But that does not free you, for you hate--you hate me." + +"No, Wilfred, no, I love you." + +"Love me! You do not know. I have always schemed to ruin you. All my +life I have hated you; all my life I have sought to thwart your every +purpose. All the misery you have had has been through me, your years +of homeless wandering have been due to me. It was I who sought to take +away the love of the woman to whom you had given your heart, and since +you left the last time, and she believed that you did not intend to +kill me, I have been to her and told her that you used the basest means +to kill me, and that I only escaped by a miracle. I tell you I have +blackened your life at every possible opportunity, I have robbed you of +the best part of your manhood, through me you will die lonely, +forsaken, despairing; do you hate me now?" + +"And does Ruth believe you?" I said. + +"Yes," he shrieked, "and she shudders at the mention of your name. You +are the terror of her life, and I have made you so." + +Again I had to struggle or I should have hated him again. Ay, I began +to hate him in spite of my trouble, and then I prayed as I had prayed +away in Smyrna, "Lord, help me to love," and even as I prayed all my +bitter feelings passed away, as they had passed away then. + +"Brother Wilfred, I love you still," I said. + +He seemed staggered at my words, and he turned to his mother as though +in astonishment. + +"Are you going to be a fool?" cried she, "are you going to yield to his +folly? Surely, if he is a fool you need not be one. He believes that +Trewinion's curse is an old wives' fable--let him believe it. But you +are the younger brother, and according to it you have the power to +curse him. Curse him, then; let all the darkness that can befall a +Trewinion fall on him. If he be married, let curses fall on him and +his wife. If he has children, let curses rest upon them. While he +lives let darkness ever be in him and around him, and when he dies may +powers of darkness attend him even as they attended his father's +father." + +My mother spoke in a voice full of passion, and I knew if such a curse +could take effect she would hurl it at me. Her words, too, seemed to +fan Wilfred's hate into a flame, a hatred which, I thought, lessened +when I told him I loved him. + +"Ah, yes," he cried, "you do not believe in those lines our father +showed you on your fifteenth birthday They have become to you but an +idle tale, but you will know they are true, and you will know, too, +that Wilfred cannot be thwarted without making you suffer. Listen to +them:-- + + If from God's pure laws he stray, + Trewinion's power shall die away, + His glory given to another, + And he be cursed by younger brother. + Then this son, though born the first, + By the people shall be cursed; + And for generations three, + Trewinion's heirs shall cursed be. + +I tell you you cannot escape, and if there is any power in the curse of +the younger brother, I call it upon you now." + +"Doan't'ee be a vool no longer," said a voice at the door; "Stop!" said +a strange, croaking voice, and turning, I saw the form of Deborah +Teague, more bent and more wrinkled than when I last saw her. + +"I seed Maaster Roger comin' up here," said the old dame, "and I +vollied un. You've a gived me a good dail of liberty in this ere +'ouse, and so no noatice was took of me when I stopped and 'arkened at +the door. I knaw every word that ev bin zed, and this I can tell 'ee, +no curse can hurt Maaster Roger now." + +"Why?" asked my mother. + +"Why? Because you ca'ant hurt nobody who's heart es vull of love. +Curse hes cheldren you may if ever he do 'ave any, ay even to the third +generation; because you be a Trewinion, but he you ca'ant curse, for +'ee do love hes enemies, and he do bless them that do curse him. Ef he +were ere with hes heart full of revenge and hatred, then 'twould be +defferent, but you ca'ant hurt un now." + +"Then," cried Wilfred, "if there is truth in this story, I curse his +children and his children's children, for he has robbed me of +everything that makes life worth the living." + +When the old woman had gone I turned and looked at my mother's face. A +marked change had come over it in the last few minutes. She seemed to +be making a great resolve. + +"Mother," said Wilfred, "what are we to do?" + +But she did not speak; a stony stare had settled on her face. + +"What is the matter with you?" asked Wilfred, anxiously; "tell me?" + +Still she did not answer him, but instead stepped out into the hall, +where old Peter Polperrow stood waiting as if he expected some +wonderful transformation. + +"Tell every servant to come at once into the library," she said quietly. + +Meanwhile Wilfred and I waited, wondering what she intended to do when +her order was obeyed. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +MOTHER AND SON + +A few minutes later all the servants assembled in the library. Most of +them were old and trusted, and had been in the house for many years. +There was a look of eager expectancy on their faces, as though they had +heard strange news. + +"Do you know who this is?" said my mother, pointing towards me. + +Evidently Peter Polperrow had told them of my arrival, for without a +moment's hesitation they answered: + +"It's Mr. Roger." + +"You recognise him, then?" + +"Ay, that we do." + +My mother looked at Wilfred with a yearning look, and then turning +towards them said, + +"Mr. Roger left this house eleven years ago. Many of you were servants +here then, and since then you have served my son and me faithfully; but +your rightful master has come home, and now I resign all authority and +command to him." + +"But mother----" I interrupted. + +"Stop," she went on, "I must do my duty. It will not be much +longer"--turning to the servants--"that I shall be with you, but this I +must confess; I have been the means of Mr. Roger being away from you; +through me you have been deprived of your rightful master." + +It must have cost her a terrible struggle to say this, for she was a +proud woman, and regarded servants as inferior beings to herself, and, +as with blanched face and trembling step she left the room immediately +after, I realised that she had come to some resolution which as yet was +unknown to me. + +Meanwhile all the older servants crowded around me, each expressing +gladness because of my return, and gladly acknowledging me as master. +And all the while Wilfred sat like one entranced, never moving, never +uttering a word. + +They left us at length and thus Wilfred and I were alone together. For +a time neither spoke, then I held out my hand to him. + +"Wilfred," I said, "let us shake hands and be brothers once more." + +"You are no brother of mine," he said, without moving. + +"We are both blessed with the same father, Wilfred," I said. + +"But not with the same mother. You know that. Has she told you?" + +I nodded. + +For a minute he did not speak, but looked at me with such a stony stare +that his face seemed entirely changed; then he said slowly, but +distinctly: + +"I hate you." + +"Come, Wilfred," I said, "let the dark past be buried. We can make +some arrangement about the property, if any remains, that will be +agreeable to us both. I have no heart to quarrel about money." + +"Share with you, when I have been master and have had entire control?" +he said. "Never!" + +"Nay, Wilfred, be not so hard. Don't let us remember those things that +will cause bitter feelings, but think of what is bright and pleasant." + +"Bright and pleasant," he answered; "what is there bright and pleasant +for me now you have returned? Nay, nay, I am accursed; but, by +heavens, so are you." + +"And you will not shake hands?" + +"Never." + +At this moment a servant entered the room with the message that our +mother wanted to see us both in her private sitting room. + +Neither of us delayed in answering her summons, and in a minute more we +were seated near her. I thought I detected a change in her face as I +entered; something of her harshness had gone, and a look of tender +longing had taken its place. + +"Mother," I said, as naturally as I could, "I have been very forgetful +and unbrotherly, but I have heard nothing of my sisters, are they well +and happy, can you tell me anything about them?" + +"Both are married and both are happy and well," she replied absently; +"but we can talk of them on some other occasion. I want us to speak of +something else just now." + +"Yes, mother." + +"Roger, will you give us an account of what you were doing and where +you went during those years you were absent from us." + +I told her all, not in such great detail as I have written it here, but +I told her enough to give her the information she desired to know. It +took me a long while, but she sat patiently during the whole time, +listening attentively to every word, while Wilfred sat with the same +stony stare upon his handsome face. + +When I had finished she rose and took Wilfred's right hand in her left +hand, and my right hand in hers and tried to draw us together. + +"Roger and Wilfred, shake hands," she said. + +"Gladly," I replied. + +"Never," cried Wilfred, drawing his hand away. "Mother, do not think +that the hatred of a lifetime can be destroyed in a moment of weakness. +It took you years to teach me to hate Roger; you cannot make me love +him in a minute. I will never take his hand. I will be his enemy as +long as I live. In my heart of hearts I have cursed him, and I will +not be friendly now because of a whim of yours." + +"Wilfred," she said, "as you value my happiness, as you value your own +happiness, here and hereafter, do not refuse. Roger," she continued, +turning to me, "great as has been your misery and loneliness, it has +not been nearly as great as mine. Oh, if you have suffered for your +sin, I have suffered a thousand times more for mine. Morning, noon and +night, I have had no rest, no comfort. When I married your father I +promised that, God helping me, I would do my duty by you, but as soon +as Wilfred was born I hated you, and I vowed that he should be +Trewinion's heir and not you. No one but Wilfred knows how I have +schemed, deceived, sinned for him, and now, when I am getting old and +am yearning for love, he, my only son, has turned against me. Oh, I +might have known that the harvest of my sin could not bring happiness; +but I loved him so, and trusted him so fully. Oh, Wilfred, you can +never have anything but misery while you are your brother's enemy. +Learn to love him, Wilfred, and even yet all may be well." + +"No, I cannot, and I would not if I could," he cried, savagely. "Both +of you have helped to blacken my life. You taught me to hate and +deceive, and he, in spite of all we have done together, has thwarted +our every purpose. And now why should I love him, or you either. Nay, +I hate you both." + +Never shall I forget the cry she gave, so full of anguish and despair. + +"Hate me, Wilfred!" she gasped. + +"Yes!" he cried, harshly. "You taught me to be greedy, and selfish, +and deceitful, but you did not tell me of the futility of money and +position to satisfy, nor yet of the terrible power which they have, no +not even when you knew they would mock me. But for you I should have +been poor perhaps, but still happy, while now there's nothing but +misery for me here, and hereafter. I tell you I believe we both sold +our souls to the devil to get rid of Roger and obtain Trewinion, and +now he is chuckling over his bargain." + +"But have you no love for me, your mother?" she cried in anguish. + +"None," cried he, cruelly, "I love nothing but myself." + +Never before have I witnessed the payment in full of the ghastly wages +of sin as I did then. Never shall I erase from my memory the awful +look upon her face. + +"Then, Wilfred, for your own sake, if not for mine, learn to love, to +forgive. Naught but misery can come from sin, I know it too, too well." + +"I care not," he answered. "There was only one that I ever really +loved, and that love you cankered. But I did love her, more than aught +else, and she has been taken from me, and he has done it. With her by +my side I could have forgiven you, I could have learned to forget my +greed; but now it can never be, and although I believe that I have at +last made her hate Roger, she still despises me. And now what have I +left to live for? Nothing but this; I will be a curse to him. Roger +says he believes that the old stories about our house are false, but +strange things have happened, and they say that the younger brother can +curse the elder. I know what Deborah Teague said; but I repeat it, if +I cannot curse him I will curse his children and his children's +children. If ever I wed and have children I will teach them to hate +all that is near and dear to him. You told me to do so this very +night, and although you have suddenly changed your wishes, I will abide +by your command." + +"Oh, God," my mother cried out in agony, "my punishment is greater than +I can bear. My own son, for whom I have sacrificed everything, has +discarded me, spurned me. My daughters have left me, no one loves me +now." + +No man with any manhood left in him could have refrained from pitying +her, so helpless, so forsaken. My heart was strangely stirred within +me, and tears started to my eyes. + +"Mother," I said, "I love you, will you let me be your son?" + +"You, Roger! Why I have always been your enemy, it is I who has caused +you all your misery and pain. You cannot really love me?" + +How fondly she looked at Wilfred even yet, as though she hoped for some +tender word or look, but he only walked up and down the room, muttering +savagely, yet casting furtive looks towards us. + +"I cannot love you as I love Wilfred," she said; "he has discarded me, +but I shall love him as long as I live. I am a poor, weak, selfish +woman, but I want your love, Roger, and your care; if you can forgive +me, and love me." + +I laid her poor, weary, aching head upon my breast, where she seemed to +find ease in sobbing out her grief. + +No sooner did Wilfred see this than, with a mocking laugh, he walked +out of the room, leaving us together. + +"Will you kiss me, Roger, my son?" she said, presently. + +I kissed her, while the tears trickled down my cheeks, and I wondered +much to see her who had been so haughty, so cold, become subdued and +penitent. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT + +No words can describe how strange I felt when I stood again in my own +bedroom alone. There was the old bed at the corner of the room, just +as I had left it long years before. Indeed, nothing in the room had +been changed, and it seemed at times as though I had never been away at +all, that the past eleven years were only a long dream, and that I was +still the gay young Roger who sported on the headland with his younger +brother. + +I was very excited, and although I had not slept for many hours, I did +not feel at all like retiring to rest. I was glad to sit alone, and +listen to the roll of the waves on the beach, and think of the strange +events which had taken place. + +And then there was Ruth. Although I had scarcely mentioned her name +since I had arrived she was ever in my mind. Could I now ask her to +wed me? My hands were free from the stain of blood, and hatred was no +longer in my heart. Surely I might go boldly to her now, and tell her +all I desired her to know, yet on the other hand I remembered her look +when I last saw her face, the shudder with which I was sure she had +recoiled from me. Besides, Wilfred had told me that he had more than +ever poisoned her mind against me. And yet I loved her so much! All +the experiences during the eleven years of my wandering life had but +strengthened my love for her, and that love for her was, I believe, the +only link that held me to Heaven, the only power that saved me from +falling into hell. And thus I mused on, when-- + +What was that I heard? + +At first it seemed like a stealthy step, but I was not sure; then a few +seconds later I thought I heard someone whispering. I opened my door +and listened, but could detect nothing. + +"It is my fancy," I said, "or else the servants are preparing to get +up." + +I did not know the time, but I knew that morning must soon be breaking. +A drowsy sensation was now creeping over me, so I prepared for a few +hours' rest, but as I lay down on the old bed I had used as a boy I +distinctly heard the sound of horses' hoofs; They seemed a good way +off, but I was not sure, as the night was still, and the sound would +travel far and fast; but there was nothing to trouble about, so with a +sweet feeling of restfulness I fell asleep. + +When I awoke it was broad daylight, and with a glad feeling at heart I +dressed quickly and looked out of the window. Yes! I was home at +last. The long bitter years of hatred and remorse were behind, the +future, though cloudy, could never be as dark as the past had been. + +I heard a knock at the door, and on opening it found my mother standing +with a look of expectancy on her face. She gazed up into my eyes, as +if in doubt about her reception, and then allowed herself to be folded +in the arms of her rough sailor son. I knew all the time it was not my +love she craved for, but she was glad even for that, so hungry was her +heart. + +"Roger, do you know it is past mid-day?" she said, with a sad smile. +"I thought something was the matter with you, but on listening at the +door I heard you breathing regularly, and so let you sleep on. But +come to the breakfast-room, I'm sure you must be hungry." + +We went down the broad staircase together arm in arm, while the +servants flitted around excitedly at the advent of Mr. Roger. How +gladly, how proudly they waited on me, while my mother told me that the +inhabitants of the parish had arranged to have a bonfire, and that a +lot of festivities had been arranged in honour of my arrival! I seemed +to be living a new life, to be breathing a new atmosphere, and so kind +was my mother to me that by and by I broke down and sobbed like a child. + +Then we went out on the headland together, she holding my arm, while +the servants smiled and whispered one to another that it was "somethin' +like." + +By and by, after talking of many things relative to what had happened +in the years of my happiness, she said: + +"Roger, you still love Ruth?" + +"More than ever, mother." + +"I shudder when I think of the dreadful fate from which you saved her." + +"You heard of that, then?" + +"Heard of it? Why, it was the talk of the county. The more so as you +so suddenly disappeared." + +"Did no one know why?" + +"No one except Wilfred and I, unless you told Ruth, I fancy you did +tell her, for when Wilfred and I went over to see her she seemed amazed +at the sight of him." + +"And Wilfred told her of our struggle?" + +"Yes, Roger." + +"He deceived her." + +"He tried to. I do not know if he succeeded." + +I saw this turn in the conversation pained her, so I was silent. + +After a few minutes she spoke again. + +"Are you going to Morton Hall?" + +"I do not know." + +"Why?" + +"I am afraid she hates me, loathes me. I could not bear to see her +turn away from me in terror." + +"I wish you would go, Roger." + +"Why, mother?" + +"Because I love her, and I think, I am sure, you will never be happy +unless you do." + +"But, mother, do you think that----" + +"Nay, Roger, I would not tell you if I could. It is for you to +discover that." + +I could not bear to talk any more about it just then, so to change the +conversation I asked her if she had seen Wilfred. + +"No," she replied, "but I am not surprised at that he has gone away for +weeks together sometimes, and I have had no idea where he has been." + +I was about to ask another question when I heard a voice behind me. + +"Right glad to see 'ee, Maaster Roger." + +"Bill Tregargus," I said, "and I am glad to see you." + +There was an uneasy look on his face, however, and although he touched +his hat to my mother, and made many remarks about his happiness at +finding me home once more, I saw that something was wrong. + +"Cud I ave a vew words in private with 'ee?" said Bill, at length. + +"Certainly," I said, and my mother, evidently thinking that Bill had +come relative to some matter connected with the estate, left us. + +"Ave 'ee seed yer brother, sur?" said Bill, as soon as she was gone. + +"Yes, last night." + +"'Scuse me, sur; but was 'ee friendly?" + +I did not resent this question, for Bill knew of our past relations, he +knew what I had said when I heard of Wilfred's cruelty to Ruth. + +"No," I said. + +"You'll forgive me, Maaster Roger," went on Bill, "but I've got a +raison for axin'; was anything said about Miss Ruth?" + +"Nothing definite. Why?" + +"Maaster Roger," said Bill, as if feeling his way, "people do zay as +'ow he will never stand no chance wi' Miss Ruth now, but do 'ee think +'ee wudd'n try to kip you from 'avin' 'er?" + +"I think he would," I cried. "But what then?" + +"Maaster Roger, I'm afraid he'll bait 'ee after all, ef you doan't +maake haste." + +"I don't understand; tell me what you mean quickly." + +"Well, Maaster Roger, yesterday I was over to Polcoath Downs. As you +knaw, 'tes 'bout fifteen mile from here. I've got a brother as do live +there, the waun younger'n me. You remember Daniel, doan't 'ee?" + +"Very well. Go on quickly." + +"Well, I 'adn't seed un for a long time, so I stayed till nearly +mornin', and as I was comin' on the road 'bout an hour afore daylight I +heerd the sound of hosses. I was goin' down a steep hill when I heerd +it, and I wondered who twas comin' at that time. In a minute more I +seed two men comin' ridin'. They wa'ant goin' very vast, so I could +hear 'em talkin. When I got to the bottom of the hill I sed to meself, +I wan't let those chaps zee me, so I gets under a bush cloase to a pool +beside the road. As luck wud 'ave it, they got off their 'osses right +against where I was, so as to let um drink, and then I seed that one of +them was yer brother, and tother a strange chap, as Maaster Wilfred +'ave got very thick wi'." + +"Who was he?" + +"I don't knaw, 'cept 'ee's a bad un. 'Ee don't do nothin' but loaf +around the Manor and the kiddley-wink (beershop). I'm told as 'ow he's +terrible thick wi' Maaster Wilfred, who do kip un to do all soarts ov +dirty jobs. I've 'eerd 'ee's from Plymouth, and he goes by the name of +Jake Blackburn." + +"Well?" + +"Well, Maaster Wilfred wur sayin' somethin' about his brother comin' +'ome again and wishin' he knawed he wur comin', as then Jake cud 'ave +stopped un from comin' home. Then, Maaster Roger, I 'ad a sort o' +notion 'ow that you'd come 'ome again, and I wur glad." + +"What then? Tell me quickly." + +"Then your brother said as 'ow he'd pay you out now, and that, though +you might get the old estate, which was mortgaged, you shud never 'ave +the girl you loved." + +"Why? How?" + +"I couldn't rightly make out, but I heerd Maaster Wilfred zay that he'd +kill yer weth hes own 'and rather than you shud ever 'ave her. Then I +'eerd Jake Blackburn ax what 'ee'd got to do wi' that, and your brother +told 'im that ef Miss Ruth didn't come down from 'er 'igh 'oss, there'd +be some work for 'im to do." + +"You don't mean to say that Wilfred would use this villain to kill +Ruth?" + +"I don't say nothin', sur, but I knaw Maaster Wilfred wur awful mad, +and wur tellin' Jake that ef 'ee ded'n do as he was told he'd put a +'angman's rope round es nuddick. I 'eerd un zay, too, that he wud tell +'er you was dead, and that it wur 'er place to 'ave him, and if she +wudden--well, and then they was whisperin' one to another." + +"And are you sure they were going there?" + +"As sure as I can be, sur. I 'eerd em zay they'd git to Morton Hall by +ten o'clock." + +"And now it's after two. Why did you not tell me before?" + +"I've bin three times this mornin' sur, but they zaid they wudden wake +'ee. I've told 'ee as soon as ever I cud." + +I could not believe in what Bill had said, it was too terrible, but I +hurried madly back to the house, he keeping by my side. + +"Do you really think he is capable of such a thing as you hinted at, +Bill?" I said. + +"I'm sure 'ee's capable of doin' any devilish thing," said Bill; +"beside, 'e've bin drinkin' 'ard lately." + +The thought was ghastly in the extreme, and yet as I remembered the +look on his face the night before, when he said he would ever seek to +curse my life, I felt the truth of Bill's words. He had tried to +murder me in order to retain wealth, would he not murder her rather +than see her make me happy? Then the thought came to me--was this a +part of the curse? For the past eleven years I had never known real +happiness. Before I had raised the cup to my lips it had been dashed +out of my hand. Was it to be now as it had ever been? For a moment I +believed that an evil power attended me, and that I could not rid +myself of the evil to which I had been born. Then I thought of old +Deborah Teague's words. "You ca'ant curse waun that do love everybody, +and whose heart es full ov love." This comforted me; not that I +believed particularly in anything she might say, but because her words +sounded true. + +Anyhow, if such were the case, I would resist my fate, I would struggle +to the end, and God would help me. + +I rushed to the stables, where two or three men lolled around. + +"Are the horses all in the stables?" I asked. + +"No, sur, there be two gone." + +"Good ones?" + +"The best we've got, sur. Brown Molly es a thora breed, sur, and will +run till she do drop; and Prince is nearly so good." + +"Have you a good horse now?" + +"There's Bess. She's a bra mare, jist brok in, sur." + +"Saddle her at once for me, and stop! Do you know who has the other +two horses?" + +"No, sur; but Master Wilfred do often take hosses without we knawin' +'bout it." + +"Just so. Bring Bess to the hall door immediately." + +I rushed into the house, where I found my mother. I told her all Bill +had related to me. As I did so I saw her face pale to the very lips. + +"Oh, Roger, oh Roger!" she cried, "save him." + +"Do you think Bill's surmise correct?" + +"Oh, Wilfred, Wilfred, you will kill me yet," she murmured. "Ride +fast, Roger, ride for your life. Don't wait a moment if you would save +her, and save him!" + +The horse was brought up to the door at that moment, a powerful black +mare, well fed and exercised. + +I kissed my mother and prepared to go, but she held my arm for a moment. + +"Be careful and watchful," she said, "he's very cunning; but, oh, my +God, save him from this!" + +I jumped into the saddle, and in another minute was riding with a fast +beating heart towards Morton Hall. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + +TO THE RESCUE + +For the first mile I rode almost without heeding the direction I was +taking, or thinking of what was the best way to proceed. + +My mind was too full of terror. Perhaps even then Wilfred with his +devilish cunning was weaving a net from which my darling could not +escape. Aided by the villain with whom he had been so friendly, he +might destroy my happiness for ever. And so, unthinkingly, I allowed +the mare to carry me whither she would. It did not matter, however. +By a strange instinct, which I am sure some animals possess, she seemed +to divine the road I wanted to go, and plunged forward joyfully. + +I was no light weight to carry. It is true that the past year's sorrow +had worn me very much, so that there was but little flesh on my great, +gaunt frame; but I still weighed nine score pounds, and thus would tire +any horse that had to carry me a long distance. I could not have +ridden a more noble animal, however; I think she united all the +qualities of strength and speed, and tore along the road as though she +felt my weight no more than if I had been a feather. It was but little +I had done in riding during the eleven years I had been away, but I +found I had not lost my old skill, and soon I was able to bring Black +Bess into entire subjection, and settled down into a good swinging trot. + +I longed to gallop the gallant animal all the way, so anxious was I to +reach Morton Hall; but I knew that she could not hold out at such a +speed, so I patted her neck and gave her a few kind, caressing words, +at which she whinnied a little and tossed her head proudly, as if to +tell me she was prepared to go as fast as I liked. + +Thirty-five miles. It was a long stretch of land, and difficult to +cover quickly. In most places it was very hilly, which would often +check our speed. I calculated, however, to get to Morton village in +four hours. It was just after two o'clock when we started; by six we +should get there if nothing was amiss. It was in the month of October, +so that the day would be nearly gone ere I should see the old village +church, which a year before had been the scene of such a wonderful +event. + +After riding an hour I was able to think more clearly, and to form some +idea as to the steps I should take. I remembered that I had a cunning, +unscrupulous man to deal with, one who, in his disappointment and +jealousy, would stop at nothing. There were but little data on which I +could build my theories, or form my plans. The first question that +appealed to me was, What was Wilfred likely to do? What steps would he +take? + +From what Bill Tregargus had told me I gathered that he was going to +tell her that I was dead, and again press upon her his suit, and then +if she would not listen to him to--well, I knew not what. + +But I was sure he would not dare to harm her in her own home, where she +would be surrounded by so many servants and friends. No, he would seek +to lure her away alone; where I could not guess; but knowing Wilfred as +I did, I felt sure that this would be his plan. The execution of this +plan would, however, be delayed till dark, so my hope lay in arriving +before sunset. + +Let no one think, then, that I was riding on a scheme of vengeance; on +the contrary, my intention was to save. I hoped to save Wilfred from +committing a dark deed, I longed to save Ruth from becoming a villain's +prey. I had no desire to hurt either Wilfred or his accomplice. No +good could come of that. To meet evil with evil is useless for any +good purpose. + +At length my heart began to beat loudly, for I knew I was nearing +Morton Hall. I passed by the farm where a year before a buxom maiden +had given me some new milk, and when I had ridden a little farther I +saw a great clump of trees which I knew surrounded Morton Church. It +was well that the journey was nearly over, for Black Bess was covered +with foam, and by her spreading nostrils and hard breathing I knew she +would be glad to rest. + +Knowing nothing of Wilfred's schemes, I had no definite plans made; but +I had been revolving a dozen in my mind, and determined, if necessary, +not to hesitate to take bold action. + +Just before coming to the village, I decided that it would not be wise +to go to the inn. My brother would very likely stable his horses there +and for aught I knew might have watchers on every hand. Where should I +go, then, so as not to be noticed? + +When last there, I discovered that there was no need for me to go into +the village in order to reach Ruth's house. Perhaps it would be better +to ride there direct, and make the necessary inquiries. Perhaps--God +knows how I hoped it--she was still in the house, Wilfred not having +been able to concoct a plan sufficiently plausible to get her away +alone. If so, I should meet her, and be able to warn and protect her. + +This I would do, then, but I dared not go dusty, dishevelled, +travel-stained as I was. So I got off my horse, and washed myself in a +streamlet that trickled beside the road. Then I picked up a wisp of +straw and rubbed down the mare. It was but little I could do for her, +but I wiped the foam from her, and made her look less conspicuous than +she had been before. This done, I mounted again and rode direct to the +Hall. + +How my heart thumped as I neared the stately old mansion, and how I +hoped and prayed that I might be successful in my mission! I thought +not of myself now. My one thought was to save Ruth, and to save +Wilfred. + +Daylight had begun to fade as I rode up to the Hall door. A stable boy +had seen and followed me. Without a moment's hesitation I flung myself +from the faithful creature who had borne me so gallantly over those +long weary miles. + +"Take this mare, rub her down well, feed her well, and wrap her up +warmly. And, stay--don't give her too much water." + +He looked at me in astonishment, then a look of recognition came into +his face. Evidently he had seen me before, for he grinned and touched +his cap as he said, "I'll zee to 'er proper, sur." + +I would have followed him and made sure that he did as I commanded; +for, brought up among horses as I had been, I had learnt to care for +them, and to see them properly provided for, but now, other matters +were more pressing. So I threw him a crown piece, and hurried to the +door. + +Again the bell clanged through the old hall, again I stood with beating +heart waiting for the answer, for now I was nearing the great crisis of +my life--at least, it seemed so to me then. + +The old servant I had seen a year before met me, and despite the dim +light recognised me in a second--joyfully, I thought. + +"Mr. Trewinion, sir," he said, quickly, "walk in." + +Again I entered the house and with a fast beating heart. + +"Is your mistress at home?" I said, hastily. + +He looked up at me anxiously, I thought. + +"Yes, sir," he replied, "she is at home; that is, sir, she is not at +home now, but we expect her home every minute." + +"Has she been far away?" + +"No, sir; oh, no, she's only gone to the village." + +"Do you know why?" + +"Why, sir!" he said, looking at me strangely. "She's not gone into the +village exactly, but to a little cottage just outside. You see, sir, +she's mighty good to the poor, and she do visit 'em and carry things to +'em." + +"Do you know the one she's gone to visit now?" + +"Oh, yes, sir. She's a bedridden old woman. Mistress has been to see +her many a time." + +"Did she walk or ride?" + +"Walked, sir; you see, she couldn't ride to Mrs. Bray's, her cottage is +among the fields, and there's no carriage road." + +"She is not gone alone?" + +"No, sir," said the man, evidently wondering more and more at my +questions, "one of the servants went with her to carry the basket. + +"Have there been any callers here to-day?" + +"No, sir, no one has been but Mrs. Bray's little maid, who came to say +that her grandmother was worse." + +"Ah! You are sure it was Mrs. Bray's granddaughter; you know the maid?" + +"Know her, sir! Of course, know'd her ever since she was a baby; you +don't think that----" + +"How long ago did this girl come?" + +"About two hours, sir." + +"And how long since your mistress left?" + +"Directly after the little maid." + +"And the servant who is gone with her is trustworthy?" + +"Oh, yes, sir; why sir, you don't----" + +"Where is this old woman's house? Tell me quickly." + +He told me the direction, and assured me that by going across the park +I could reach it in less than ten minutes. + +"I'll go and meet her," I said, as calmly as I could, "but if she +arrives before I do, say nothing of my being here. I shall not be much +later than she. But point out the road by which she will come." + +He did so, and then wanted to send a servant with me; but of this I +would not hear. I wanted no prying, gossiping servants to be around. +The truth was I feared Wilfred had succeeded in sending Mrs. Bray's +granddaughter on a false errand, or else had watched her and found out +hers. At any rate, I felt sure that he would be cognisant of the +child's visit, and would use it as a means to carry out his designs. + +I hurried across the park like a deer when the hounds are behind it, +cleared the fence that lay at its utmost extremity, and struck into a +footpath that led to the cottage. The way was very lonely. A few +straggling houses formed the village and the cottage was some distance +from them. Two weak, defenceless women could easily be met and +overpowered and without anyone being the wiser. + +Wilfred was not likely to attempt to carry out his designs in daylight, +so if the summons to Mrs. Bray's bedside were genuine, the chances were +that Ruth would be allowed to pay the visit first. Perhaps she might +be there even now, and if I went a little faster I might be in time to +see her before she left the cottage. Filled with this thought, I +rushed rapidly on to the little thatched house, and knocked at the door. + +A little girl came, with a tallow candle in her hand. + +"Does Mrs. Bray live here?" I said, pantingly. + +"Iss, sur, she do," replied the child. + +"Is she alone?" + +"Iss, sur," wonderingly. + +"Has any one been to see her this afternoon?" + +"Iss, sur. Miss Murten 'ev bin." + +"Miss Morton," I said, with a glad feeling at heart. "How long has she +been gone?" + +"Not more'n 'bout vive or ten minutes, sur." + +"Has she gone down the lane?" I said, pointing to the one I took to be +that of which the old servant at the Hall had told me. + +"Iss, sur," said she, timidly. + +Without another word I rushed down the narrow lane which led to a +distant farm, then coming to a stile I jumped over it into a field. + +Daylight was now quite gone, and I knew that I must be careful. True, +I did not know that Wilfred and Blackburn had come to the village at +all, but I must be ready for any emergency. + +I could dimly see the footpath by the hedgerow, so I ran noiselessly +along it, until I reached the end of the field, then I stood upon the +stile and listened. All was silent as death. + +"Surely," I said. "My fears are in vain. Ruth has gone quietly back +to her home. If I am quick I shall overtake her." + +With this hope in my heart, yet feeling terribly anxious, I rushed +along the hedgeside, and had nearly traversed the length of the field +when I heard what I thought was a smothered scream. + +The sound was near me, too, it seemed to come from the other side of +the fence which was just before me. + +With beating heart I went stealthily forward and looked over the hedge +into the other field. + +In the dim light I saw four figures. + +But there was no struggling. They seemed to have only just met, and as +I looked I heard a voice that set my every nerve quivering. + +"Wilfred," said the voice, which I knew was Ruth's, "how came you here?" + +"I came to see you, Ruth," said Wilfred in low, subdued tones. + +"But why did you not go to the house? I have been home all day, and my +doors are never closed to any one bearing your name." + +"I have met you here because I want to see you alone, and because I +have some strange things to tell you." + +"Well, speak on," she said, haughtily; "here, Clara, come and stand by +my side." + +"No," said Wilfred, hoarsely, "I want no servants near; I must speak to +you alone, here, now. Jake, take this jade a few yards away and stay +there." + +Jake did as he was told, and the servant, having evidently seen Wilfred +before, seemed to think no wrong. I saw Ruth look around her as if in +fear, however, while I, scarce knowing why, waited for what should +follow next. + +"Wilfred," said Ruth, "this is strange acting. Never before has any +one dared to treat me so; but you are an old friend, or I should say +perhaps that I have known you a very long time, and so I grant your +request. Speak, but speak quickly. Meanwhile we will walk home." + +"No," said Wilfred, "I say what I want to say here." + +"Why?" + +"Ruth, I am a desperate man, and I must use desperate means. I am not +going to be frightened out of my purposes; nothing shall stay my hand!" + +He spoke with the old intense tone of voice that I knew so well, and I +knew, as he said, that he was desperate. + +"Well, what have you to tell me, Wilfred?" There was no fear in her +voice. Evidently, she felt she was on her own land, and that no one +would dare to molest her, where she was beloved by all. + +"First of all, Ruth," he said hoarsely, "I am come to tell you that +Roger is dead. News came last night of his death." + +"Died! How?" she gasped. + +"Hanged," he said, savagely. "The pirate vessel on which he sailed was +captured, and he has been hanged. One or two of the crew were granted +a reprieve, but Roger was the most bloodthirsty man among them, and to +him no mercy was shown." + +She did not speak, and, after being silent a second, he went on. + +"I came to tell you that first of all; I thought you might be glad to +know that he will plague you no more. + +"Then, Ruth," he went on, "I am come to tell you something else. I +cannot live without you, Ruth. I have been mad for love of you for +long, long years. Oh, if you only knew, if you only knew!" + +"Wilfred," she answered, "say no more about that. Surely you know that +when I was nearly driven to marry you, the thought of it almost killed +me. You cannot come with that petition again." + +"But, Ruth, Roger is dead, and now I have come to beseech you to have +pity. I am dying for you, Ruth. Oh, if you will only pity me, and if +although you do not love me, you will fulfil my father's wish, and your +father's wish, and wed me, you will save me. Save me from death +here--from death hereafter." + +He spoke with passionate earnestness, which I can never forget. He +pleaded for her love as a man fearful of death might plead for his +life. But to all his petitions she gave no encouragement. + +"I cannot do as you ask, Wilfred," she said, "neither would my father, +or your father, if either were alive, have me do it. My eyes have been +opened as to their real wishes, and I cannot marry you." + +"But, Ruth," he continued, "you do not know. My very existence depends +on your answer. Do not think I care for your money; but, driven to +madness by your constant refusal of my love, I have acted foolishly, I +have blindly engaged in speculation, until Trewinion estate is no +longer mine, except in name. If you do not have pity on me it will +become the property of strangers, and those who care nothing for us or +ours will possess it. My mother will be homeless, and the old rooms, +which were my father's and--Roger's will be desecrated by others. For +myself I care nothing, but I cannot bear that my mother should have to +leave the home of our people." + +She seemed moved at this, for in her pure guilelessness I do not +believe she ever thought that Wilfred was seeking her for her wealth +alone. Hence what he had said appealed to her, as my brother intended +it should, as an additional reason for her to accept him. Still, it +did not alter her determination. + +"I will help you, Wilfred," she said, "if it is in my power to do so. +I will see that all shall be well with your mother, but I cannot do as +you wish." + +"But why?" Wilfred asked hoarsely. "Roger is dead, and even if he were +not you could never wed him when you know that his heart is full of +murder. You know that he sought my life, and but for a fortunate----" + +"I do not know it," she said passionately, "neither do I know that he +is dead." + +"What!" he exclaimed, savagely, "you believe that I----" + +"I know that you have deceived me about him in the past," she said. "I +know that you drove him from home. I know that you have tried to make +me believe that he sought to murder you, but let me tell you this, +Wilfred: If I believed he were dead, which I do not, and if he has been +all you say he has, then, knowing you as I do, I cannot, will not, be +what you ask. Now, I will go home. Stand aside, please?" + +"You refuse, then?" + +"Certainly, Wilfred. And now that I have yielded to your wish for this +unseemly interview, I wish it to be the end of all such scenes." + +"Ay, and it shall be, for I have a few words to say." His tone +changed, and he spoke with haughty insolence. "We are in a lonely +place," he said, "half a mile from a house. No one will molest us +here, and you are in my power. I have begged you to grant my request, +now you will have to yield to one of two alternatives. The first is +this: The town of ---- is ten miles from here. You will ride there +with me this very night, quietly, and remain there until arrangements +are made for our marriage." + +"What!" she exclaimed, "you seek to force me? You dare not do such a +thing." + +"I dare do anything," he said, "for I am a desperate man. Will you +accede to this?" + +"Never. I will die first." + +"Then hear my other alternative. There is a vessel lying in the cove +yonder. I have got it for this emergency. You will come with me now, +and to-night we shall sail for a port where my wishes will be carried +out in spite of you. Stop, if you scream or cry for help I will gag +you, and Jake will do the same by your girl. He has my orders. Choose +which you like, but one of them you shall do." + +All this time I had listened as in a dream. For a time I seemed +incapable of action. I was stupefied by the villainy of my brother, +while my blood surged madly at the sound of Ruth's voice. It seemed so +strange that I should have come thus, and be listening to such a +conversation. At first I could not think it real, and yet I remembered +I had ridden thirty-five miles to prevent whatever schemes he had +concocted. + +"Choose quickly," he went on after a pause. "I have no time to waste. +Either you come to the three bridges, where horses are waiting, and +ride to ----, and marry me as soon as it can be arranged, or you come +to Pendugle Cove. I care not which, but as I am a maddened, desperate +man, it shall be one or the other." + +She did not lose her presence of mind. I do not think she realised her +danger. + +"Wilfred," she said, "I have long known that you were capable of much +that was bad, but I never thought you were as bad as this. You have my +answer. I will die rather than accede to either of your plans, and you +dare not carry them into execution." + +"But I will. Then you will wish you had consented. Jake, Pendugle +Cove, and gag the girl. I will manage Miss Morton." + +He laid his hand on her as he spoke. She gave a slight cry for help, +which was instantly choked. + +Then all my stupefaction left me. With one bound I cleared the fence, +and in another second I was by Ruth's side. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + +TWO HEARTS + +More than eleven years of seafaring life had accustomed me to danger. +During the two years I sailed in the pirate ship I had often been +within the jaws of death, for as all the world knows pirates are not +dealt leniently with. I had been mixing with men of all nationalities, +and had been engaged in all kinds of fray. Thus, I was never +unprepared for a struggle. To be ready to meet danger was second +nature with me. + +Almost instinctively I settled on my plan of attack. They were two to +one, so stratagem was required as well as strength. Noiselessly as +possible, and with no parleying, I seized Wilfred, mastered him, and +bound him, before he was capable of resisting. No sooner had I done +this than I saw Jake Blackburn coming towards me, as if wondering what +was the matter, but seeing a man almost twice as big as himself +confronting him he took to his heels. + +The struggle was so soon over that Ruth scarcely realised what was +done. Wilfred, however, understood only too well. + +"Jake, Jake," he shrieked, "help!" + +"Jake is gone, Wilfred," I answered. "He will not help you." + +"Roger, Roger," cried Ruth, "is that you?" + +"It is Roger," I said, as calmly as I could, "but danger is not over +yet. Will you lead the way to the high road, and then on to the Hall +as quickly as you can?" + +The servant came up just then. She had contrived to free herself, and +now ran to assist her mistress. + +Wilfred writhed and struggled, but I held him fast. This I had little +difficulty in doing, as his hands were firmly tied behind him. +Meanwhile Ruth, as if in a dream, led the way home. Silently, yet +swiftly, we went on, I wondering all the time, not whether Jake +Blackburn would return with his accomplices, if he had any, to carry +out Wilfred's design, but whether Ruth still loved me. + +I dared not speak to her. My tongue seemed tied, while she moved on +like one in a trance. + +Presently we came to the churchyard gates, and as we did so I could +scarcely help shuddering. Like lightning the events of a year before +flashed through my mind. Vividly I remembered going down the +churchyard path and opening the old church door, in order to gaze on +the face of the dead. But Ruth seemed perfectly unconscious of that +which haunted me. A look of expectancy was on her face, and by and by +she gave a glad exclamation as we heard the sound of wheels. In a +minute more a carriage drove up and stopped at our side. I still held +Wilfred by the arm, and he, doubtless feeling that resistance was +useless, submitted quietly. + +"Roger," said Ruth huskily, "you will come home with me?" + +In reply I was about to enter the carriage with Wilfred by my side; but +no sooner did she see this than she exclaimed as if in horror, + +"Not him, Roger; no, not him." + +"Then I will ride on the box by the driver," I said. "I will not let +him go yet." + +"But will you be safe?" she said, anxiously. + +"Perfectly safe, Ruth," I answered. + +Then she allowed the servant to help her into the carriage as if she +were dazed, while I mounted the box with Wilfred. + +We were not long in reaching Morton Hall, I realising more clearly each +minute the position in which I was placed and the hopes dearest to my +heart. + +The old servant I had seen on my first visit was delighted as well as +relieved at our advent, but looked strangely at Wilfred, and at my +request silently opened the door of a room, and left us together. + +I did this because, as I descended from the carriage, Ruth said: + +"Say what you must say to him quickly, Roger, I cannot bear for him to +be in the house. I cannot bear to see him again!" + +And so he and I stood alone in the room into which we had been ushered, +and in the flickering light I saw that his face was pale as death. + +"You have won again," he said between his set teeth. + +"Be thankful I have won, Wilfred," I said. "Supposing it had been +otherwise, and you had succeeded in your designs. Would you have been +any happier? Would you not have been haunted with the thought that you +had ruined her life, besides condemning her to the hell of a loveless +marriage?" + +"And would I have cared for that?" he retorted, "My chief thought was +to baulk you, to crush you, as the younger brother should crush the +elder, when the elder has been unworthy of his name. To do this I +would suffer hell, here and hereafter; to do this I would allow myself +to be buffeted, scorned, hated; I would be as I have been, the vile +plotter and cunning villain. And why? I hate you, partly because you +have stepped into the place I longed for, but more because my mother +taught me to do so. Ay, and I will hate you, and I will curse you." + +"Wilfred," I said, "do not goad me too far. I wish you no harm; nay, I +only wish you good. I have in the past sacrificed much for you; but if +you plot against Ruth again, or if you lift a finger against her, I +shall be obliged to crush you as I would an adder, not because I hate +you, but because I care for others." + +"And that's your love for me, is it?" he sneered. + +"Yes, it is my love," I answered; "for I will not allow you to be more +a devil than you are while I can prevent it. Remember, Wilfred, there +is a law in England, and to that law I will appeal, and if that law +will not give me justice, then, Wilfred, you know me, I will take you +in hand, and I will lock you up as a fiend, a moral madman, that should +not be at large. I will imprison you as I would a mad dog. I want no +revenge, for I have no wish for it in my heart, although God only knows +what I should have felt had you succeeded in your designs to-night. As +it is, I only tell you to beware." + +"And what do you intend doing with me now?" he said. + +"Nothing," I said. "At first I held you to keep you from doing harm, +but when I saw the carriage I brought you here, that I might give you +this warning." + +"And do you think I care for your warning?" + +"I do not know, Wilfred; but in roving round the world for more than +eleven years I have learnt to take care of myself. Depend upon it, I +shall use that knowledge, not only to care for myself, but for others. +Be careful then. Justice is sometimes as strong a feeling as revenge, +and if needs be I shall take terrible means that justice may be done." + +Upon this I cut the handkerchief with which I had bounds his hands, and +he was at liberty. He snapped his fingers in my face. + +"You have given me warning," he said, hoarsely, "Now I will warn you. +First of all I thank you for what you have told me. I will heed your +words, and you need not fear that I shall put myself within the reach +of the law. Experience has taught me wisdom. But I tell you this +again. If there is any power in evil, you shall suffer. If it is +possible to sell myself to the devil that I may make you accursed, I +will do it; if the curse of a man who hates can avail, your future +shall be as black as hell, and your children and your children's +children shall suffer too. I have told you this before, and I tell you +so again. Not one penny of the money you can get out of Trewinion will +I have; but I shall live, and you shall have reason to know it." + +With that he went out and I did not seek to hinder him. I saw two of +the servants, evidently under orders to do so, follow him as if to see +him safely out of the grounds, and thus I was left alone. + +I did not think of his words, nor did they have any effect upon me. I +seemed to be encased in an impenetrable armour. Sorrow I did feel for +him, but fear entered not into my heart. + +For some minutes I sat alone, wondering what I should do. I had indeed +found Ruth, and yet I knew nothing of her feeling towards me. I knew +not whether I might hope, or whether the events of the long weary years +had destroyed all her love for me. I longed to go to her, and yet I +dared not. I longed to tell her of the great love that burned in my +heart, but something hindered me from doing so. What should I do? I +was in the same house with her, I had again rescued her from terrible +surroundings, she had spoken kindly to me, and yet I remembered the +look she gave me more than a year ago, and I could not nerve myself to +seek her. + +By and by a knock came to the door, and a servant entered. + +"Please, sir, your room is ready," he said, and led the way to a +bedroom. + +I followed him bewilderedly, wondering what the end was to be. +Everything was so strange that I scarcely realised what I was doing. + +"Miss Morton told me to tell you that she would be in the library," he +said as he showed me into the bedroom, and left me. + +It will be remembered that I was more than thirty years of age, and yet +no lover of eighteen could have felt more nervous than I. For the +first time during eleven long years I dared to hope that I might be +happy, and yet as I stood outside the door, longing yet not daring to +enter, my limbs trembled like those of a woman in great fear. + +At length I knocked timidly, and heard Ruth's voice telling me to +enter, and in a second more we stood face to face. + +She stood by the library table with an eager look upon her face. For a +minute we did not speak, but looked steadily at each other. + +How beautiful she was in spite of the long years of trouble and +disappointment! True, the first blush of maidenhood was gone, for she +was only four years younger than I, but she was beautiful beyond +description. Little of stature, yet perfectly moulded, her great, grey +eyes still possessed their old charm, while her brown hair made a +fitting crown for so beauteous a face. To me, the rough sailor, who +for more than eleven years had scarcely spoken to another woman, save +Salambo's wife and my mother, she seemed like an angel. + +All this flashed through my mind as her great eyes met mine. + +"Ruth," I said. + +"Roger," she sobbed, "thank God you've come." + +I could not speak another word just then. I could only open my arms; +but with a glad look on her face, and with a joyful cry, she laid her +face on my bosom. And I--I was in Heaven. My happiness was beyond all +thought, all hope. It was joy unspeakable to feel her in my arms, and +to know that no cloud intervened. + +"Ruth," I said after a while, "I have loved you all these long years, +loved you when all was darkness, and when there was no hope. When my +heart was full of hatred for all else, I loved you. Ruth, I have been +a sinful man, rejecting God's help, and breaking His laws, but I have +loved you." + +She did not answer, save to sob as though her heart were too full for +utterance. + +"Can you not speak some word, to me, Ruth?" I went on. "I know you +must have hated me when I left you more than a year ago, for in my +madness I thought that I had----" + +"No, no, Roger, I never hated you," she said, quickly. "I loved you +all the time. I was mad, I think--and I did not know what I was doing, +and I thought I should have died when I knew you were gone." + +"And now, Ruth?" + +"Can you ask, Roger, after--after all you have--no, no I do not love +you because of what you have done, but because I cannot help it," and +she clung more closely to me. + +After that I remembered little that was said, and what still remains +with me I cannot write down, for such joy as mine comes to man but +rarely, and cannot be told to others. + +By and by the dinner bell rang, and Ruth and I entered the dining hall +together, where we found Mr. Inch, still stately and upright, but +growing very feeble. + +He had heard of my arrival, and now gave me a hearty welcome. I learnt +afterwards that he had endeavoured to do all in his power to atone for +the past, and that no one could be more true and faithful than he, +after he had once shaken himself free from Wilfred's coils. And I +found, too, that he had constituted himself Ruth's protector, and +although she often had friends to cheer her in her loneliness, to the +end she regarded him as her adviser and comforter. + +When Ruth and I were again alone in the library, she asked me to relate +all that had passed since I had left her on that terrible night. + +Then I told her of the scene at my home on the night before, of +Wilfred's avowal of hatred, and then of what had happened in the +morning, and of Bill Tregargus's news. I described the journey to the +Hall, and my inquiries of the servant, and at the cottage where I had +been directed. + +"He told me you were dead," she said hoarsely. + +"I heard him," I answered. + +"I did not believe him," she went on; "I could not, something told me +even then that you were near me, and so I was not afraid--but oh, I +shudder at it now." + +"Thank God I was in time," I said; "and yet I cannot think he would +have dared to do what he threatened." + +"I do not know, Roger; I dare not think of it; but what passed between +you after you came here?" + +Then I told her all, told her of the curse which was said to belong to +our race, and related how Wilfred had sworn that if it could reach me I +should never know happiness. + +"Do you think it is true," I said, at length; "or do you think these +stories are only vague rumours and idle tales?" + +"I cannot say," she answered. "Your mother told me many wild stories +when I used to live at Trewinion Manor, and I thought they were true." + +"Then," I said, "if it is true, I cannot allow you to link your life +with mine. Why should I bring pain and sorrow on your?" + +"I do not know whether these stories are true," she repeated; "but, +Roger, I am yours always. If you are to have sorrows, I intend to bear +them with you. I do not believe a curse can fall on a heart that is +full of love like yours; but if you are to be cursed, Roger, I shall +help you to bear it." + +And thus there was light, even on the one black cloud of the sky of my +life. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + +THE DAWNING OF THE MORNING + +I would fain linger over that evening, and the days which followed. To +me a new life full of joy and pleasure began. And yet I did not feel +quite at rest. A fear constantly haunted me that Ruth would be taken +away from me, so I begged her that there should be no delay in +arranging for our wedding. + +When I left her the following morning, I made her promise that she +would not go out of the house, unless under sufficient escort, while +she in return made me promise that I would not for any length of time +stay away from her. With a sad heart I mounted Black Bess to ride back +to Trewinion Manor, and watched her until we could no longer see each +other as she stood with tearful eyes at the hall door, but it was only +to be for a day, for on the morrow I determined I would return. + +I found my mother anxiously awaiting me when I arrived home. She was, +however, relieved beyond measure when I told her of the defeat of +Wilfred's schemes. + +"And you, Roger?" she asked anxiously, "are you going to give me Ruth +for a daughter?" + +I think my answer satisfied her, for a look of contentment came into +her eyes. + +As soon as possible I consulted the old family lawyer, and together we +discussed the affairs of the estate. They were quite as bad as Wilfred +had declared. Everything he could turn into money he had sold or +mortgaged, until there was scarcely any unencumbered property; but the +lawyer told me that, with care and economy, I might in a few years +replace what Wilfred had so extravagantly wasted. + +I also visited my sisters, and found them delighted beyond measure at +seeing their brother again, and looking forward with joyful +anticipations to welcoming their new sister. + +Altogether my life was very happy, and as I constantly rode over to +Morton Hall to see the sweet woman who had promised to be my wife, and +watched the gladsome smile that lit up her face whenever she saw me +coming, my cup of joy was full. + +A month later we were wedded in the old church, from which I had +carried her more than a year before. + +When I entered the gloomy building, I almost felt like shuddering, so +awful were its associations, and when I saw the clergyman take his +stand near the very spot from which I had turned back the stone, to +enter the resting-place of the dead, I could not help picturing what I +had then seen. I think Ruth must have felt it too, for her hand +trembled in mine. Perchance she thought of the awful doom from which, +by the mercy of God, I had rescued her; but when I heard the old +clergyman pronounce us man and wife, and then repeat in solemn tones +the words that were full of meaning to me, "whom God hath joined +together let no man put asunder," my heart thrilled with a new joy, for +I felt I possessed the greatest blessing on earth. + +And then as the bells pealed out, while with Ruth on my arm we +traversed the long nave, it seemed as though the angels of God were +there to smile on our wedding morn. + +And what of Ruth? In her great happiness, she could scarcely grieve +for the long years of pain, and as she nestled nearer to me, on our way +back to the Hall, she whispered that no joy could be as great as ours, +because for years we had both despaired of ever meeting each other +again. + +At the wedding festivities, my mother sat, pale and sad, perchance +thinking of Wilfred, of whom we had heard nothing since the night he +had been disappointed of his hopes. As soon as they were over, we went +back to Trewinion, which we both decided should be our home. + +I shall never forget the scene as we returned and entered by the +postern door into the grounds. All the people in the parish had +gathered together to do us honour, and with gladsome words and hearty +cheers they bade us "welcome home." They lit great bonfires on the +headland, around which the village lads and girls danced with joy, +because of the return and happy marriage of "Master Roger." + +And yet amidst all the joy I could not help sorrowing for my mother. +It is true that both Ruth and I, as well as Katherine and Elizabeth, +had done all in our power to make her happy, but I saw that she brooded +over the past, and was anxious about Wilfred. + +"Mother," said Ruth, brightly, "your sad days are over now; let only +bright and happy things possess your mind." + +This was after the crowd had gone home, and we sat around a huge fire, +for November had come, and the nights were chilly. + +"How can I be happy," she answered, "when, but for me, you might have +had happiness instead of misery these eleven long years? How can I +think of gladness when my accursed selfishness has destroyed my boy's +life, made him hate his mother, and driven him into the world an +outcast? And, besides this, it is I who have led him to curse you and +be your enemy, and of this I am sure, if he can ruin your life he will." + +"But he ca'ant," said a croaking voice in the doorway, and turning +round we saw Deborah Teague. She was ninety years of age now, and bent +almost double, but she had hobbled up from her cottage to speak to the +new squire. + +"Maaster Roger," croaked the old dame, "do 'ee remember that there +night when you come'd up to Betsey Fraddam's cave in the middle ov the +night?" + +"Very well, Deborah," I answered. + +"People do zay as 'ow we ain't got no power," she went on; "but ded'n +us tell 'ee true? We tould 'ee you'd 'ave to suffer; but there's no +curse can stand 'ginst love, and so when you larned to love everybody, +oal your darkness went away." + +"True, Deborah," I answered. + +"But take care o' yer brother still," she croaked, "ef ever you do +hate, or feel enmity to he, or to anybody else, well then--black days +'ll come. And, Maaster Roger, ef ever you do 'ave cheldern, taich 'em +to love, for love es the only power 'gainst curses, and as sure as +you'd live, yer brother es yer enemy, and aw, Maaster Roger, remember +Trewinion's curse!" As she spoke she lifted her skinny hand, as I had +seen her lift it long years before. + +Soon after the old woman left, and I sent one of the servants with her, +to see her safely home. + + * * * * * + +I have little else to write, for in narrating what happened during the +years that followed I shall not use many words. My pen drags wearily, +and my eyes begin to grow dim. + +About six months after our wedding we received the startling news that +Wilfred was married. During the years of my absence he had made the +acquaintance of a lady whose father's estate joined Ruth's, and whom he +had fascinated by his handsome presence and smooth speech. + +The news made me glad at first, for I hoped that his marriage would put +an end to his enmity and make us brothers again. But when I went to +see him he at first refused to see me, and then he told me he had only +married to gain wealth and power, both of which should be used to crush +me and mine. + +And so, to my heart's deep sorrow, he still remained my enemy, the door +of his heart continued to be shut towards me, and the one black cloud +on my sky continued to remain. + +After that two years passed quietly away, during which time my mother +grew weaker and weaker, and although I trust that her life was not +altogether sad, yet she was constantly weighed down with the one great +trouble of her life. At the end of two years she became too weak to +leave her room, and after a few weeks passed away. Before she did so, +however, she asked us to send for Wilfred; but he refused to obey her +summons, and so she never saw him from the night on which he told her +he hated her for cursing his life. + +Shortly after she died a boy was born to us, but he only lived a few +weeks. Then a little girl came; but she too was taken, and we began to +fear the curse of my race. After that two more years passed away +without any event of importance, save that Deborah Teague died, and +then another boy came, whom we called Roger, and he is with us yet, our +joy and our hope. + +And now what more shall I write? I have told my story so that Roger, +my only son, may learn the lessons of my life. + +Looking back now over the days of my life, I cannot say whether I +believe in the legend of my race, and so I know not whether my son may +have to suffer, and his children inherit a dreadful legacy. + +It is true Wilfred still hates me, and has taught his children to hate +me and mine. In a letter he sent me not long since, he tells me the +curse of the Trewinion shall still fall on Trewinion's heirs, that they +shall have blackened lives and terrible deaths. + +What is that? It is Ruth asking me if my work is not almost done, and +I answer, "Yes, I have almost done." And as I answer, I look up from +my paper and see my dear one who has been with me for long years, ever +my comforter, my counsellor, and joy. She has lost the fresh bloom of +her womanhood, but to me she was never so beautiful as now. Never did +I think that such a pure soul could exist on earth, or that a woman +could be so brave in difficulty, so hopeful in sorrow, so comforting in +the hours of darkness. + +I look forward with hope and joy. Let the lamp of life burn dimmer and +dimmer, I fear not. Ruth will be near me, and her presence will make +me strong. But a few more years, and Ruth and I must enter the dark +valley from which we shall never return, but she will be by my side, +and in her dear presence, I am full of hope. + + + +THE END OF ROGER TREWINION'S CONFESSION. + + + + +EPILOGUE + +I + +Thus finished the story, a story of sin, and sorrow, and of a curse. I +must confess that when I laid it aside the life of Roger Trewinion had +become very real to me, and for a long time I sat thinking over the +events which were related. Everything was more vivid to me, for I had +for days past been living in the atmosphere of superstition, and +speaking to people who still believe in many of the things about which +Roger Trewinion spoke. Moreover, I had seen the old house, I had +realised the rugged grandeur of the rock-bound coast, I had let my +imagination brood over the great mass of rocks which are called the +"Devil's Tooth." In spite of myself, too, I began to be influenced by +the story of the "curse," which, although not clearly explained, was +fearfully spoken about. Yet I could not see why a man like the present +Roger Trewinion should allow himself to become a misanthrope because of +it. Perhaps succeeding events had led him to shun society; but +whatever may have been the explanation of his attitude, I longed to +know more about himself and his family, and before I went to sleep I +made up my mind that I would go back to Trewinion Manor and see whether +the "Trewinion curse" had manifested itself since the time the +grandfather of the present squire wrote his confessions. + +It was midday, when I left my apartment, and, on entering the reading +room of the hotel, I found my friend Will just on the point of sending +to see if anything had happened to me. + +"Well, have you read the confessions?" grunted he, after grumbling some +little time. + +"I have, indeed," I answered. + +"And found a lot of foolish jargon, I suppose?" + +"I found a strange story," I answered, "and it has so interested me +that I am going to hire a conveyance and drive to Trewinion this very +afternoon." + +Will muttered something about the man going crazy over silly stories, +and then burst out laughing, but still showed considerable interest as +I related to him the chief outlines of "the confessions." + +After a meal, I started for a twelve-mile drive along the coast, and +was able to enjoy to the full the grand scenery that escaped my +attention on the afternoon of the previous day. As I drew near to the +house, too, I was able to recognize many of the places Roger had +mentioned, which made the events connected with them far more real. So +real, indeed, were they that once or twice I felt like shuddering as I +thought of the feelings that must have possessed him. Especially was +this so when I traced the outlines of the "Devil's Tooth," and when I +thought I recognized the spot on which Wilfred and Roger had struggled +for life. + +At length I reached the postern door, which had looked so formidable on +the previous day, and was again met by the same men I had seen before. +The place did not now seem nearly so strange, and I felt as though I +were a friend of the Trewinion family, and as if the old house had been +long familiar to me. + +Roger Trewinion welcomed me heartily, and I thought I saw in his face +some indications of expectancy. + +"Well," he said, after I had been seated a few minutes, "you have read +the confessions?" + +"Yes." + +"And what do you think of them?" + +"I found them so interesting that I could not leave them until I had +read the last word." + +"And now you understand why I live here like a hermit, and why such +strange stories are circulated about me?" + +"I can see why stories are circulated about you certainly, but I cannot +see why you live here so lonely and forsaken." + +"But you read about the curse, and the way it worked itself out?" + +"I read what might easily be explained in the light of to-day. Your +grandfather saw things through the glasses of the time he wrote. Like +all literature, it is a product of the age and surroundings of the +writer, and must be judged accordingly." + +"Ah, but you do not know all that followed. If you did you would not +talk thus." + +"No, I am here to-day to hear more, so interested have I become. I +found yesterday that you were a man of culture and intellectual power, +and I cannot help wondering that such a story could so influence you." + +"No, honestly, I do not think I am a fool, and, believe me, I have read +and studied, as few men have, in order to free myself from the fear +that possesses me. Look at me! I look sixty years of age, and yet I +am only fifty. Fear and dread have made me old. Naturally, I am fond +of society, but an invisible presence, which always seems to confront +me, makes me live alone, without friends, without companionship." + +"Will you tell me the sequel of what I have read, then?" I said, +anxiously, for I was greatly interested. + +"Yes, I will tell you as plainly as I can. It is said that my +grandfather--the writer of the confessions--died a terrible death, and +that dread thoughts ever haunted him. Of that, however, I cannot speak +authoritatively." + +"I do not believe it," I said. "No one who reads the closing words of +his confession could believe such a thing. Nay, I feel sure his end +was peace." + +"Well, it may be so; I hope it is. But directly after his death my +grandfather's brother, the Wilfred he speaks so much about, sent for my +father. What he said to him I do not know, but from that time he +became as one possessed of the devil. He married, and although his +wife was my mother, and it is hard to say it, she made his life +terrible to bear. They had several children, all of whom died at an +early age, excepting me. Everything to which my father put his hand, +seemed accursed, and every life he touched he blighted. Although, +before he died, my grandfather had put the property on a firm and +secure basis, my father, in spite of himself, let a great deal of it +slip out of his hands. Disappointed in life, he drifted away into sin, +and died with his mouth full of curses, a raving maniac. After his +death I of course succeeded him. True, I do not need money, but a +great part of the estate is gone, while the whole of the Morton estate +has passed from my hands." + +"To whom?" + +"To the other branch of the family. Before my father's death, Wilfred +had secured the whole of my grandmother's estate, and a great deal of +mine," as he spoke his eyes lit up with an angry flash. + +"And does the enmity still exist?" + +"Ay, does it? Man, I tell you the hatred is not one-sided now. I have +prayed to love, and I cannot; if hatred can make a man liable to come +under a curse, I am that man. There is bitter undying enmity between +us. Our family has been looked on by them as robbers of their rights, +and enemies of their peace. Wilfred taught his children to look on us +so, as he swore he would, and the feeling exists to-day." + +He paused a second and then went on. + +"And now they gloat over the fact that the old Trewinion Manor shall be +theirs, the place they have coveted so long, and that I shall pay for +my father's sins by dying an accursed death. I am the last of the +heirs, and, according to them, am of the third generation, my +grandfather being accounted by them as the first who really felt the +curse. Do you see now why I fear? I saw my father die, and the legend +says that my death shall be worse than his. Even now I can hear +shrieks of despair, and his unavailing cries for peace and comfort, and +that I am to die a death worse than that is maddening to think." + +I saw that he had been feeding his morbid imagination by brooding over +these things, and that living alone in that lonely old house of weird +associations must have led him to live such an unnatural life that he +had become a confirmed monomaniac. + +"But why should you be the last of your race? And why should you give +way to these dread fancies?" + +"Why should I be the last of my race?" he repeated--"ah, man, you do +not know." + +"I know that you could wed some pure-minded woman who would drive +thoughts of the curse away, even such a one as your grandmother, the +Ruth whom I read of in the confessions." + +"And do you think I could marry? Let me tell you. When I was about +five and twenty I determined that I would not succumb to dark feelings. +I went into society, and I fell in love with an angel. Ay, she was an +angel, and it is she who makes me believe there is a heaven, for I am +sure such a soul as hers could never die. Well, my love was returned, +and I laughed at all thoughts of the curse, and soon I was wedded to my +darling. For three years I was in Heaven. My life was full of joy and +gladness, and Alice was as happy as I. But at the end of that time +every hope was dashed to the ground, every joy was stamped out of my +life. And why? I have not spoken of this for many a long year, but I +feel a relief in being able to speak about it now. A year after we +were married, a baby was born to us, a bright, bonny boy, and we called +him Roger, the old family name. My joy knew no bounds, and I breathed +defiance against my enemies. How could there be a curse, I said, when +God had given us such a boy? Ah, how we loved him, Alice and I, how we +watched him as, day by day, he grew in strength of body and mind! A +year passed by and all was well, still another passed and nothing +seemed to darken our sky. Our boy was now two years old, and was +strong and healthy, while my wife and I looked forward to long years of +happiness. + +"But the curse had been laid upon my race, and it crept upon us like a +crawling poisonous serpent. Just after our boy's holiday he was +missing. We searched for him high and low, we scoured the country +side, but we never saw him alive again." + +"What became of him?" I asked anxiously. + +"A week after we missed him some fishermen discovered the body of a +child, bruised and beaten beyond recognition, but still wearing clothes +similar to those worn by our boy. And thus we concluded, that he must +have strayed and fallen over the cliff." + +I felt it useless to speak. Words, I knew, would only add to the +suffering caused by the awakening of these bitter memories. + +"It broke our hearts," he continued, hoarsely, after a minute's +silence. "Soon I saw that grief was killing my wife. God only knows +how I prayed for her. I consulted all the best physicians; but it was +no use, in three months sorrow killed her, and--I was left alone." + +He laid his head on the table, while sobs shook his mighty frame, and +for minutes he did not speak. Mastering himself at length, he +continued, more calmly. + +"Then I shut myself up here. I dismissed all the servants save the two +you have seen, and have for years refused to mix with my fellows. I +grew churlish and bitter. I talked strangely, until stories were +circulated about me, wild and foolish, of course, but still making me +become more a misanthrope than ever. Why I gave you admittance +yesterday I do not know, but acting on sudden impulse I did so, and +then was led to allow you to see those confessions, and still further +to relate my story. Now do you believe in the curse? Now do you +believe that, remorseless as fate, it is dogging me, and will dog me, +until, mad with despair, and taunted by powers of darkness, I go away +into darkness?" + +"No," I answered, "I do not." + +"Why not?" + +"Curses such as that do not exist, as your grandfather half perceived. +You would not believe in anything of the sort but for your unhealthy +and lonely life. Go out into God's sunshine, lead a healthy, vigorous +life, and your dark fancies will dispel like mist in the summer's sun." + +He shook his head sadly. + +"Nothing can turn the curse aside now," he said, "only one thing could +ever have done so." + +"And what is that?" + +"If my son had lived and married, and children had been born to him, +then I should not be the last of my race, and the curse must go." + +"But why may not you marry again?" + +"I marry!" he exclaimed. "Man, much as I fear the horrible death that +I daily think about, I would rather bear it than that another woman +should take the place of my Alice. No, no, that can never be!" + +"Then go out into the world and mix with your fellow creatures," I +said, "I believe that even this visit of mine will do you good." + +"Your visit yesterday did do me good," he answered, "and I hope to see +you again soon. The old place shall ever be open to you. Come when +you like. I think you could make me forget some of the dark things of +life. But now about the publishing of these confessions. Can it be +done?" + +For a time we talked the matter over, and after a while I drew him on +to converse about other things until he became comparatively cheerful. + + + +II + +Will and I finished our tour around the Cornish coast, and then I came +back to London, and made arrangements for the publication of the +manuscript which had been given to me for that purpose. + +I had re-written all that was necessary, and had corrected the last +proof sheets from the printers, when I recollected that we were near +the date on which I had promised to go to Trewinion Manor. I must +confess that, sitting in my rooms in London, weary with the amount of +work I had done, the thought of spending a few days among the scenes in +which I had been led to take so much interest, was very fascinating to +me, and I eagerly began to make preparations for going. + +Two days before the time for starting, I received the following +letter;-- + + +"DEAR ----, I must ask you to delay your visit a little while--how long +I hardly know--yet. I have received information, which has every +evidence of being true, that my son is not dead. I have no time to go +into details now, but I pray God, ay, I even hope, that there is yet +happiness in store for me. Indeed, I feel like saying, with one of my +ancestors of whom you have read, 'There is no curse, God is love!' +Yet, I am naturally terribly anxious, and I leave Trewinion to-day to +verify the information, and please God to bring home my son! The very +thought is Heaven! Ah, dear God, may it be so! + +"I will let you know all later on, for I have come to feel that you are +my friend, and if--if all is well, I will give you such a welcome as +man never had before. + +"I shall be doubly glad to see the 'confessions' printed, if my hopes +are realised. + +"Anxiously, yet hopefully. + "ROGER TREWINION." + + +I have finished my work. I have told how I came by the strange history +here given, and, without sacrificing altogether the quaint and +characteristic Cornish vernacular, I have endeavoured to tell the tale +in homely English, and, as far as possible, in the spirit of the time +in which the events herein narrated passed. + +Of the final outcome of the matter mentioned in the letter just quoted, +it is not for me to say anything now. It may be that at some future +time I shall have an opportunity of following still further the +fortunes of the Trewinion family; but, in laying aside my pen for the +present, I must express my feelings of thankfulness that hope had +dawned in the sky of the lonely man whom I met in the old house on the +cliff. + + + +THE END OF EPILOGUE + + + + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Roger Trewinion, by Joseph Hocking and Gunning King + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROGER TREWINION *** + +***** This file should be named 24976.txt or 24976.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/9/7/24976/ + +Produced by Al Haines + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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