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 £100 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
