, 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, rugg