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