er 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