at 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,