ft, and I sent one of the servants with her,
to see her safely home.

* * * * *

I have little else to write, for in narrating what happened during the
years that followed I shall not use many words. My pen drags wearily,
and my eyes begin to grow dim.

About six months after our wedding we received the startling news that
Wilfred was married. During the years of my absence he had made the
acquaintance of a lady whose father's estate joined Ruth's, and whom he
had fascinated by his handsome presence and smooth speech.

The news made me glad at first, for I hoped that his marriage would put
an end to his enmity and make us brothers again. But when I went to
see him he at first refused to see me, and then he told me he had only
married to gain wealth and power, both of which should be used to crush
me and mine.

And so, to my heart's deep sorrow, he still remained my enemy, the door
of his heart continued to be shut towards me, and the one black cloud
on my sky continued to remain.

After that two years passed quietly away, during which time my mother
grew weaker and weaker, and although I trust that her life was not
altogether sad, yet she was constantly weighed down with the one great
trouble of her life. At the end of two years she became too weak to
leave her room, and after a few weeks passed away. Before she did so,
however, she asked us to send for Wilfred; but he refused to obey her
summons, and so she never saw him from the night on which he told her
he hated her for cursing his life.

Shortly after she died a boy was born to us, but he only lived a few
weeks. Then a little girl came; but she too was taken, and we began to
fear the curse of my race. After that two more years passed away
without any event of importance, save that Deborah Teague died, and
then another boy came, whom we called Roger, and he is with us yet, our
joy and our hope.

And now what more shall I write? I have told my story so that Roger,
my only son, may learn the lessons of my life.

Looking back now over the days of my life, I cannot say whether I
believe in the legend of my race, and so I know not whether my son may
have to suffer, and his children inherit a dreadful legacy.

It is true Wilfred still hates me, and has taught his children to hate
me and mine. In a letter he sent me not long since, he tells me the
curse of the Trewinion shall still fall on Trewinion's heirs, that they
shall h