confessions?" grunted he, after grumbling some
little time.

"I have, indeed," I answered.

"And found a lot of foolish jargon, I suppose?"

"I found a strange story," I answered, "and it has so interested me
that I am going to hire a conveyance and drive to Trewinion this very
afternoon."

Will muttered something about the man going crazy over silly stories,
and then burst out laughing, but still showed considerable interest as
I related to him the chief outlines of "the confessions."

After a meal, I started for a twelve-mile drive along the coast, and
was able to enjoy to the full the grand scenery that escaped my
attention on the afternoon of the previous day. As I drew near to the
house, too, I was able to recognize many of the places Roger had
mentioned, which made the events connected with them far more real. So
real, indeed, were they that once or twice I felt like shuddering as I
thought of the feelings that must have possessed him. Especially was
this so when I traced the outlines of the "Devil's Tooth," and when I
thought I recognized the spot on which Wilfred and Roger had struggled
for life.

At length I reached the postern door, which had looked so formidable on
the previous day, and was again met by the same men I had seen before.
The place did not now seem nearly so strange, and I felt as though I
were a friend of the Trewinion family, and as if the old house had been
long familiar to me.

Roger Trewinion welcomed me heartily, and I thought I saw in his face
some indications of expectancy.

"Well," he said, after I had been seated a few minutes, "you have read
the confessions?"

"Yes."

"And what do you think of them?"

"I found them so interesting that I could not leave them until I had
read the last word."

"And now you understand why I live here like a hermit, and why such
strange stories are circulated about me?"

"I can see why stories are circulated about you certainly, but I cannot
see why you live here so lonely and forsaken."

"But you read about the curse, and the way it worked itself out?"

"I read what might easily be explained in the light of to-day. Your
grandfather saw things through the glasses of the time he wrote. Like
all literature, it is a product of the age and surroundings of the
writer, and must be judged accordingly."

"Ah, but you do not know all that followed. If you did you would not
talk thus."

"No, I am here to-day to hear more, so interested