I was not a very good scholar. I found it difficult to apply myself to any task; Wilfred, on the other hand, was the best pupil the vicar had. At twelve years of age he was quite a Latin scholar and was great at Euclid, and mathematics generally. This was exactly as it ought to be, my father said, for Wilfred was to be a clergyman, and when Mr. Polperrow died could be installed into the living. But although Wilfred had the advantage as far as scholarship went, I had the advantage of him in other ways. To save my life I could not conjugate a Latin verb; but I knew every creek and cove on our rockbound coast; and had gone into every cave that honeycombed the cliffs. This was considered exceedingly daring on my part, by those who believed, as many did, that these caves were the nocturnal homes of witches and dark spirits of the dead. It was true that I did not go after dark, for the sobbing waters of the sea wailed and made terrible noises as they swept into the caves at night time, and it was then that I used to hear strange cries as I stood on the top of the cliffs and listened. I had no doubt then, nor do I doubt now, that spirits from the invisible world do appear in such places, and what I have to relate will fully bear out my belief. Mr. Polperrow, the vicar, has proved on many occasions that the belief in spirits appearing on earth is scriptural. I had reached the age of fifteen when my father came to me as I rambled about the great headland on which our house is built. "This is your birthday, Roger," he said. "Yes, father," I replied. "Thank you for the new pony. I have just ridden over to Rosecarrow to see Tom Tremain. He goes like the wind." "Ay, I saw you ride away. You have a firm seat, Roger. I am glad to see you ride so well." "Well, I ought to ride well, father, for you taught me," I replied. "Let's see, you are fifteen to-day, Roger, are you not?" "Yes, fifteen to-day." "What a big lad you are. What weight are you?" "Nearly eight score pounds, father," I replied. "So much, eh? Well, well, the Trewinions are a big race. I weighed as much when I was your age." "And see what a big man you are now." My father did not reply for a minute; then he said slowly-- "Roger, my boy, when I was fifteen my father took me into the library and read to me something which closely affected my welfare. There is no knowing how long I may live, and I think that what was read to me then should be read to you now, for it applies to all the Trewinion heirs. Come with me." I followed my father into the house, and we entered the library together. "Ours is a curious race, Roger," my father began. "Our name began strangely. God grant that it may not end with you." "I hope it may not, father." "Cherish the hope, my lad, for the last son of the Trewinions will die a terrible death, haunted by evil spirits." I shuddered.