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 return any more. But what do you know of Master Roger?" "Lead me there and I'll tell you. I can tell you many things you would like to know." He seemed to be staggered at my words. "Do you know him?" he asked. "Yes; I have seen him, and spoken with him." "What! Seen Mr. Roger!" "Yes." New life seemed to come into his withered, aged form, a new interest came into his aged face. "Seen him! When, oh when did you see Mr. Roger?" "I have been with him to-day." Still the simple old man did not catch my meaning. He evidently could not think that I was Roger. "Where did you see him? Is he coming home?" he asked anxiously. "Take me to his room and I'll tell you." Without another word he led me to the room I used to call mine, I feeling a kind of shiver as I stood within the walls of the old house.