"Then I shut myself up here. I dismissed all the servants save the two you have seen, and have for years refused to mix with my fellows. I grew churlish and bitter. I talked strangely, until stories were circulated about me, wild and foolish, of course, but still making me become more a misanthrope than ever. Why I gave you admittance yesterday I do not know, but acting on sudden impulse I did so, and then was led to allow you to see those confessions, and still further to relate my story. Now do you believe in the curse? Now do you believe that, remorseless as fate, it is dogging me, and will dog me, until, mad with despair, and taunted by powers of darkness, I go away into darkness?" "No," I answered, "I do not." "Why not?" "Curses such as that do not exist, as your grandfather half perceived. You would not believe in anything of the sort but for your unhealthy and lonely life. Go out into God's sunshine, lead a healthy, vigorous life, and your dark fancies will dispel like mist in the summer's sun." He shook his head sadly. "Nothing can turn the curse aside now," he said, "only one thing could ever have done so." "And what is that?" "If my son had lived and married, and children had been born to him, then I should not be the last of my race, and the curse must go." "But why may not you marry again?" "I marry!" he exclaimed. "Man, much as I fear the horrible death that I daily think about, I would rather bear it than that another woman should take the place of my Alice. No, no, that can never be!" "Then go out into the world and mix with your fellow creatures," I said, "I believe that even this visit of mine will do you good." "Your visit yesterday did do me good," he answered, "and I hope to see you again soon. The old place shall ever be open to you. Come when you like. I think you could make me forget some of the dark things of life. But now about the publishing of these confessions. Can it be done?" For a time we talked the matter over, and after a while I drew him on to converse about other things until he became comparatively cheerful. II Will and I finished our tour around the Cornish coast, and then I came back to London, and made arrangements for the publication of the manuscript which had been given to me for that purpose. I had re-written all that was necessary, and had corrected the last proof sheets from the printers, when I recollected that we were near the date on which I had promised to go to Trewinion Manor. I must confess that, sitting in my rooms in London, weary with the amount of work I had done, the thought of spending a few days among the scenes in which I had been led to take so much interest, was very fascinating to me, and I eagerly began to make preparations for going. Two days before the time for starting, I received the following letter;--