What are we, after all, but the creatures of circumstance? Forces over which we have no control make us what we are. I was born the elder son and Wilfred the younger. I was born with a strong, healthy body, and an impulsive, passionate nature. Wilfred was more delicate, more thoughtful. What had we to do with the choosing of all this? Could I help doing the things that I did? Could I resist the life-forces which moved me, even as a mighty wave moves a ship that sails thereupon? Are we, then, the architects of our own fate, or is our destiny fixed? Is it man who moulds the circumstances, or circumstances that mould the man? Who shall answer these questions? Looking back over my life I cannot, and yet in some way I am conscious that there has been a beneficent hand helping me, and making me strong, even stronger than circumstances. As I went home I thought the moon became dimmer, while sad, moaning sounds were mixed with the musical splash of the waters, as they played upon the hard sea sand. I slept well that night. No thought of the figure in white haunted my pillow, no thought of my visit to the village witch hindered my sleep. I was young, I was innocent, my blood coursed joyfully through my veins, and the future looked bright, and so I feared not. The next day the sky was overcast. The sea looked smooth as glass, save that now and then it gave a mighty heave, as if some terrific monster beneath sought to lift a weight from his tired shoulders. Sometimes we heard a moan sweeping across the waters; but we were familiar with the sound, living as we did close to the broad Atlantic. As evening came on the sky grew darker, while my mind became full of the visit I was to make to old Deborah Teague. I made only a light meal, and as soon as I was able to do so, went alone to her cottage. It was a little tumble-down shanty, standing beneath a hillock, and was as lonely a place as it was possible to be. Eighteen years of age though I was, my heart beat faster as I thought of Deborah living alone in a house that had the reputation of being haunted. What was I doing? In spite of what the vicar had said, was it not wrong for me to hold converse with the strange old woman? But I would not go back; and so making straight for the little window, through which I could see a candle dimly burning, I was soon face to face with her. "Maaster Roger was 'fraid," said the old woman, half questioningly, half wheedlingly. "No," I said, "I don't think so." "The Trewinions was never 'fraid ov th' livin', my deer," said the old woman, "but the dead, ah, the dead." "They can do me no harm, so why should I be afraid?" "Ah, why! ah! ha!" she giggled. "But Maaster Roger es weth wawn that can do lots ov things." "Oh, yes, lots, Deborah," I said; "you can cure more diseases than any doctor in Truro." "And more than that, Maaster Roger; but don't you be 'fraid, my deer, I wa'ant hurt you."