As I made my way along the dim corridors, fear gripped me. The weird form I had seen between the prongs of the "Devil's Tooth" had told me of darkness to come. This accident to my father was the fulfilment of the omen. Arrived at the door of my father's bedroom I heard muffled voices within; but no sooner was my arrival known than I was immediately admitted. I found my father propped up in the bed by pillows. There was a ghastly cut upon his face, and his hair was clotted with blood. Evidently, too, he was suffering great pain, and he breathed with difficulty. No sooner did he see me than he beckoned me to approach. Although I did not notice them at the time, I found out afterwards that my mother was there, and Mr. Polperrow, the vicar, together with Mr. Inch and the family doctor. "Roger!" said my father, hoarsely. "Yes, father," I said, coming up and kneeling by his bedside. My presence seemed to soothe him, for he gave evidence of less suffering, and a look of peace stole over his face. He laid his right hand upon my head fondly. "My eldest-born boy," he said, slowly, "my big-hearted son. I am going to die, Roger," he said. "No, father, no!" "Yes, Roger, 'twill soon be over. Only a few hours at most. I have met with an accident, my boy. I was riding from Truro, and got near home, when three men, who had been drinking hard at the tavern near by, came out from the hedgeside and frightened Bess; she is a very flighty mare, you know. She gave a side leap and threw me. My foot caught in the stirrup, and I was dragged along the road until I fancy the mare trod on me." He said this quite calmly, as though it were a matter of everyday occurrence. As for me, I could not speak, my heart was nearly bursting with pain. "I want to say a few more things to you before I die, my own boy," he continued, slowly. "Say what you will, father, but don't talk of dying. Surely, surely, the doctor here can make you well again." "No, no, Roger, no doctor can cure me," and he looked wistfully into the doctor's face, who shook his head sadly. Then I felt sure that my father's words would come true; that soon I should lose him. The doctor felt his pulse; then said that what my father wished to tell me must be told quickly. "Yes, yes," said my father. "You, Roger, are my first-born, my own boy," and again he lingered lovingly over the words. "Your own boy," I repeated, proudly. "You are Trewinion's heir," he continued, "the master of all the Trewinion lands. You remember what I told you years ago, my boy?" "Yes, father." "Ever remember them, Roger. Be careful." "I will, father." "There were other things in connexion with the history of our people that I meant to tell you, but I kept putting it off, and now it's too late; but perhaps it's as well as it is. You will find them out in time. God grant you may be prepared. What I want to say now refers to Wilfred, and to Ruth Morton."