The view was wonderful. In front of us stretched the mighty Atlantic, whose murmuring song told of the peaceful waves that now splashed on the shore. I had seen the Atlantic in a tempest, however, and so could easily fancy what a sight there must be when the waters beneath were lashed into fury by great storm clouds. Arrived at the door, our guides stopped. "We can show you no further without permission," said the spokesman. "I will tell the master you are here, and see if he will receive you." Accordingly he went away, while the other stood at some little distance watching us. "I've caught your mystery fever," said Will. "I'm longing to get inside now; but what excuse are you going to make for intruding?" "I've settled that," I replied. "Our visit is an ordinary one, and I shall tell no lies." I had scarcely spoken when the man returned, telling us to follow him, as his master would see us. A minute later we stood within the silent walls of Trewinion Manor. II There was a cold vault-like atmosphere within the place, and as we went along the dark corridors, every footstep sounding on the granite floor and echoing through the great empty house, I felt like shuddering. Outside the sun was shining and the west wind blowing, making everything bright and glad; but within all was cold and forbidding. Still we followed the man curiously, and I must confess I felt my heart beat loudly against my ribs as he knocked at a dark, forbidding looking door. I do not think I am usually nervous, but on this occasion I was getting excited. The knock was followed by a response. "Come in," said a voice. The old servant opened the door, and ushered us into a room that was on every side lined with books. There were thousands of volumes on the shelves. Some I saw were old and scarce, and exceedingly valuable. Others again were new and well bound. I gave them but little attention at the time, however, for my mind was drawn towards the lonely occupant of the room, the master of the house. He looked about sixty years of age, but was large-boned, tall, and vigorous. His hair was iron grey, but had evidently been black. His eyes were black, and his great rugged forehead was fringed with bushy eyebrows, which gave him a somewhat fierce appearance. His nose was large, his mouth was large, and his chin, too, was large, square, and determined. He was no ordinary man. There was the stamp of unusual power upon him. He was no trifler, and yet beneath his look of determination and energy something was lacking. He seemed as though his determination needed to be roused, his energy to be stimulated. Yet I could see nothing in his appearance which justified the opinions we had heard expressed about him, nor could I discover anything which suggested a misanthrope.