And this was the place I loved best. There it stood, grey, rugged and stern as in the olden days, its sturdy tower still braving the wind and weather. Long I stood and looked at it. My home! The place where my father had taught me to love him, the place where he had died, blessing me! Eagerly I watched for signs of life, but I could seen none; all was silent and lonely. I looked seaward and saw the smooth, glittering waters as they played around the base of the "Devil's Tooth;" I watched the yellow beach, which sloped up towards the witches' cave; I saw the rugged cliffs and the rocks over which I had helped Ruth years before, when Wilfred had left her alone. And, as I stood, memory after memory flashed through my mind, old sayings came back to me, and scenes which I had not thought about for years excited my mind, until my whole being was moved to the very centre, and in spite of all my hardships and buffetings I sobbed like a child. I was surprised that no signs of life appeared. I looked at the fields and saw not a single soul. I looked at the little cove. A few boats were rocking idly on the waters, but no human being was near. Was the place deserted? Then I began to think. The day of the week was Monday, and it was the third Monday in September. Yes, that was the feast day of Trewinion parish. Yesterday the parish church would be crowded; to-day the parishioners would meet at the Churchtown, where there would be great festivities. It was a general holiday for the whole parish, and the people had congregated on the village green over by the church. Still, I expected a few servants would be at home, and mother, and, perchance, Wilfred. He would never mix with the rowdy villagers, as he called them, and would probably be in the library following some favourite literary pursuit. What should I do? Go home and proclaim myself as Roger Trewinion, owner and master of everything? No, I did not like to do that--yet I must know how things stood. I must know about everything, where Ruth was, and what position she held! And still I stood gazing on the old house on the cliff until I saw a man come out and slowly saunter down the drive. It was Wilfred. I started to go forward and speak to him, but stopped immediately after. Long years of foreign travel and passing through dangerous scenes had made me careful. I knew not how I should be received, and I must not give Wilfred the whip hand of me. No, I would find out what had happened at home during the intervening years. I would go on to the village green, and there, perchance, I should see those who knew me in the past, and should give them a chance of recognising me.