Roger Trewinion. Hocking Joseph
terrible to live there, but now it was beautiful beyond compare. We found, too, that the old house was somewhat sheltered, on the one hand by the great headland which rose higher as it neared the sea, and on the other by a thick, lofty wall. Besides this, a hill which rose up landward broke the force of the wind, so that it was not so exposed as I had at first thought.
There was no way of entering the grounds save by a door that was locked. It was thick and heavy, made of oak, and iron studded.
"Evidently those within are determined to keep out intruders," I said, as I saw the grim forbidding wall.
"I should think so," replied Will. "Now let's go on, for it's only waste of time to stay here."
My love for the mysterious, however, was too strong to allow Will's words to have due effect, and seeing a breach in the wall I climbed it. I found that this enclosure had so far sheltered the grounds of the house that a quantity of vegetation of various kinds had grown there, and although the place was now in a very neglected condition, it must in past years have provided for a great household. The house looked extremely lonely, and no soul was to be seen. I confess I was taken a little aback at this. To gain admittance did not seem either as pleasant or as easy as at first sight. I did not like to shout. The silence of the place, only broken by the sobbing of the waves, hundreds of feet below, forbade it, while to knock at the old iron-studded door was equally unseemly.
Yet I did not like to go away. My curiosity continued to increase, so I came down from the wall and began to examine the door. To my delight I saw fastened to a great gray rock, on which the door was partly hung, a piece of iron at the end of a chain.
Evidently this was in some way a means of communication with the house. I seized, and pulled it.
No sooner had I done so than I heard the clanging of a bell away up in the old house.
"There," I said to Will, who had kept on protesting, "perhaps that is like the bells in the old monasteries; it will frighten away all evil spirits."
Will grumbled about my having "plenty of cheek," while I waited, somewhat anxiously, I confess, for an answer.
Presently I heard a murmur of voices within, and then the withdrawing of bolts. After a few seconds the door turned on its rusty hinges and revealed two men both about fifty years of age.
"What do you want?" asked one sternly.
"I want to see Squire Trewinion," I replied boldly. I felt it would be of no use hesitating, and although I had no earthly business there I determined to get admittance.
"Why do you wish to see him?" was the next question.
"I will answer that to Mr. Trewinion himself," I said.
"Your names, then?"
"They are unknown to you," I replied, "and my telling them could serve no purpose. Lead the way to your master."
They looked at us suspiciously; but seeing two young men, well dressed and with plenty of assurance, they seemed inclined to let us in. Consequently a minute after we stood within the walls that surrounded this place of evil repute, the door being carefully locked behind us.
The two men, evidently servants, led the way up an unused road, by which we reached the tower entrance. Neither spoke a word.
On coming close to Trewinion Manor we found that it was built of granite, and had evidently been standing for hundreds of years. The stones of the doorways were curiously carved, and even the exterior of the place looked as though it contained a hundred secrets. It was large, too, and must at some time have been the home of people of wealth.
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.
He placed chairs for us both, and then politely asked what he could do to serve us. He had a strong, deep, somewhat musical voice, and had I not been otherwise informed, I should have regarded him as one who often entertained visitors, so free from restraint did he seem.
"I hope you will excuse us for calling," I said, "but my story must explain my rudeness. I follow literature as a profession, and have for some months been engaged on a work dealing with the legends and superstitious beliefs of Cornwall. I am, however, enjoying my vacation now, and my friend and I are on a walking tour along the coast. Seeing this old grey mansion, and thinking there might be some story in connexion with its early days, I have taken the liberty of calling."
He looked at me curiously, as though he suspected me of some sinister motive, and his black eyes glittered.
"Have you heard anything which would lead you to think this house had a story? or have you come here out of pure speculation?" he said, brusquely.
"I suspected there must be legends about a house as old as this," I replied, "and a man we met some distance from here told us that—that——"
"You need not go further," he said, grimly, "I know all the stories that are afloat among the people who live within a few miles of the place. You have heard that I have sold myself to the devil, and that the house is haunted