Roger Trewinion Part 48

Eleven long years. Yes, it was that since I had last stood by the hall door. I had left it with a mad pa.s.sion in my heart, with fierce grief raging within me; I returned saddened by sin, stained by crime, yet subdued and repentant and hopeful.

I could not help thinking of this as the bell clanged within the wide hall and echoed through the silent house, while memories of the old days flashed like lightning through my excited brain.

How singular it was, that I, the rightful owner, should stand ringing for admission like a stranger, and more singular still it seemed at the time, that I should for long years have been a wanderer away from the home of my fathers. And I stood there as a culprit. I was about to enter my home, only to come out a prisoner, a man accused of an awful crime. I was not sure if they would hang me, for his death was an accident. I did not hurl him from me; he slipped from my hands in spite of me, and yet murder was in my heart.

And thus I stood at my own door after eleven years of weary wandering, of lonely agony, of G.o.d-forsaken life, waiting excitedly, yet with a numbing pain at my heart, for the meeting with my mother. Ah, how should I look her in her face when she asked me for her son; how should I withstand her withering scorn, her terrible wrath? It was eventime, and the October winds had shorn much of the foliage from the trees, what remained being russet brown. The wind, too, as it played amongst the s.h.i.+vering leaves, told only a tale of decay and death.

At length I heard a step along the stone, corridor, an aged step, as though the one who came was weary and tired. All this I noted as I stood waiting while the door opened.

It was Peter Polperrow, who had been servant of Trewinion long before I was born. He looked at me with some astonishment, not unmixed with fear.

"Whom do you want to see, sir?" he asked.

"Mrs. Trewinion," I said.

He eyed me from head to foot, as if afraid that by admitting me, he should be doing wrong.

"I cannot admit a stranger," he said at length, "and I cannot let you see my mistress until I know who you are."

"Is she well?" I asked.

Again he seemed to wonder why I should ask such a question, and he answered sadly:

"Yes, considering all things; but what is that to you? Who are you and what do you want?"

I suppose I was not of a very prepossessing appearance. Like most of my race, I was large and strong, but my clothes were somewhat coa.r.s.e, and my hands were brown and bare. Then my face was covered with a huge brown beard, and I was tanned by long years of exposure to sea air.

"Take me to some room where we can talk together, Peter Polperrow," I said.

"Peter Polperrow!" repeated the old man; "Who are you that you know my name?"

"I will tell you soon, Peter," I answered; "meanwhile lead me to Mr.

Roger's old room. I will promise you no harm."

"Master Roger!" repeated the old man; "he has not been here for long years. He has gone away, G.o.d only knows where for that matter; nearly everybody believes him to be dead, and so I suppose he'll never return any more. But what do you know of Master Roger?"

"Lead me there and I'll tell you. I can tell you many things you would like to know."

He seemed to be staggered at my words.

"Do you know him?" he asked.

"Yes; I have seen him, and spoken with him."

"What! Seen Mr. Roger!"

"Yes."

New life seemed to come into his withered, aged form, a new interest came into his aged face.

"Seen him! When, oh when did you see Mr. Roger?"

"I have been with him to-day."

Still the simple old man did not catch my meaning. He evidently could not think that I was Roger.

"Where did you see him? Is he coming home?" he asked anxiously.

"Take me to his room and I'll tell you."

Without another word he led me to the room I used to call mine, I feeling a kind of s.h.i.+ver as I stood within the walls of the old house.

At length we were alone, but it was dark there; we could scarcely see each other's faces.

"Get a light, Peter," I said.

He hobbled away, and soon returned with a candle, revealing the furniture of the room just as I left it years before.

"No one has slept here since Mr. Roger left," said Peter tremulously.

"I don't think that anyone dare that knew him, and certainly no one should with my consent."

"No one but me, Peter," I said.

"What do you mean? Who are you, and--and when did you see Mr. Roger?

Tell me quickly."

"Peter," I said, "does nothing tell you? Hold the light to my face and then think. Have you never seen me before?"

The old man held the candle as I had desired him, and looked steadily at me, but there was no flash of recognition, no look of joyful surprise.

"I doan't remember; I never seed 'ee before."

He said this dreamily, and in so doing relapsed into the old Cornish vernacular.

"Look again, Peter. Remember how Wilfred and I used to wrestle on the headland. Remember how I frightened you by telling you that Deborah Teague had ill-wished you. Think of an awful storm, and that wreck on the 'Devil's Tooth,' and of the young lady I saved. Can't you recognise me now?"

Then old Peter knew me, and tears rolled down his wrinkled cheeks.

"Oh, Master Roger," he said, "thank G.o.d you've come home; but to come like this, to come home as a----" But he could say no more, he sobbed like a child.

He had heard then. Somehow it must have been rumoured abroad that I had killed my brother, and so my presence was painful to him. Perhaps Bill Tregargus had told that he had seen me, and heard me vow vengeance. Perhaps Ruth had in a moment of madness revealed the terrible truth!

"Do you think my mother will see me, Peter?" I said to the faithful old servant as gently as I could.

"Oh, Mr. Roger," he sobbed, "you was so young, so beautiful, so happy in the old days, and I always looked forward to you becoming master, and servin' you till I died, and now to see you come home like this, a ringin' at the door, when you should have walked straight in, and to be asked questions by me when----when----"

"Never mind, Peter," I said, "it cannot be undone now, but still you won't mind doing something for me now, for the sake of old days."