again and
again that I would be revenged, and that all the Tresidder brood should
suffer a worse hell than that through which I passed.

Nothing cheered me but the strange love of Eli Fraddam, who would follow
me just as a dog follows its master. When I could get a few pence I
would go to the alehouse and try and forget my sorrow, but I nursed my
anger all the time, and never once did I give up my dreams of harming
the Tresidders. I write all this because I want to tell my story
faithfully, and because I will give no man the chance to say that I
tried to hide the truth about my feelings toward my enemies.

The day before my twenty-first birthday I was loafing around the lanes
when I saw Richard Tresidder and his son Nick drive past me. They took
the Falmouth road, and, divining their destination, I followed them in a
blind, unreasoning sort of way. As I trudged along plans for injuring
them formed themselves in my mind, one of which I presently determined I
would carry into effect. It was the plan of a savage, and perhaps a
natural one. My idea was to wait outside the town of Falmouth, to waylay
them, and then to thrash them both within an inch of their lives. I
remember that I argued with myself that this would be fair to them. They
would be two to one, and I would use nothing but my fists.

When I got into Falmouth I spent the few pence I possessed in food, and
then I made inquiries about the time they would return. I discovered
that they intended to leave the George Inn about five o'clock in the
evening, so I spent the time loafing around the town, and repeating to
myself what I would do with them both that night.

About three o'clock in the afternoon, however, my plans became altered.
As I stood at a street corner, I saw Richard Tresidder, with his son
Nick, besides several other gentlemen, coming down the street. Scarcely
realising what I did, for the very sight of him made me mad, I went
toward them, and as Richard Tresidder came up I spat in his face.

"Who's a thief? Who's a cheat? Who got Pennington by cheatery and
lying?" I shouted.

"Get out of the way, you blackguard," cried Nick Tressider, the lawyer.

"I'll not get out of the way," I cried; "I'll tell what's the truth. He
killed my grandfather; he hocussed him into making a false will, and he
and you have robbed me. Ah, you lying cowards, you know that what I say
is true!"

Then Richard Tresidder lifted his heavy stick and struck me, and before
t