ere are mysteries, and
they are true."

I thought at first that he was joking, but he continued:

"Yes, there is truth in the wildest story afloat, not perhaps in the
exact way that the ignorant clowns think; but, sir----"

He stopped again for a second, as if making up his mind upon some
point. Evidently, his lonely mode of living caused him to act
differently from the conventional society man.

"We Trewinions are an old race, sir, and some of my ancestors have been
very violent," he continued.

"That is not to be wondered at," I replied. "Life here, a century ago,
must have been far different from the life of to-day, while earlier
still, when smugglers sought the caves around, and pirates sailed the
seas, it must have been almost impossible for anyone to live in such a
neighbourhood as this without leading a strange life."

"You are interested in mysterious stories and legends, are you not?" he
said.

I told him that I had almost a passion for the supernatural, the
mysterious, and the occult.

He looked at me again, long and steadily.

"I have read some things you have written," he said at length. "You
dabbled a little in the mysterious in them; but I have in my possession
a history----"

Again he stopped, and I begged him to go on, for I felt he had
something of importance to tell me.

"You said you were writing a book on the superstitions and legends of
Cornwall," he said, "and were anxious to collect anything that might be
of interest."

I told him that this was so.

At this he went to the window and looked out over the blue expanse of
the sea, after which he turned towards me, and looked steadily into my
face.

"I have a strange impulse on me," he said.

I made no answer to his words, but frankly met his gaze.

"You are an utter stranger to me in one way," he went on, "but both
your personal appearance and your writings suggest that you and I have
much in common. Besides, great God! although I live the life of a
hermit, I long at times for the companionship of a kindred soul."

I was still silent, deeming that this was the best means of obtaining
his confidence.

"It seems like pure madness," he said at length, "but, look here, would
you care to look at a manuscript, which not only contains suggestions
of one-time superstitions and customs, but something of the history of
an old Cornish family?"

"I should be more than delighted to see it," was my reply.

For a moment he muttered as