ings which the most superstitious
and ignorant believe."

"Then what would you advise?"

"I would go and see this old woman; perhaps she knows things, not by
any supernatural means, but by keeping her eyes open."

"But if she should possess evil power, Mr. Polperrow?"

"Read your Bible and say your prayers before you go, and in your heart
defy all that's wrong."

I went away from the vicarage with a strange feeling that my life was
surrounded by mystery, and that unseen forces were hemming me in.

What are we, after all, but the creatures of circumstance? Forces over
which we have no control make us what we are. I was born the elder son
and Wilfred the younger. I was born with a strong, healthy body, and
an impulsive, passionate nature. Wilfred was more delicate, more
thoughtful. What had we to do with the choosing of all this? Could I
help doing the things that I did? Could I resist the life-forces which
moved me, even as a mighty wave moves a ship that sails thereupon? Are
we, then, the architects of our own fate, or is our destiny fixed? Is
it man who moulds the circumstances, or circumstances that mould the
man? Who shall answer these questions? Looking back over my life I
cannot, and yet in some way I am conscious that there has been a
beneficent hand helping me, and making me strong, even stronger than
circumstances.

As I went home I thought the moon became dimmer, while sad, moaning
sounds were mixed with the musical splash of the waters, as they played
upon the hard sea sand. I slept well that night. No thought of the
figure in white haunted my pillow, no thought of my visit to the
village witch hindered my sleep. I was young, I was innocent, my blood
coursed joyfully through my veins, and the future looked bright, and so
I feared not.

The next day the sky was overcast. The sea looked smooth as glass,
save that now and then it gave a mighty heave, as if some terrific
monster beneath sought to lift a weight from his tired shoulders.
Sometimes we heard a moan sweeping across the waters; but we were
familiar with the sound, living as we did close to the broad Atlantic.

As evening came on the sky grew darker, while my mind became full of
the visit I was to make to old Deborah Teague. I made only a light
meal, and as soon as I was able to do so, went alone to her cottage.

It was a little tumble-down shanty, standing beneath a hillock, and was
as lonely a place as it was possible to be.