heart lay like lead within me. For some time I could not realize what had happened; indeed, I hardly knew where I was. It was broad daylight, but I could not tell what the hour was. Presently a clock began to strike, and then I realized that I lay in my own bed at Trevanion and that the clock stood in the turret of my own stables. I counted the strokes. It stopped at eleven. No sooner had it ceased than all that had happened the previous night flashed through my mind. I jumped out of bed and looked out of the window. Never had the place seemed so fair to look upon, never had the trees looked so large and stately. And I was burdened with the dread remembrance that it was no longer[Pg 11] mine. When I had dressed I tried to face the matter fairly. I tried to understand what I had done. The more I thought about it the more I cursed myself for being a fool. For I felt how insane I had been. I had drunk too much wine, I had allowed myself to become angry at old Peter Trevisa's words. I had blurted out truths which under other circumstances I would rather have bitten my tongue in two than have told. I had acted like a madman. Wild, foolish as I had been in the past, that night was the climax of my folly. Why had old Peter Trevisa's presence and words aroused me so?

[Pg 11]

The more I thought the sadder I became, the darker did my prospects appear. I had given Prideaux a written guarantee for the money I had been unable to pay. That piece of paper meant my ruin, if he took advantage of it. Would he do this? Yes, I would see that he did. In extremities as I was, I would rather sacrifice the land than violate our old code of honour.

I heard a knock at the door, and a servant entered.

"From Mr. Trevisa of Treviscoe, sir," he said.

I am afraid my hand trembled slightly as I took the letter.

"Who brought it, Daniel?" I asked.

"A servant, sir."

"Let breakfast be ready in ten minutes, Daniel; I'll be down by that time."

"Yes, sir."

I broke the seal of the letter and read it. I soon discovered that it was written by young[Pg 12] Peter Trevisa. For, first of all, it was written in a clear hand and correctly spelt, and I knew that old Peter's writing was crabbed and ill-shapen; besides which, the old man had not learnt the secret of stringing words together with anything like ease. The contents of 

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