The only part of my history which I regard as worthy of placing on record is confined to a few months. I was thirty-two years of age at the time, and had thus entered into the very summer of my life. At that age a man's position ought to be assured; at any rate his career should be marked out with tolerable plainness. Such, however, was not my fortune. Although I bear one of the best known and most honoured names in my native country, I, Roger Trevanion, was in sore straits at the time of which I write. And this not altogether because of my own faults. I did not come into the possession of my heritage until I was thirty, my father having retained absolute control of his estate until his death. Up to that time I knew nothing of his money matters. Neither, indeed, did I care. I had enough for my own use; I possessed good horses and was able to enjoy what festivities the county provided, to the full. Ever since my mother's death, which took place when I was fourteen, my father paid me but little attention. He saw to it that I was taught to ride, fence, shoot, with other accomplishments befitting my station, and then allowed me to follow my own inclinations. As a consequence I became a gay fellow, being guilty, I am afraid, of most of the misdemeanours common to young men. I remembered that I was a Trevanion, however, and while I did not belong to the most important branch of the family, I held to the code of honour to which for many generations we had been true.

I knew that my father gambled freely, and had many relations with people which were beyond my comprehension. I did not trouble about this, however. Very few restraints were placed upon me, and I was content.

When my father died, I discovered that I was a poor man. I had still the semblance of wealth. I lived in the old house, and was supposed to own the lands surrounding it. The old servants still called me master, and the farmers paid their rents to me as they had paid them to my fathers. In reality, however, everything was mortgaged for nearly all it was worth. True, the lawyer told me that if I would discharge a number of superfluous servants, get rid of a number of useless horses, and consent to the sale of a quantity of timber, I could by practicing the strictest economy for ten years, place everything on a satisfactory footing.

"That will mean that I must give up hunting, racing, drinking, betting, besides closing the house and living like a hermit, I suppose?" I said to him. "That does not suit me. Is there no other way?"

"Yes, there is one," he replied.

"And that?"

"A suitable marriage."

I shrugged my shoulders.

"Women are not in my way, Mr. Hendy," I said. The truth was, I had fancied myself in love when I was twenty, with the daughter of John Boscawen, a distant relation of the famous Boscawens. She had led me on until I was mad about her. I was her slave for several months, and she treated me as though I were a dog of the fetch-and-carry breed. Presently a young fellow from a place near Penzance, Prideaux by name, came to her father's place, and no sooner did he start a-courting her than she sent me about my business, drove me away in fact, as though I were a cur. Since that time I had hated women, and I grew angry at the thought of ever being expected to put confidence in one.

"The state of your affairs is not generally known," persisted the lawyer, "and a wife with a handsome dowry would mean getting back the deeds."

"No petticoats for me," I replied angrily.

"But if the petticoats mean comfort and freedom from money cares, would you not be wise to put aside your prejudice against them?"

"Anything but that," I cried, remembering Amelia Boscawen.

"Retrenchment or a wife," persisted the lawyer.

"Neither," I cried, angry that directly I came into my heritage I should find myself in such a fix.

The lawyer sighed.

"From whom did my father borrow?" I asked presently.

"Peter Trevisa," he replied.

I knew the man slightly. A little, shrivelled-up, old creature who had married late in life, and who had one son whom we called "Young Peter," because he was so much like his father. Young Peter was not so old as I, and I had never been friendly with him. In fact I had despised him as a ferrety kind of fellow, with whom I had nothing in common.

"He holds you like that," said the lawyer, putting out his hand and clasping it.

A great deal more was said, but to no purpose, and I went on as I had gone before. True, I discharged one or two of the younger servants and sold a quantity of timber, but I did not retrench as the lawyer advised. Thus at the end of two years I was, if possible, in a worse position than when my father died.

One day—and here my story really begins—I rode off to a fox hunt. I still held my head high, and rode the best horse in the field. I was careful, too, to be well dressed, and I prided myself that in spite of my poverty I was inferior to none. I was young, regarded as handsome, stood over six feet in my stockings, and was well set up. As usual I avoided women, although there were many at the meet. Although one of the heaviest men there, I kept well ahead through the day, and in spite of the weight of my debts I was in at the death.

After the hunt I went to Geoffry Luxmore's ball, which was a part of the day's programme, but I did not join the dancers. I wanted to be free from women, and therefore accepted an invitation to take part in a game of cards.

While sitting at dinner I saw old Peter Trevisa. He nodded to me in a friendly way. Afterward he came to me and caught me by the arm.

"And how are matters going at Trevanion, eh, lad?" he asked.

"Grandly," I replied gaily, for I was heated with good wine and I felt no cares.

"Thou shouldst be in the dancing-room, lad," he said. "There's many a fine maid there; many with a big dowry. Geoffry Luxmore's daughter should suit thee well, Roger."

"No women for me," I cried.

"No; dost a hate them so?"

I shrugged my shoulders.

"Then my Peter'll be getting Trevanion, Roger?" he said with a leer.

In spite of my excitement I felt uneasy as I looked at his eyes.

"I've been thinking about calling in my mortgage," he said.

"Do," I replied.

"Ah, sits the wind in that quarter, eh? Well, Roger, thou hast always been a dare-devil fellow. But a landless Trevanion will be a sorry sight."

"There never has been one yet."

"And if thou art the first, 'twill be a sorry business."

I felt more uncomfortable, so I swallowed a large bumper of wine to keep my spirits up.

Presently we sat down to play. I won, I remember, freely at first, and was in high good humour.

"Luck seems with thee to-night," said old Peter Trevisa. "After all, it seems thou'st done well to come here rather than go a-dancing with the maidens yonder."

As he spoke the music ceased, and on looking up I saw Ned Prideaux, the fellow who had stolen Amelia Boscawen from me, come into the room.

I don't know that I felt any enmity toward him; the only wrong feeling I had for him was on account of my pride. That he should have been preferred before me wounded my vanity.

Old Peter Trevisa knew of the business, and laughed as he came up.

"Thou didst beat him in courting, lad," he said to Prideaux, "let's see if thou canst beat him at playing."

This he said like one who had been drinking a good deal. And although I had not seen him making free with wine, I fancied he must be fairly drunk; consequently I did not resent his words. Besides, I was in high good humour because of my winnings.

"I'll take a hand with pleasure," answered Prideaux. He wiped his brow, for he had been dancing, and sat down opposite me.

I broke a fresh bottle of wine, and we commenced playing. Fool that I was, I drank freely throughout the evening, and presently I became so excited that I hardly knew what I was doing. Several fellows gathered around to watch us, and the stakes were high. I had not been playing with Prideaux long before my luck turned. I began to lose all I had gained. Old Peter Trevisa chuckled as he saw that the cards were against me.

"Give it up, Roger," he said in a sneering kind of way; "Trevanion can't stand bad luck, lad."

This wounded my pride. "Trevanion can stand as much as I care to let it stand," I replied, and I laid my last guinea on the table.

Presently Mr. Hendy, the old family lawyer, came to my side.

"Be careful, Mr. Trevanion," he whispered, "this is no time for ducks and drakes."

But I answered him with an oath, for I was in no humour to be corrected. Besides, wild and lawless as I had been for several years, I remembered that I was a Trevanion, and resented the family attorney daring to try to check me in public.

"He won't listen to reason, Hendy," sneered old Peter Trevisa. "Ah, these young men! Hot blood, Hendy, hot blood; we can't stop a Trevanion."

I had now lost all my money, but I would not stop. Old Trevisa standing at my elbow offering sage advice maddened me. I blurted out what at another time I would not have had mentioned on any consideration.

"You have a stake in Trevanion, Trevisa," I cried angrily.

"Nonsense, nonsense, Roger," whispered the old man, yet so loudly that all could hear.

"You have," I cried, "you know you have. If I paid you all you lent my father, there would be little left. How much would the remnant be?"

"We'll not speak of that," laughed the old man.

"But we will," I said defiantly, for what with wine, and bad luck, and the irritation of the old man's presence I was beside myself. "What more would you lend on the estate?"

He named a sum.

"I'll play you for that sum, Prideaux," I cried.

"No," replied Prideaux; "no, Trevanion, you've lost enough."

"But I will!" I replied angrily.

"No," said Prideaux, "I'm not a gamester of that order. I only play for such sums as have been laid on the table."

"But you shall!" I cried with an oath; "you dare not as a gentleman refuse me. You've won five hundred guineas from me this very night. You must give me a chance of winning it back."

"Luck is against you, Trevanion," replied Prideaux. "It shall never be said of me that I won a man's homestead from him. I refuse to play."

"Prideaux has won a maid from you!" laughed old Trevisa with a drunken hiccup. "Be careful or he'll take Trevanion, too."

"I'll never play for the land," cried Prideaux again.

"But you shall," I protested. "If you refuse you are no gentleman, and you will act like a coward to boot."

"Very well," replied Prideaux coolly, "it shall be as you say."

We arranged our terms and commenced playing again.

Half an hour later I had lost the sum which old Peter Trevisa said he could further advance on Trevanion. I do not think I revealed my sensations when I realized that I had lost my all, but a cold feeling came into my heart nevertheless.

"Trevanion," said Prideaux, "we'll not regard the last half-hour's play as anything. It was only fun."

"That will not do," I replied. "We have played, and I have lost; that is all."

"But I shall not take——"

"You will," I cried. "You have played fairly, and it is yours. I will see to it at once that the amount shall be handed to you."

"I will not take it," cried Prideaux. "I absolutely refuse."

I know I was mad; my blood felt like streams of molten fire in my veins, but I was outwardly cool. The excitement I had previously shown was gone. Perhaps despair helped me to appear calm.

"Look you, Peter Trevisa," I said; "you give Prideaux a draft for that money."

"Roger, Roger," said the old man coaxingly, "take Prideaux's offer. He won your maid; don't let him win Trevanion too. You'll cut a sorry figure as a landless Trevanion."

I seized a pen which lay near, and wrote some words on a piece of paper.

"There," I said to Prideaux as I threw it to him, "it shall not be said that a Trevanion ever owed a Prideaux anything, not even a gaming debt. Gentlemen, I wish you good-night."

I left the room as I spoke and ordered my horse. I was able to walk straight, although I felt slightly giddy. I scarcely realized what I had done, although I had a vague impression that I was now homeless and friendless. A ten-mile journey lay before me, but I thought nothing of it. What time I arrived at Trevanion I know not. My horse was taken from me by an old servant, and without speaking a word to any one I went straight to bed.