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.