All through the night I struggled and prayed, but ever in answer came the same dread message:
"Go home. Confess your sins."
At length strength came; at length the battle was fought. I made up my mind to go home, to give myself up to the officers of the law as my brother's murderer, and in a moment the burden was gone, and I was a free man.
I will not try to describe with what feverish anxiety I made my way back to England. I only know that some secret power seemed to be urging me back, and although I felt I was going to my death, I was glad when I landed in Falmouth harbour.
Once on my native soil my love for life became strong, and I had to fight my battle over again, or I should have had to do so if I had allowed myself time to think of it; but I stifled all thoughts of escape, and hurried on to my old home.
When I arrived within a mile or so of Trewinion, I paused, and began to ponder as to what course would be best. Should I go to the village constable, Philip Pinch? I knew him well as a lad, and had seen him when I had been home the year before. Or should I go straight to the old house on the cliff, and there, before my mother and servants, confess my sins.
The desire to see the old place was so strong that I determined to take the latter course. If I surrendered myself to Philip Pinch I should be taken at once to the lock-up, and thence to Bodmin gaol, while if I went home I should have one more sight of the old rooms which I had not seen for more than eleven years.
And so, with fast-beating heart and limbs trembling, I hurried onward. Feverishly I opened the postern door which admitted me into the grounds surrounding the house, and then, with a pain at my heart which no words can describe, I went up to the tower entrance and rang the bell.