"Nearly eight score pounds, father," I replied.
"So much, eh? Well, well, the Trewinions are a big race. I weighed as much when I was your age."
"And see what a big man you are now."
My father did not reply for a minute; then he said slowly—
"Roger, my boy, when I was fifteen my father took me into the library and read to me something which closely affected my welfare. There is no knowing how long I may live, and I think that what was read to me then should be read to you now, for it applies to all the Trewinion heirs. Come with me."
I followed my father into the house, and we entered the library together.
"Ours is a curious race, Roger," my father began. "Our name began strangely. God grant that it may not end with you."
"I hope it may not, father."
"Cherish the hope, my lad, for the last son of the Trewinions will die a terrible death, haunted by evil spirits."
I shuddered.