For twelve
uneventful years my aunt fed me, and uncle taught me--being no mean
scholar, especially in Latin, which tongue he took great pains to
make me perfect in. Thomas Loveday was my only companion, and soon
became my dear friend. Poor Tom! I can see his handsome face before
me now as it was in those old days--the dreamy eyes, the rare smile
with its faint suggestion of mockery, the fair curls in which a
breeze seemed for ever blowing, the pursed lips that had a habit of
saying such wonderful things. In my dreams--those few dreams of mine
that are happy--we are always boys together, climbing the cliffs for
eggs, or risking our lives in Uncle Loveday's boat--always boys
together. Poor Tom! Poor Tom!
So the unmarked time rolled on, until there came a memorable day in
July on which I must touch for a moment. It was evening. I was
returning with Tom to Lizard Town from Dead Man's Rock, where we had
been basking all the sunny afternoon, Tom reading, and I simply
staring vacantly into the heavens and wondering when the time would
come that should set me free to unravel the mystery of this
ill-omened spot.
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