"No, no; not quite. I should have been warned in time. I should have
obeyed my uncle. But what would you have? It's the luck of the
Tyrrels."

He spoke plaintively. Le Neve pulled a piece of grass and began biting
it to hide his confusion. How near he might have come to doing the
same thing himself. He thanked his stars it wasn't he. He thanked his
stars he hadn't let that stone drop from the cliff that morning.

Tyrrel was the first to break the solemn silence. "You can understand
now," he said, with an impatient gesture, "why I hate Penmorgan. I've
hated it ever since. I shall always hate it. It seems like a mute
reminder of that awful day. In my uncle's time I never came near it.
But as soon as it was my own I felt I must live upon it; and now, this
terror of meeting Trevennack some day has made life one long burden to
me. Sooner or later I felt sure I should run against him. They told me
how he came down here from time to time to see where his son died, and
I knew I should meet him. Now you can understand, too, why I hate the
top of the cliffs so much, and WILL walk at the bottom. I had two good
reasons for that. One I've told you already; the other was the fear of
coming across Trevennack."

Le Neve turned to him compassionately. "My dear fellow," he said, "you
take it too much to heart. It was so long ago, and you were only a
child. The... the accident might happen to any boy any day."

"Yes, yes," Tyrrel answered, passionately. I know all that. I try, so,
to console myself. But then I've wrecked that unhappy man's life for
him."