Uncle Loveday drew out the pin, and with some difficulty raised the lid.

Inside lay a tightly-rolled bundle of papers, seemingly uninjured.

These he drew out, smoothed, and carefully opened.
As his eyes met the writing, his hand dropped, and he sank back--a very picture of amazement--in his chair.
"My God!" "What's the matter ?" "It's your father's handwriting!" I looked at this last witness cast up by the sea and read, "The Journal of Ezekiel Trenoweth, of Lantrig.".