"Then you are free," said Boscawen.
"Good!" cried Benet, "and, by Heaven, I love you, Trevanion; I love you! And I have your promise. Another time?"
"Yes, another time."
He took his sword, and laughed a great laugh. "It is well," he said; "I love you for a man, and you are more worthy of the maid Nancy than I."
He left then, and a few seconds later was lost in the darkness, for by this time the beacon fire began to burn low.
Of all that was said during the next half-hour I have but little remembrance. Many questions were asked me which I answered as well as I was able, and many things I heard which I was but little able to understand, for my mind was sorely exercised as to what had become of my dear maid. After a time, however, I was able to get a word with Hugh Boscawen alone, when I told him of what Otho Killigrew had said.
"We will go thither," he cried; "I myself will accompany you to the house. If we be quick, we shall be able to capture this fellow. He at least will be a valuable prisoner."
So as quickly as possible we set out for Restormel, but so anxious was I that I fretted and fumed at the delay in starting and the slowness of our journey.
Morning was breaking when we reached Restormel, and the sight of the house set my heart beating fast for joy, for I hoped that soon I should hold my love in my arms again. But sore disappointment was in store for me. We found the house empty save for Adam Coad and his wife. Neither of them knew where Nancy was. All the old man could remember was that they had heard a noise in the house, and when they had searched for his mistress she was nowhere to be found.
Again I remembered Otho's words, and then my overtaxed nature yielded to the continuous strain; I felt my blood grow cold and head grow dizzy. After that all became dark to me.
I suppose I must have been sorely ill, for consciousness did not return to me for some time, and even when it did I was much bewildered and sadly weak. My memory played me many tricks, too, and I have been told since that my words were wellnigh meaningless. Hugh Boscawen sent for the doctor whose drugs had done me so much good the previous day, and on his arrival I was put to bed, and after having drunk a large quantity of the decoction he prepared, I became unconscious again. I suppose the stuff must have been a kind of sleeping draught, for although it was yet morning when I had been put to bed, daylight was altogether gone when I awoke. The room in which I lay was lighted by means of a candle, and by my side sat Mr. Inch the doctor.
"How long have I been asleep?" I asked.
"At the least twelve hours," and Dr. Inch laughed cheerfully.
"Twelve hours!" I cried aghast.
"Twelve hours, and verily I believe your life hath been saved thereby. I will now take away a little blood, and in a few days you will be well."
This he said in evident good-humour with himself, as though he had effected a wondrous cure.
"Twelve hours!" I cried again; "then Otho hath fifteen hours' start of me."
"I know not what you mean. My care hath been that you should have necessary rest and restoration. This you have had. You are much better now, are you not?"
"Oh, I am all right," I said, sitting up in my bed; and indeed I felt quite refreshed and strong. "But where am I?"
"At Restormel."
"Oh yes, at Restormel," and instantly I had grasped the whole situation. "And Boscawen, where is he?"
"Lord Falmouth hath had many matters of importance to deal with; he went away before I came, but left word, saying he would if possible return to you this evening."
"But did he seek to find Otho Killigrew; has he any knowledge of his whereabouts? Does he know where——"
I stopped then, for I remembered that Dr. Inch must have been ignorant concerning the matter which lay so near my heart. Still I could not refrain from asking many questions, although the doctor was able to give me but little satisfaction.
Just as I had consented to be bled, and was making ready for the operation, Hugh Boscawen came into the room. He had evidently spent a busy day, for he looked much wearied, but expressed delight at seeing me so well.
"Have you found them?" I asked, thinking of Otho and Nancy.
"They have all escaped, except one or two foolish varlets who know nothing about the business," he replied, mistaking the purport of my question. "But I do not despair. My men are scouring the country, and I have sent messengers to London with the news. And I have not forgotten you, Trevanion; I have not forgotten you."
"But Otho Killigrew and Mistress Nancy Molesworth, what of them?" I asked feverishly.
"I have heard nothing," was the reply, "nothing at all. I wish I could get him; he and that old hermit have been the brains of the whole matter. Still, do not be anxious, Trevanion; I will find him. He hath no friends in these parts, and therefore can have no hiding-place. The coast is being watched everywhere too."
"You do not know Otho Killigrew," I cried bitterly; "and it is no use telling me not to be anxious. As well tell a boat to sail steadily on a stormy sea."
"It is no use fretting. All that can be done shall be done. It should be easy to find him too, for we are all faithful to the king for many a mile around, and I have given strict orders."
At this my pulses started a-dancing again, for I remembered something of importance.
"How long hath it been dark?" I asked.
"But an hour or so."
"My lord, I must get to saddle again," I cried; "and I think, if you will accompany me, you will be able to arrest Otho Killigrew."
"Good!" he cried, "but where, Trevanion?"
"But Master Trevanion must not rise," cried the doctor. "I must take an ounce of blood from him, after which he must lie still for three days."
"I shall need all my blood," I cried eagerly, and in spite of all the doctor's persuasions I was soon on my feet again and ready for action.
"Let me have some food," I said with a laugh, for I felt my own man again, and the thought of action eased my anxious heart.
Food was speedily set before me, of which I partook heartily, as every man should who has work to do, and while I was eating I told Hugh Boscawen my plans.
"Know you aught of Peter Trevisa?" I asked.
"But little," was his answer; "he is a man reputed to care for but little save his ugly son and his money bags."
"Have you ever been to Treviscoe?"
"Never."
"I have," I replied; "I believe Otho Killigrew is there. It is there he hath taken Mistress Nancy, I could swear it." And then I told him of the conversation I had heard between Otho and young Peter Trevisa.
"There is naught in that," remarked Hugh Boscawen, shaking his head doubtfully.
"In itself there is but little," I answered, "but connected with all else which I have heard there is much"; and thereupon I told him of my suspicions.
"It is worth trying for, anyhow," remarked Hugh Boscawen. "I will accompany you to Treviscoe. If he be there, it accounts for my inability to find him."
A little later we rode towards Treviscoe, which as I have said was no great distance from Restormel. We were well armed, and were also accompanied by several men, upon whose trustworthiness Boscawen said he could rely.
"You have paid no heed to Trevisa?" I asked of him as we rode along.
"No; Peter Trevisa hath in no way been under suspicion; besides, the place is so near Restormel that I did not think there was any need. I naturally set my men farther afield."
"But the coast hath been watched."
"Carefully."
At this my heart became heavy again, for I felt sure that Otho Killigrew could if he would devise plans whereby all Hugh Boscawen's followers could be outwitted. Still I trusted that the two Trevisas, once having Mistress Nancy in their midst again, would not let her go without much hard bargaining, for I had suspicions concerning Otho's plans which will leak out presently.
"It will be well," I said presently, "if we enter Treviscoe secretly."
"But that will be impossible."
"To me alone it might be; but not to you. You hold the King's commission. You can command, you can enforce threats, you can insist on your own method of entrance."
"True," he replied proudly.
"Then I would suggest that you forbid the gatekeeper to communicate with the house concerning our entrance, and threaten him with a severe penalty if he disobeys. When we get to the house, command the servant to show us to the room where his master is—also with a threat, without letting any one know of our arrival."
"I understand. Yes, it shall be done."
"We must surprise them. If he have time to think, they will outwit us. We must make no noise; we must enter the house unknown to its masters."
"You speak wisely, Trevanion—perchance Trevisa hath had more to do with treason than we wot of," and by this speech he betrayed the fact that he had inherited much of his father's love for arresting people concerning whom he had any suspicions.
When we came to the lodge gate, the man let us enter without any ado as soon as Hugh Boscawen had mentioned his name. I knew, too, by the fear expressed in his quavering voice that we need have no apprehensions concerning him. Our entrance to the house, too, was effected just as easily. We crept silently along the grass which bordered the way, and when I saw that no light shone from the front windows I surmised that old Peter, if he was within, was in the library, which was situated in a wing of the building in the rear of the main structure. This made our work all the easier. I knocked lightly, Hugh Boscawen standing by my side.
An old serving-man opened the door, and gave a start of fear as soon as he saw who we were, but my companion quickly brought him to reason; indeed so great was his reverence for the name and power of the Boscawens that he raised no protest whatever when he was told what he desired him to do.
"Utter no word to any one concerning our presence," said Hugh Boscawen impressively. "Show us the door of the room where your master is, and depart. These men of mine will stand here within call."
The old serving-man tremblingly acquiesced.
"Hath your master visitors?" continued Hugh Boscawen, still in a whisper.
"He hath, my lord; but he is loyal, my lord—loyal. Neither my master nor his son hath left the house these two days."
I knew this to be false; all the same young Peter might have met Otho Killigrew without the man knowing anything about it.
"Who are his visitors?"
"I do not know, my lord."
"Trevanion," whispered Boscawen to me, "I must serve the King. I must find out if there be any treason about."
"How?"
"All means are honourable in the service of the King," he replied. "We must listen."
I saw his eyes gleam with eagerness; if ever man was alert to his chances, it was he. I verily believe that nothing rejoiced him more than to punish treason.
We therefore crept noiselessly to the door, and soon my nerves were all a-twitch with excitement, for I heard Otho Killigrew's voice, and he was mentioning my own name, and I quickly judged that we had come at an opportune time.
"I never wished to be harsh to a lady," said Otho, "for that reason I allowed your maid to accompany you this morning; when I took you, I am afraid by guile, and somewhat unceremoniously, from the house you have thought to be yours. But all is fair in love and war. I have also allowed you to be alone throughout this day, but the time is come for the settlement of matters, and this time Roger Trevanion will not be able to help you."
"And is it true, that is—what you told me about him?"
It was my dear Nancy's voice, husky and tearful, which spoke; I gripped my sword-hilt, and with difficulty kept myself from bursting open the door. Hugh Boscawen held my arm, however, and motioned me to be still.
"To quote the great bard," replied Otho in a mocking voice, "he is gone 'to that country from whose bourne no traveller returns.' Trevanion sleeps with his fathers."
"Killed by your hand?"
"Nay cousin, not by my hand; by another's."
"Like Richard, the murderous king, you hire your murderer, I suppose."
"No; Trevanion died in a fair fight, died by my brother Benet's hand."
"In fair fight, you say. Where? when?" and her voice was tremulous.
"In fair fight; but we need not enter into details now. He is dead, and I am suspected to have left the country with the others who led this business—spoiled, I will admit, through Trevanion. But the end is not yet, and he will not spoil our plans next time. But there are other matters more important to me. My lungs pine for the air of France, and I ask you to come with me."
"No, I will not go with you."
"Think again, my cousin; for thus I will call you, although we are not related by law. We Catholics have always suffered—we suffer still. So unjust are the English laws to Catholics that you to-day have according to the law no name, no home."
"Then why do you persecute me?"
"Because I love you."
"I do not believe it. If you loved me, you would leave me in peace."
"I do love you, I offer you my hand in marriage. I offer you my name—an old name."
I heard a movement in the room, there was a sound like that of the rustling of a woman's dress. Then I heard my dear maid's voice again.
"Otho Killigrew," she said, "I know not what truth there is in what you say. I know you to be a liar. Again and again have you tried to deceive me. But I do not believe you would offer to marry me if I were nameless and penniless. You—you are too base."
"You mistake me, misjudge me, Mistress Nancy," said Otho slowly. "As I tell you, Roger Trevanion is dead; he died before sunrise this morning by my brother Benet's hand. And the other matter is also true. You have no name. Let the fact become known, and you would be a wanderer, a vagrant in the county, for none would give you a home. All children born out of wedlock are despised. But I love you, I would save you from being disgraced; I desire to give you my name, I will make you my wife. True, when I sought your hand I thought you were rightfully the owner of Restormel; but Peter Trevisa hath proved to me beyond dispute that you have no shadow of claim to it. But I love you!"
"This is true, my fair lady," and I detected old Peter's voice; "it is true. I have told you so before, but he!—he!" and he giggled feebly, "you know what you said."
"And if I marry Otho Killigrew, you will keep the matter a secret, I suppose."
"I would do much for Otho Killigrew. Not that I agree with his views on politics; oh no! 'Long live King George,' I say, but I would serve him in this matter, and if you wedded him I would say nothing."
"And what price would he pay you for this?"
"He, he!" and again the old wretch laughed feebly, "there would be no price. Of course not. It is simply an arrangement—a private arrangement between two gentlemen. You see, my dear lady, I have proofs that your father was not legally married. Still it is morally yours, and if you marry my friend, Master Otho Killigrew, no one ever need to know that you are base-born."
He uttered the last words in such a tone as must have wounded my dear maid sorely; but she spoke steadily and clearly for all that.
"Look you," she replied, "your words may be true; I am afraid they are. Well, tell all you can, proclaim to the world that I am base-born in the eyes of the law. That threat shall not make me do what you ask. If I am penniless, I am penniless; but rather than marry Otho Killigrew I would beg my bread from door to door, I would earn my living as a servant in a farm kitchen."
"It is hard to use force, my fair cousin," said Otho, "but I am not beaten easily. When I set my mind upon a thing,—well, I generally get it." He hesitated again, and then went on still more slowly. "You see, I generally prepare my plans carefully beforehand. I have done so in this case. I knew your character, and I anticipated your answer. My friend Trevisa is a very religious man, and hath a friend who is a clergyman. It is true he doth not bear a very high character, but that is because he hath been sadly misunderstood. Still, he is a very obliging man, and has on many occasions rendered valuable service. At great risk to myself I have brought him here to-night. He will overlook the little matter of your consent, and marry us at once. You see, I love you, and—well, I desire the rents of Restormel Estate; I need them badly in fact."
"But I will not wed you."
"I say in this case, the Reverend Mr. Winter will overlook the little matter of your consent. It is true he is not of the true faith, but I shall be willing to overlook that little matter in this case."
"Then I will proclaim my shame to the world. I will tell every one what you have told me."
"That doth not matter. Peter Trevisa is the only one who holds the secret of this matter. He will at the proper time deny all knowledge of it. You see how perfectly plain-spoken I am." Then my dear maid spoke again, and her voice was indeed sad.
"I am all alone," she said, "I have no friends. You are many against one poor girl. Very well, do your worst, I will not do one thing that you say. Oh, you cowards, you poor miserable cowards! If I were a man you would not dare act so. And I do not believe any one calling himself a clergyman would do as you say; but even if he will, I will resist you to the last, and I will die by my own hand rather than"—then I heard her sob bitterly.
I could bear no more. If this were a farce, I could not allow it to continue further; if they intended carrying out their threats, it was time to interfere; even Hugh Boscawen no longer held me back. I put my shoulder to the door and burst it open.
Without ado, Hugh Boscawen went across the room and placed his hand on Otho Killigrew's shoulder.
"Otho Killigrew, I arrest you in the King's name," he said.
Otho did not lose his presence of mind, but turned coolly towards him.
"Why, my lord?" he said, "what have I done to be arrested? I defy you to prove aught against me."
"That remains to be seen," he said; then he gave a whistle, and immediately his men entered.
Peter Trevisa and his son had started to their feet and were staring at us, but were at first too frightened to speak; near them was a man dressed as a minister of the gospel, and there was no need to take a second look at him to know that he was a disgrace to his calling. Doubtless he was one of those outcast clergymen who were notorious in that day, and who would for a fee perform the marriage ceremony under the most outrageous circumstances. The country had for a long time been disgraced by its marriage laws, for thereby all sorts of outrages had been committed. Young squires owning much property had been dragged into inns, drugged, or made drunk, and had then been married even to fallen women on the streets. It is true that such scenes, though common in London, had not so often happened in Cornwall; at the same time, some in our county had been forced into unholy alliances. All this became impossible a few years after, when Lord Hardwick's famous marriage act was passed; but at that time, had I not come upon the scene, I believe that Otho Killigrew, in spite of my dear maid's continuous refusal, would have used means to have gone through an unholy farce, and this vile clergyman's signature would have made it legal.
Not far from the rest Otho Killigrew had stood, and as I entered I had seen the look of cruel determination on his face, the look which made his brothers fear him and which told them that he would surely gain his ends. Doubtless he had prepared for all exigencies, and had bargained with the two Trevisas, for they, after failing to gain their way with Nancy, would be willing to sell their secret to the highest bidder.
My dear maid's face had been turned from me, but I saw she stood upright before them, and was in an attitude of defiance, even although she stood helpless and alone.
She had not seen me; her eyes had been turned towards Hugh Boscawen, who had gone straight to Otho Killigrew; neither, I think, had any one noticed me. Doubtless they all fancied I was dead, killed by Benet Killigrew's hand, even as Otho had said.
"It is a dangerous thing to arrest the King's faithful subjects," went on Otho quietly, although his lips twitched nervously, "and I am faithful. True, evil reports may have been circulated about me; but who is the man who can prove treason against me? No man, my lord."
"There is one, Otho Killigrew," I said quietly.
He stared like one who had seen a ghost, and stammered incoherently, but I paid but little heed to him, for my dear maid had heard my voice, and with a cry of joy and hands outstretched came towards me.
For the next few minutes every one in the room was in a state of consternation, for so certain had they all been of my death that they seemed to have difficulty in believing that I could indeed be Roger Trevanion. Even Nancy, who had been cool and defiant up to now, broke quite down, and asked me again and again, sobbing and laughing at the same time, all sort of fond, foolish questions which I will not write down.
Presently, however, Otho Killigrew obtained command over himself, and said to me:
"The devil hath again missed his own then. I was a fool to trust Benet."
"You see Benet fought as a man," I replied; "unlike you, he would not act as a butcher."
I was sorry afterwards that I answered him thus, for it is a coward's trick to strike a man when he is down; but when I called to mind what I had just heard I could scarce restrain myself. Had he shown any signs of penitence I should have pitied him, for I saw that all hope had gone from his face, and it is easy to have kindly feelings towards a man who is beaten.
Peter Trevisa, however, behaved differently. The old man's face was yellow with fear, for he knew the power Hugh Boscawen possessed.
"My lord," he whined, "this is a fearful blow, a fearful blow that you should have discovered a traitor in my house. But I knew nought of it, my lord; he came here on a matter entirely different."
"He did," replied Hugh Boscawen, "and that matter shall be sifted to the very bottom."
"I do not think you—you understand, my lord," he said stammeringly.
"Perfectly. You were about to force this maid into an unholy marriage, and you had promised to keep secret some information you say you possess concerning her father's marriage. Whatever it is, it shall be secret no longer. That I can promise you. Whether you have placed yourself within the grip of the law remains to be proved. That is a question which also applies to you," he added, turning to the clergyman.
"No, my lord," replied the Reverend Mr. Winter. "I was invited here to perform a marriage ceremony in the ordinary way. I had no knowledge that anything was wrong, and should certainly have refused to comply with the wishes of Master Otho Killigrew after having understood the lady's sentiments."
It was, of course, impossible to prove that the man spoke lies, as the man had uttered no word before, and we knew nothing of the history of his coming.
"Well, everything shall be sifted to the bottom," repeated Hugh Boscawen, "and justice shall be done to all. As far as Mistress Molesworth is concerned, she shall accompany me to Tregothnan this very night. As for you, Trevanion, you will naturally want to go to your home."
"Pardon me, my lord," said old Peter Trevisa, his avarice overcoming his fear, "he hath no home."
"Hath no home, what mean you?"
"Trevanion is mine, my lord; I possess all the deeds, and Roger Trevanion hath no right to go there."
"I have heard something of this," said Boscawen; "tell me all the details."
Whereupon Peter told him of his relations with my father and of the episode which I described in the beginning of this history.
"I think you have not told all, Master Peter Trevisa." It was Nancy who spoke.
"There is nothing more to tell—nothing," snarled Peter.
"There is much," replied Nancy.
"Then tell it if you care; tell it."
But she was silent. She remembered that a recital of the scene would give me pain, and spoke no word.
"I will tell it, my lord," I said; "the time hath come when it should be told. I did a base thing, I made a bargain with this man. He has told you how he became sole possessor of Trevanion, but, as Mistress Nancy has declared, there is more to tell. This man bade me come here, and he promised me that if I would bring Mistress Nancy Molesworth here he would give me back the deeds of the estate and forgive half the sum I owed him."
"But what was his purpose in proposing this?"
"I knew not at the time, my lord. I was reckless, foolish, extravagant; and to my eternal shame I made a bargain with him. After much difficulty I brought her here, but not until I had besought her not to come. You see she had made me so ashamed of myself that I loathed the mission I had undertaken. I told her the history of what I had done, and in spite of all my advice she insisted on coming."
"I see. Then you can claim your own."
"I offered it, my lord, offered it before an attorney, but he refused, he—he would not take it."
"Is that true, Trevanion?"
"It is, my lord. I—I could not take the price of my base deed."
Hugh Boscawen looked at me steadily; he was a gentleman, and understood that which was in my heart.
"That, too, must be investigated," he said quietly; "but still you have not told me Trevisa's object in asking you to bring Mistress Molesworth here."
"It was this secret, my lord. He thought she was base like himself. He believed she would be glad to wed his son when he placed his case before her."
"And she, of course, refused?"
"Yes, my lord."
Hugh Boscawen seemed to be thinking for a few seconds, then he said quietly:
"Yes, Mistress Molesworth shall accompany me to Tregothnan until the matter be investigated, and you, Trevanion, must go to your old home. Trevisa hath not complied with the usual formalities in calling in the mortgages, hence the place is still yours."
"No, no; it is mine, my lord," cried old Peter.
"It is my advice, my wish that you go there, Trevanion, and you have the right."
"And I, my lord?" remarked Otho, who had been listening intently, "may I be privileged to know where I am to go?"
"You are a prisoner," replied Boscawen.
It was sore grief for me to see my dear maid ride away with Boscawen, even although it was best for her to do so. Indeed there seemed no way in which I could serve her. In spite of her safety, therefore, I rode to Trevanion with a sad heart; for truly all seemed darkness when she was not near. I was weak and ill, too, for although I had disobeyed Dr. Inch in going to Treviscoe that night, I was scarcely fit to undertake the journey.
It was late when I reached Trevanion, so late that the servants had gone to bed, but old Daniel was quickly aroused, and no sooner did he know that it was I who called to him than his joy knew no bounds. In a few minutes every servant in the place was dressed, all eager to serve me. The tears come into my eyes as I write even now, for I call to mind the looks on their faces, their tearful eyes, and their protestations of joy. I suppose I had been an indulgent master, but I had done nothing to deserve the affection they lavished on me.
"God bless 'ee, Master Roger; God bless 'ee!" they said again and again as they hovered around me.
All this gave me sadness as well as joy, because of the fact that shortly they would all have to seek another master. Once back in the old home again, it became dearer to me than ever. Each room had its history, every article of furniture was associated with some incident in the history of the Trevanions. Again and again I wandered around the house, and then, unable to restrain myself, I went out into the night and wandered among the great oaks in the park, and plucked the early spring flowers. The night had become gloriously fine, and I could plainly see the outlines of the old homestead, which was never so dear to me as now.
I heard the clock striking the hour, and although it was two in the morning, I did not go in, it was so joyful to breathe the pure spring air and to wander among the places I had haunted as a boy.
"Maaster Roger!" It was old Daniel who shouted.
"Yes, Daniel; anything the matter?"
"Aw, no sur, we was onnly wonderin' ef you wos oal saafe, sur; tes oal right."
"If it were only really mine," I thought, "and if those faithful old servants could only have my dear Nancy as mistress. If I could but bring her here, and say, 'This is all yours, my dear maid.'"
Well, why could I not? It was still in my power. Mr. Hendy still held the papers. It was mine. But only by accepting the price of base service. No, I could not be happy if I took advantage of the bargain. The look in my dear maid's eyes forbade me. But what could I do? She was nameless, and would, I was afraid, soon be homeless and friendless. Lord Falmouth had told me to wait until I heard from him, before I went to Tregothnan, and until that time I should not be able to see her. I would have gone to London and offered my services to the King but for my promise to await Boscawen's commands.
I was sorely troubled about these things, and yet it was a joy to be at Trevanion, joy beyond words. For I was at home, and my dear Nancy loved me. Destitute we might be, but we were still rich in each other's love, and as I remembered this I laughed aloud, and sang snatches of the songs I had sung as a boy.
"Daniel," I shouted.
"Yes, sur."
"Where is Chestnut?"
"In the stable, sur."
I made my way thither, and Chestnut trembled for very joy at the sight of me. If ever a horse spoke, he spoke to me in the joyful whinny he gave. He rubbed his nose against me, and seemed to delight in my presence. After all, my homecoming was not without its joys.
"Whoever leaves me, my beauty," I cried, "you shall not leave me; and to-morrow we'll have a gallop together; you and I, Chestnut, do you hear?"
And Chestnut heard and understood, I am sure, for he whinnied again, and when I left the stable he gave a cry as if he sorrowed at seeing me go.
The last few weeks had been very strange to me, but I did not regret them. How could I? Had I not found my Nancy? Had I not won the love of the dearest maid in the world? Presently when I went to my bedroom I knelt down to pray. It was many years since I had prayed in this bedroom, not indeed since boyhood, but I could not help asking God to forgive my past and to thank Him for making me long to be a better man. I prayed for my dear Nancy, too; I could not help it, for she was as dear to me as my heart's blood, and it was through her that God had shown me what a man ought to be.
I did not sleep long, I could not; as soon as daylight came I rose and went out to hear the birds sing and to drink in the fresh sweet air of the morning. Everywhere life was bursting into beauty, and the sun shone on the glittering dew-drops. Presently the dogs came up to me and greeted me with mad, rollicking joy and gladsome barking; and then, when I went back to the house, the servants came around me bidding me a pleasant good-morning, and hoping I was well.
"You'm home for good, I hope, sur," they said again and again; "tes fine and wisht wethout 'ee, sur; tes like another plaace when you be here, sur." And then although I tried, I could not tell them they would soon have to leave me, and that I was only there on sufferance.
After that many days passed away without news coming from any quarter. I saw no visitors save Lawyer Hendy, and he was less communicative and more grim than I had ever known him before. He professed entire ignorance of Peter Trevisa's plans, also of the investigation which Hugh Boscawen was making. It was very hard for me to refrain from going to Tregothnan, and demanding to see my Nancy, for truly my heart hungered more and more for her each day. I heard strange rumours concerning the Killigrews, but knew nothing for certain. Of Otho it was said that he had escaped from the King's men and was again at liberty, and this made me sore uneasy, for I knew that many schemes would be forming in his fertile brain; but, as I said, I knew nothing for certain. I still stayed at Trevanion, seldom going beyond the boundary of the estate, for Hugh Boscawen had charged me concerning this when we had parted.
At length, however, when many days had passed away, a messenger came to me from Tregothnan bearing a letter which summoned me thither without delay. So I mounted Chestnut, and before long I was closeted with Hugh Boscawen in the library of his old home.
"You expected to hear from me before, Trevanion?" he said cheerily.
"I did, my lord," I replied, "and it hath been weary waiting."
"I have not been idle," he replied. "It is but yesterday that I returned from London. I have held converse with his gracious majesty, King George II."
I waited in silence, for I did not see what this had to do with me.
"You found all well at Trevanion, I hope?"
"All well, my lord."
"You love the old place?"
"Dearly, as you may imagine."
"I can quite understand. This old house now—I have often been advised to pull it down and build something more modern, but for the life of me I cannot. Every room, every stone is dear to me. Probably my sons, or my sons' sons, will build a more pretentious dwelling, but this is good enough for me. It is a pity your pride forbids you from keeping that old place of yours. The Trevisas would turn it into a dog-kennel. Ought you not to reconsider the question?"
"I have considered it many times, my lord, but the thing is impossible. I did a base thing to promise Trevisa what I did, and to make a bargain with him; it would be baser still to receive the wages of service, unworthy my name."
"Ah well, you should know your own affairs, only it seems sad that you, the last member of a branch of your house, should be houseless, landless, and all for a fad."
"Better a Trevanion should be landless than take the price of dishonour," I said. "Mistress Nancy Molesworth hath made me feel this. I hope she is well?" I brought in her name because I was longing to hear news concerning her.
"We will speak of her presently; but yes, I may say the young person is well. I understand, then, that you have decided to leave Trevanion rather than profit by your bargain with Trevisa?"
"I can do no other, my lord."
"No, you cannot, Trevanion, you cannot. Still you are not going to leave Trevanion."
"I am afraid it cannot be helped."
"Many things are possible when kings speak."
"I am afraid I do not understand," I said with a fast-beating heart.
"Then I will make you understand. I have, as I told you, but just returned from London; I have held converse with his gracious majesty, King George II. I have told him your story. I have informed him of the signal service you have rendered."
"Yes, my lord," I said, like one in a dream.
"He is not ungrateful, nay, he is much pleased; and as a reward for your fidelity and bravery, Trevanion is yours free of all incumbrances."
What followed after that I have but a dim remembrance, for indeed I was unable to pay much heed to the details which he communicated to me. Enough that Trevanion was mine, and that I could now give a home to my dear maid.
"With regard to the other matter," went on Hugh Boscawen, "the King could not interfere. The question of the law comes in, and the law is sacred. The matter is not yet settled, but I am afraid everything will pass to the next of kin."
I said nothing, and although I knew it would be a sore blow to my dear maid, I am afraid it troubled me but little, for had I not Trevanion to offer her?
"It will be a sad blow to the maid," said Boscawen, "not simply because of the loss of the lands, but she is also without name. Foolish as it may seem, the fact of the illegality of her father's marriage, even although he thought all was well, will ruin her chances for life. Some yeoman might marry her, but no one of higher position. You, for example, would not give her your name. You could not. High as the Trevanions have stood, your friends would close their doors to such a wife."
"That would not matter, my lord," I answered quickly.
"Do you know young John Polperro too?" he asked without noticing my interruption.
"I have seen him once," I replied.
"It was at Endellion, was it not?"
"Yes, my lord."
"He has been here this morning."
"Indeed," I said, and although I scarce knew why, I became strangely excited.
"He had heard of my return, and rode here with all speed. News had reached him that I had assumed the guardianship of the maid. He had heard nothing of—of Trevisa's secret, and he came to repeat his offer of marriage."
"Did he see her?" I asked.
"No," replied Hugh Boscawen dryly, "he did not even ask for that honour."
"No," I replied, much relieved; "why not?"
"He seemed eager to plead his cause until I told him the truth, and then——"
"What?" I asked.
"He said he would consult his father."
I laughed aloud.
"You seem merry, Trevanion."
"Yes, I am," I replied. "It shows the value of the love he protested at Endellion. But it would not have mattered, she would not have listened to him."
"I suppose I can guess your reason for saying this?"
"Most likely," I replied.
"But surely, Trevanion, you will not—that is, consider, man. It would not be simply wedding a penniless bride; she is worse than penniless. You see this stain upon her birth closes the door of every house in the country to her."
"Not all," I cried.
"You see," he went on, "you will now hold your head high when it is noised abroad, as it soon will be, that you have received favour from the King, that Trevanion is yours free from all encumbrance, you will be able to choose your bride from the fairest and the richest. Besides, you must think of further advancements at the King's hands. That would become impossible if you wedded this maid."
"My lord," I cried, "I love her! I never loved a woman before. I thought I did ten years ago, and when she proved false I vowed I could never trust a woman again. But now——"
"But now, what?"
"You can guess, my lord."
"Then you are bent on marrying her?"
"I am going to beg her, to beseech her if needs be," I replied. "You say she is still in this house, my lord. Should I be imposing too much on your kindness if I ask that I may see her. I have not beheld her for many days, and my heart hungers for her sorely."
"How old are you, Trevanion?"
"Past thirty-two," I replied.
"You are not a boy," he said like one musing, "and you ought to know your mind." Then he looked steadily in my face as though he would read my inmost thoughts.
"He is right," he cried, looking fiercely out of the window and across the broad rich valley where the clear water of the river coiled. He seemed communing with himself and thinking of some event in his own past life.
"He is right," he repeated still fiercely; "by God, I would do it myself if I were in his place!"
He left the room abruptly without looking at me, and I was left alone. Minutes passed, I know not how many, and I stood waiting for my love.
Whatever might be the truth concerning her father's marriage, it was naught to me. Now that I had a home to offer her, everything was plain, and I could have shouted aloud in my joy. Had she been a beggar maid it would not have mattered; I loved her with all the strength of my life, and my love had made me careless concerning the thoughts of the world. For love is of God, and knows nothing of the laws of man. Besides, I had looked into the depths of her heart; I had seen her sorrow when she thought I was in danger. I remembered the light which shone from her eyes when she came to me that night at Restormel. I remembered the tone of her voice when she had sobbed out my name.
I heard a rustle of a woman's dress outside the door, and eagerly, just like a thoughtless boy, I ran and opened it; and then I saw my Nancy, pale and wan, but still my Nancy,—and then I wanted naught more.
Now of what Nancy and I said to each other during the next few minutes there is no need for me to write. At first joy conquered all other feelings, and we lived in a land from whence all sorrow had fled, but by and by she began to talk about "good-byes," and a look of sadness dimmed the bright light in her eyes. So I asked her the meaning of this, and it soon came out that she had been grieving sorely concerning the dark shadow which had fallen upon her life. She had learned from Hugh Boscawen probably about her father's marriage being invalid, and she felt her position keenly. For although she had been treated with great kindness at the home of the Boscawens, she could not help believing that she was there on sufferance and not as an honoured guest. So to cheer her I told her of the good fortune that had befallen me, and how Hugh Boscawen had been commissioned to give me back my old home as a reward for the services I had rendered to my country. At this she expressed much joy, but persisted in saying that my good fortune had removed us further away from each other than ever. And then she repeated what Hugh Boscawen had said a few minutes before, and declared that she would never stand in the way of my advancement.
"And what would advancement be to me if I have not you, Nancy?" I asked.
She thought it would be a great deal.
"And do you love me, my dear?" I asked.
She thought I had no need to ask such a question.
"Then suppose you were mistress of Restormel, and I were without home, would you let me go away because I was poor and what the world called disgraced?"
And at this my Nancy began to laugh, even while her eyes grew dim with tears.
"No, Roger," she said; "but—but you are so different."
After that I would hear no further objections, neither indeed did she offer more, for she saw that they grieved me, and so it soon came about that she gave her consent to be the mistress of the home which I had won back.
"But you are giving me everything, and I am giving you nothing," she said.
"Nay," I replied, "but you can give me more, a thousand times more, than I can give you. Even although I could give you Trevanion a hundred times over, my gift would be as nothing compared with yours."
"And what can I give you?" she asked as if she were wondering greatly.
"Nancy Molesworth," I answered, and then the light came back to her eyes again, and she came to me joyfully, even as she had come at Restormel.
Now those who read this may regard what I have written as the foolish meanderings of a lovesick swain, and not worthy of being written down; nevertheless it gives me joy beyond measure to think of that glad hour when I was able to make my Nancy laugh again. For I who for years had laughed at love had entered into a new life, and now all else was as nothing compared with the warm kisses she gave me and the words of love she spoke. True, I had passed my boyhood, but I have discovered that, no matter what our age maybe, the secret of all life's joy is love. Surely, too, God's love is often best expressed in the love of the one woman to whom a man gives his heart, and the love of the children that may be born to them.
I would not wait long for our wedding-day, neither, indeed, did my Nancy desire it; and so three weeks later I took her to Trevanion, where she was welcomed by my old servants, even as though she were sent direct to them from God. And in truth this was so.
Now the wedding feast at Trevanion was not of a kind that found favour in the county, for by my dear maid's wish we had none of high degree among us, save Hugh Boscawen only, who, in spite of his many duties, spent some hours with us. Indeed, he did not leave till near sundown, for, in spite of the many cares which pressed upon him, he seemed to rejoice in the thought of our love, and in the glad shouts of the youths and maidens who danced beneath the trees on the closely shorn grass.
For my own part, my heart was overfull with gladness, for never surely was the world so fair to any man as it was to me that June day. All around the birds were singing as if to give a welcome to Nancy, while everywhere the gay flowers gloried in their most beauteous colours as though they wished to commemorate our wedding-day. Away in the far distance we could hear the shout of the hay-makers, and above us the sun shone in a cloudless sky. Everything was in the open air, for although I loved the very walls of the old house, my Nancy desired that the wedding guests should be received on the grassy lawns, where all was fair and free, and where we could hear the distant murmur of the sea. And indeed it was best so. There the farmers and their wives, whose families had been tenants for many generations, conversed more freely, while the young men and their sweethearts danced more gaily.
But best of all, my Nancy rejoiced beyond measure, especially when the old servants and tenants came to her and wished her all happiness. For no one seemed to know but that she was the owner of Restormel. Neither Peter Trevisa nor his son had breathed one word concerning their secret, and Hugh Boscawen had held his peace.
When the sun was sinking behind the trees and lighting up the western sky with wondrous glory, the man to whom I owed so much took his leave.
"Trevanion, you are a happy man," he said.
I did not reply save to give a hearty laugh and to press Nancy's hand, which lay on my arm.
"I am afraid there may be dark days for England ahead, but you, Trevanion, have entered into light. Now, then, before I go let me see your tenants and servants dance again."
So I called to the old fiddlers, men who had lived in the parish all their lives, and they struck up "Sir Roger de Coverley," when old and young laughed alike.
"All seem happy save yon old blind beggar," remarked my friend; "he seems sad and hungry."
"Then he shall not be sad and hungry long," I said, noting for the first time an old man on the lawn; "stay a little longer, and you shall see that he will soon be as happy as the rest."
"No," replied Boscawen; "I give you good evening, and all joy," and therewith he went away.
"Fetch yon old man, Daniel, and give him of the best of everything," I said; "food and drink, aye, and a pipe and tobacco too. No man shall be sad and weary to-day if I can help it."
So Daniel fetched him, and all the while young and old laughed and danced for very joy, aye, white-haired tottering old men and women, as well as the little children made the place ring with their joyous shouts.
"You are happy, my love, are you not?" I said turning to the dear maid at my side.
"Yes, perfectly happy, but for one cloud in the sky."
"Nay, there must be nothing. Tell me what that one cloud is, and I will drive it away."
"I cannot help it. You give me everything, and I give you nothing. I never cared for Restormel till you told me you loved me. I do not care about it for myself now—only for you, Roger. If I could bring you something now——"
"Please sir, that old man wants to speak to you."
I turned and saw the old beggar standing by Daniel's side.
"I wish you joy on your wedding-day," he said in a thin quavering voice. He was much bent, and his eyes were nearly covered with green patches.
"Thank you, old man," I said, "let them bring you food and drink. You are weary, sit down on this chair and rest."
"I wish my lady joy, too," he said; "full joy, complete joy. That is an old man's blessing, and that is what I bring to her. May I—may I kiss my lady's hand?"
Now I was not over-pleased at this; but another glance at the poor old creature drove away all unkind thought; besides, it was my wedding-day. And so Nancy gave him her hand to kiss.
"May every cloud depart from your sky, my sweet lady," he said; "aye, and by God's blessing the last cloud shall be driven away."
At this I started, for he had been repeating our own words. I looked at him again, and my heart beat strangely.
"Let me add joy to the day, and not sorrow," he continued. "Let me bring my harp, and I will play the old Cornish melodies, and I will tell the old Cornish stories."
"But not until you have had food and rest," said my dear Nancy.
He would not wait for this, however, so the people flocked around him, and he played and sung wondrously for such an old man. After this he told the people stories which moved the wedding guests much, first to tears and then to laughter.
"You shall stay at the house to-night, old man," I said; "what is your name?"
"I have many names," he replied, "but many call me David, because I am cunning with the harp and can charm away evil spirits, even as King David of old charmed away the evil spirits from the heart of Saul. There is only one sad thought in the heart of your dear lady to-night, and that my harp shall charm away."
After the guests were all gone that night I called the old minstrel to the room where my forefathers had sat, and where my Nancy and I had come. The lights were not yet lit, for it was near midsummer, and the night shone almost like day. The windows were open too, and I cared not to shut out the sweet air of that summer evening.
He came, bearing his harp with him, and when we were alone I spoke freely.
"Uncle Anthony," I said, "take off the patches from your eyes and stand upright."
"Ah, you have penetrated my disguise?" he said.
"Even before you spoke so strangely," I replied.
"I will not take off my patches, and I must not stay at your house to-night, Roger Trevanion," he said quietly. "In an hour from now I must be on my way again."
"But why?"
"I am not yet safe. For the present I will say no more. Sometime, perchance, I may come to your house as an honoured guest."
"And you shall have a royal welcome," was my answer.
"But before I go, I would drive away the one cloud in the sky."
I did not speak, for truly I was in the dark as to his meaning.
"You, my lady Nancy," said Uncle Anthony, turning towards her, "believe that you are not mistress of Restormel. I found out old Peter Trevisa's secret, and so, although my heart was saddened at the failure of my plans, and although you, Roger Trevanion, caused their failure, I determined, after all our hopes were shattered, that I would find out the truth."
"And what have you discovered?" I asked eagerly.
"I have been to Ireland—to many places," he answered, "and now I have come to give my lady Nancy her wedding dowry. Here it is," and he placed a package in my love's hands. "There is proof," he went on, "that your father's marriage was valid, proof that none can deny, and so Restormel is rightfully yours."
At this my dear love broke down altogether, for she had never dreamed of this, but soon her tears were wiped away and her eyes shone again.
"O Roger!" she cried, "I am glad now that you thought I was poor when you married me."
Concerning the meaning of this I have asked her many times, but she will not tell me, neither can I think what it is, for I am sure she never doubted my love.
"And what hath become of the Killigrews?" I asked presently, after many things were said which I need not here write down.
"They were hunted from place to place as though they had been foxes," replied Uncle Anthony. "Old Colman hath died of disappointment; aye, more than disappointment—of a broken heart; all the rest, with the exception of Benet and Otho, have escaped to France. They will never come back to England again."
"And Benet and Otho," I asked, "where are they?"
"Otho escaped," cried the old man with a low laugh; "he is as cunning as the devil. He hath gone to Scotland, and hath joined the Highlanders."
"And Benet?"
"Benet deserved a better fate. After you and he fought that night," and again the old man laughed in his low meaning way, "and he had rejoined his companions, he complained much of the way matters had been managed, and declared that he would no more lift up his hand against the King. Whereupon many being savage with drink, and mad at the words he spoke, accused him of desiring not to kill you. This led to many unwise things being said, and presently many of them turned upon him like a troop of jackals turn upon a lion."
"But he fought them?"
"Aye, and rejoiced in it, for fighting is the breath of Benet's life. But they were too many for him,—one acted a coward's part and stabbed him in the back."
Now at this my heart was sore, for although Benet and I had scarcely ever met save to fight, and although he was a wild savage fellow, I could not help loving him.
"But he died like a man," I cried; "he showed no fear?"
"He died grandly. He had but one regret at dying, he said."
"And that?" I asked eagerly.
"I was not there, but one who was, told me. 'Aye, I am grieved,' he said, 'Trevanion promised to fight me. He was the only real man who ever faced me, and now I shall not live to prove that I was the better man of the two.'"
We kept Uncle Anthony more than an hour, but we could not prevail upon him to stay all night. It was not for him, he said, to stay at Trevanion on the night after our wedding-day, but before he went he told us many things concerning his life which I could not understand before. I need not write them down here, for he would not wish it. I will only say that the remembrance of the love he once bore for a maid made him love Nancy as a daughter, and this almost led to a breach between him and the Killigrews.
"You will come again as soon as you can?" I said to him when at length he left the house.
"Aye, as soon as I can. May God bless you, Roger Trevanion."
"He hath blessed me," I answered; "blessed me more than I believed possible."
"And God bless you, Mistress Nancy Trevanion," he said, turning to my dear wife.
"And may God bless you, Uncle Anthony."
"Yes, Uncle Anthony, that is the name I love most. May I kiss your hand again, dear lady?"
"Yes," said my Nancy.
"Not only your hand, dear lady, but your brow, if I may."
"Yes, yes," was Nancy's response.
"I loved a maid many years ago," he said; "her face was pure like yours, my child, and her eyes shone with the same light, and she—she was called Nancy."
He kissed her forehead with all the passionate fervour of a boy, and then went away without speaking another word.
Of the packet he brought my dear wife I need say little, save that when I showed it to Mr. Hendy, my lawyer, he remarked that none could doubt its value. It proved beyond all dispute the validity of Godfrey Molesworth's marriage with Nancy Killigrew, although the wedding took place in Ireland under peculiar circumstances. And then it came about that Restormel passed into our hands without question, and people who would doubtless have treated her with scorn, had the marriage been illegal, now desired to claim her friendship.
I have often wondered since that night whether the Nancy which Uncle Anthony had loved long years before was not the Nancy Killigrew who became Godfrey Molesworth's wife, and my Nancy's mother.
Hugh Boscawen rejoiced greatly over my dear wife's good fortune, and I have since been given to understand that it was through him Peter Trevisa had uttered no word concerning his secret, and that he was using all his influence with the King in order to persuade him to seek to use means whereby my Nancy might be able to rightfully claim her name and fortune. Concerning this, however, he would never speak to me, although I asked him many times.
Not long after our marriage, however, serious matters disturbed the country, and Hugh Boscawen became much perturbed. Charles the Pretender succeeded in landing in Scotland with a very few followers, and immediately he was joined by a large number of Highlanders. Concerning his fortunes there is of course no need to speak. All the country rang with the news of his victories, and finally of his defeat. Few, however, seem to realize that, had he landed in Cornwall months before, his fortunes might have been different. Some there are who say that there was never a danger of his coming to a part of the country where his chances would have been so poor, and many more say that the army of brave-hearted Cornishmen were gathered together by Boscawen without reason. But what I have set down shows that the man whom the world calls Lord Falmouth, and whom I always love to think of as Hugh Boscawen, although not a great leader of armies, was still wise in his times, and a true lover of his king and country.
Otho Killigrew became a follower of the Pretender in Scotland, and had Charles Stuart been successful in his enterprises, he would doubtless have given Otho as high a place as that which Tom Killigrew occupied at the court of Charles II., perhaps higher, for he was cunning beyond most men; but at the battle of Culloden Moor, which the Duke of Cumberland won, and when the Pretender's forces were utterly routed, Otho was killed. Thus it was that Endellion as well as Restormel came to Nancy, for none of the Killigrews who fled to France dared to come back and claim their old home. It was not of much value to us, however, for both house and lands were mortgaged for all they were worth.
I live at Trevanion still, for, although Restormel is a fine and larger house, it is not home to me, neither is it to Nancy for that matter, and we shall never think of leaving the spot endeared by long association and obtained through the favour of the King. Besides, we could not be as happy anywhere else. All the servants know us and love us, and old Daniel, although he grows weak and feeble now, thinks no one can serve us as well as he. Amelia Lanteglos, or rather Amelia Daddo, is no longer maid to Nancy, for she hath married her one-time lover, who now hath a farm on the Trevanion estate; but Jennifer Lanteglos is with us, and no more faithful servant can be found anywhere.
Our eldest son, Roger Molesworth, is true to the name he bears, for he hath inherited all his mother's beauty, and looks forward to the time when he will inherit Restormel and live on the estate; but our second son, Benet, cares for none of these things. He is big and daring and strong like the man after whom he is named, and cares for nothing so much as the wild free life of the country. I tell Nancy that he resembles Benet in many ways, and she, with the mother's love shining from her eyes, says that he possesses all Benet Killigrew's virtues but none of his vices.
I have but little to tell now, and that little shall be told quickly.
About a year after the final defeat of the Pretender, and when the country had settled down into peace, Jennifer Lanteglos came into the room where my Nancy and I sat alone together, save for the presence of Molesworth, who crowed mightily as he lay in his cradle.
"Please, sur, an old man is at the door asking if he may come in and tell tales."
"Let him come in, Jennifer," I said.
"In the kitchen, sur?"
"No, in here," for a great hope was in my heart.
A few seconds later an old man entered the room bearing a harp.
"Welcome home, Uncle Anthony," I said.
"No, not home," he said tremblingly, "but I will stay one night if you will let me."
"No, always," said my dear Nancy, "stay for the sake of my mother, the other Nancy."
He is with us still, and is much respected in our parish. No one knows the part he played in the days before Nancy became my wife, and although I believe Hugh Boscawen hath his suspicions, he says nothing.
THE END.