THE KING'S GRATITUDE.
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.