IN WHICH UNCLE ANTHONY PLAYS HIS HARP.
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.
End of Project Gutenberg's Mistress Nancy Molesworth, by Joseph Hocking