“John Penelles, I am glad, very glad indeed to meet you. I suppose you know that it was I who married your daughter?”
If a fixed star had fallen at John’s feet he could not have been more amazed. His large face lightened from within, he clasped firmly the preacher’s hand, but was so slow in forcing speech from his swelling heart that the preacher continued:
“Yes, they came to me, and I remembered your 177 pretty child. I tied them true and fast, you may be sure of that, John.”
“Where, sir?”
“In Plymouth Wesleyan chapel, to be sure.”
“Thank God! Thank you too, sir! You might say so––some people here be slow to believe, sir, and it be breaking my heart, it be indeed, sir.”
There was only a nod and smile in reply, but John was extremely happy. He tried to get near to Joan and tell her; but the aisles were full and the service was beginning. John held his own service, and the singing, and the prayer, and preaching were just a joyful accompaniment to the thanksgiving in his heart. At length the service was over, and the preacher lifted a number of slips of paper and began to read aloud the announcements made on them. Missionary meetings, tea meetings for missions, a bazaar at St. Penfer for missions, a Bible meeting, a class meeting, and the service for that evening. Then, while the congregation were still expectant, he said in a clear, pleasant voice:
“I am requested also to say that on December the 17th, on Tuesday morning at nine o’clock, I united in the holy bands of marriage Denasia, the daughter of John Penelles, fisher of St. Penfer, to Roland Tresham, gentleman of that place. The ceremony was performed by me in the Wesleyan chapel at Plymouth; myself, my wife, and two daughters being witnesses to it. We will now sing the 444th hymn:
| “‘Lord over all, if Thou hast made, Hast ransomed every soul of man.’” |