Then the Reverend Augustin Ambrose married them in the church of Saint Mary's, between Christmas and New Year's Day; and the wedding-party consisted of Mrs. Ambrose and Eleanor Goddard and John Short, Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge. And again years passed by, and Nellie grew in beauty as John grew in reputation; and Nellie had both brothers and sisters, as she had longed to have, and to her, their father was as her own; so that there was much harmony and peace and goodwill towards men in Billingsfield Hall. John came often and stayed long, and was ever welcome; for though Mary Goddard's youth returned with the daffodils and the roses of the first spring after Walter's death, John's fleeting passion returned not, and perhaps its place was better taken. Year by year, as he came to refresh himself from hard work with a breath of the country air, he saw the little girl grow to the young maiden of sixteen, and he saw her beauty ripen again to the fulness of womanhood; and at last, when she was one and twenty years of age he in his turn put out his hand and asked her to take him—which she did, for better or worse, but to all appearances for better. For John Short had prospered mightily in the world, and had come to think his first great success as very small and insignificant as compared with what he had done since. But his old simplicity was in him yet, and was the cause of much of his prosperity, as it generally is when it is found together with plenty of brains. It was doubtless because he was so very simple that when he found that he loved Eleanor Goddard he did not hesitate to ask the convict's daughter to be his wife. His interview with Mr. Juxon was characteristic.
"You know what you are doing, John?" asked the squire. He always called him John, now.
"Perfectly," replied the scholar, "I am doing precisely what my betters have done before me with such admirable result."
"Betters?"
"You. You knew about it all and you married her mother. I know all about it, and I wish to marry herself."
"You know that she never heard the story?"
"Yes. She never shall."
"No, John—she never must. Well, all good go with you."
So Charles Juxon gave his consent. And Mary Juxon consented too; but for the first time in many years the tears rose again to her eyes, and she laid her hand on John's arm, as they walked together in the park.
"Oh, John," she said, "do you think it is right—for you yourself?"