“But it is too bad about my poor Bess, who is such a good and patient girl, and waits upon me day and night. He’ll be a lucky man who wins her for a wife!”
“I’m sure he will,” said Geoffrey.
“Then they say such cruel things about Prawle, and call him wrecker and smuggler.”
“Well,” said Geoffrey, laughing, “I wouldn’t swear he has never helped the landing of any thing in the cove.”
“Don’t ask me, please sir,” said the old woman, looking terribly troubled; “but he is the best and truest of men, and, though he’s very rough, never a hard word has he said all these weary years that I have been nothing but a burthen and a care.”
“Oh, come, come!” said Geoffrey, taking her hand, as he saw the tears trickling down her furrowed face, “don’t talk like that; there’s always a pleasure in doing things for those we love. Hallo! who’s this?” he cried, starting up as the doorway was shadowed, “Miss Penwynn!”
“Mr Trethick!” cried Rhoda, flushing slightly, “you here?”
“Yes,” he said, laughing frankly, as he shook hands, “I’ve come to buy some sweets. Mrs Prawle’s an old friend of mine. Let me recommend the transparent red fellows, with acid in them,” he continued, merrily. “Miss Bessie, here’s a fresh customer.”
Rhoda laughed and looked pleased at the way in which he kept up the pleasant fiction, as he immediately resigned his seat in her favour, and after a few cheery words about the weather and the like, he bade the invalid good-by, asked after. Mr Penwynn, and left the cottage.
“He’s a brave, good young man, my dear,” said Mrs Prawle, wiping her eyes, “and he often comes over and spends a sixpence here.”