"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.