"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.