"Hurrah for Trevethlan!" shouted Colan, in a conclave held at Dame Miniver's that night, "and a health to our squire and our bonny young mistress!"
Loud acclamations and deep draughts gave a welcome to the toast.
"'Tis a strange thing," said the general merchant, "that this matter should have been so long quiet. The times that I've walked by that rift in the cliff yonder, and never seen anything."
"Why?" asked the hostess; "and what would ye expect to see, neighbour Breage? Every winter as passed only packed the sand higher and higher."
"But there might have been a sign, dame, there might have been a sign."
"It shows there was no murder done, at any rate," observed another of the company.
"Still," persisted Breage, "I wonder there was no dream came to point to the place; and especially seeing how hard it has gone with the squire."
"It's like to go hard enough with this Denis or Wyley," Colan remarked. "The fire of Pendar'l was black enough against him, and this story won't tell any way for him."
"But it will for our Edward Owen," said Germoe. "It will turn to his good, and I am glad of it."
"Ay," exclaimed Dame Miniver, "and besides that, I hear talk how he fought for the lady of Pendar'l that night, and beat off some that would harm her."