“Yes, I think it would be a great deal better,” said Trelyon coldly.  “And perhaps you would kindly put your resolve into writing.  I shall take it back to Miss Rosewarne.  Will you kindly do so now?”

“Why,” said Roscorla rather sharply, “you don’t take my proposal in a very friendly way.  I imagine I am doing you a good turn too.  It is not every man would do so in my position; for, after all, she treated me very badly.  However, we needn’t go into that.  I will write her a letter, if you like—­now, indeed, if you like; and won’t you stop a day or two here before going back to Kingston?”

Mr. Trelyon intimated that he would like to have the letter at once, and that he would consider the invitation afterward.  Roscorla, with a good-humored shrug, sat down and wrote it, and then handed it to Trelyon, open.  As he did so he noticed that the young man was coolly abstracting the cartridge from a small breech-loading pistol he held in his hand.  He put the cartridge in his waistcoat pocket and the pistol in his coat pocket.

“Did you think we were savages out here, that you came armed?” said Roscorla, rather pale, but smiling.

“I didn’t know,” said Trelyon.

* * * * *

One morning there was a marriage in Eglosilyan, up there at the small church on the bleak downs overlooking the wide sea.  The spring-time had come round again; there was a May-like mildness in the air; the skies overhead were as blue as the great plain of the sea; and all the beautiful green world was throbbing with the upspringing life of the flowers.  It was just like any other wedding, but for one little incident.  When the bride came out into the bewildering glare of the sun, she vaguely knew that the path through the churchyard was lined on both sides with children.  Now, she was rather well known to the children about, and they had come in a great number; and when she passed down between them it appeared that the little folks had brought vast heaps of primroses and violets in their aprons and in tiny baskets, and they strewed her path with these flowers of the new spring.  Well, she burst into tears at this, and hastily leaving her husband’s arm for a moment, she caught up one of the least of the children—­a small, golden-haired girl of four—­and kissed her.  Then she turned to her husband again, and was glad that he led her down to the gale, for her eyes were so blinded with tears that she could not see her way.

Nor did anything very remarkable occur at the wedding-breakfast.  But there was a garrulous old lady there with bright pink cheeks and silvery hair; and she did not cease to prattle to the clergyman who had officiated in the church, and who was seated next her.  “Indeed, Mr. Trewhella,” she said confidentially, “I always said this is what would come of it.  Never any one of those Trelyons set his heart on a girl but he got her; and what was the use of friends or relatives fighting against it?  Nay, I don’t