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Updated: May 1, 2025
Trevennack drew a long breath. Then she spoke earnestly once more. "Dear heart," she said, looking deep into his clear brown eyes, "now remember, more than ever, Cleer's future is at stake. For Cleer's sake, more than ever, keep a guard on yourself, Michael; watch word and deed, do nothing foolish." "You can trust me!"
During the next week or so, as chance would have it, Cleer Trevennack fell in more than once on her walks with Eustace Le Neve and Walter Tyrrel.
But had it been other wise, he couldn't help feeling that the master of Penmorgan would have been a formidable rival for a penniless engineer just home from South America. For already Eustace Le Neve was dimly aware, in his own sanguine mind, that he meant to woo and win that beautiful Cleer Trevennack. Trevennack and his wife sat alone that night in their bare rooms at Gunwalloe.
As soon as they were alone Cleer put safely to bed Trevennack looked at his wife. "Lucy," he said, slowly, in a disappointed tone, "after this, of course, come what may, they must marry." "They must," his wife answered. "There's no other way left. And fortunately, dear, I could see from the very first, Cleer likes him, and he likes her." The father paused a moment.
Trevennack stooped down and kissed her forehead tenderly. He had always been a good husband, and he loved her with all his heart. "That's well, Lucy," he answered. "Thank God, it's all over. For I can't hold out much longer. The strain's too much for me." He paused a moment, and looked at her. "Lucy," he said, once more, clasping his forehead with one hand, "I've fought against it hard.
Trevennack himself called round here yesterday, in the afternoon, and stated the whole case to me from his own point of view, giving his name in full as a man would naturally do but never describing to me the nature of his delusion.
Every now and again, through that livelong night, Trevennack whispered in his wife's ear, "If only I chose to spread my wings, and launch myself, I could fly across and carry her." And each time that brave woman, holding his hand in her own and smoothing it gently, answered in her soft voice, "But then the secret would be out, and Cleer's life would be spoiled, and they'd call you a madman.
Trevennack, flying full in the face of all matronly respect for foresight in young people, urged him constantly to marry, money or no money, and never mind about a honeymoon, Eustace stuck to his point and determined to take no decisive step till he saw how the work was turning out in Wharfedale.
I'm fighting against it still. But at times it almost gets the better of me. Do you know who I saw in the church this morning, skulking behind a pillar? that man Walter Tyrrel." Mrs. Trevennack gazed at him all aghast. This was surely a delusion, a fixed idea, an insane hallucination. "Oh, no, dear," she cried, prying deep into his eyes. "It couldn't be he, it couldn't.
He's my kindest of friends; and he'd cut off his hand to serve me." One word of sympathy brought tears into Mrs. Trevennack's eyes. She looked up through them, and took the young man's hand in hers. "It was HE who spoke to Erasmus Walker, I suppose," she murmured, slowly. And Eustace, nodding assent, answered in a low voice, "It was he, Mrs. Trevennack. He's a dear good fellow."
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