I live at Trevanion still, for, although Restormel is a fine and larger house, it is not home to me, neither is it to Nancy for that matter, and we shall never think of leaving the spot endeared by long association and obtained through the favour of the King. Besides, we could not be as happy anywhere else. All the servants know us and love us, and old Daniel, although he grows weak and feeble now, thinks no one can serve us as well as he. Amelia Lanteglos, or rather Amelia Daddo, is no longer maid to Nancy, for she hath married her one-time lover, who now hath a farm on the Trevanion estate; but Jennifer Lanteglos is with us, and no more faithful servant can be found anywhere. Our eldest son, Roger Molesworth, is true to the name he bears, for he hath inherited all his mother's beauty, and looks forward to the time when he will inherit Restormel and live on the estate; but our second son, Benet, cares for none of these things. He is big and daring and strong like the man after whom he is named, and cares for nothing so much as the wild free life of the country. I tell Nancy that he resembles Benet in many ways, and she, with the mother's love shining from her eyes, says that he possesses all Benet Killigrew's virtues but none of his vices. I have but little to tell now, and that little shall be told quickly. About a year after the final defeat of the Pretender, and when the country had settled down into peace, Jennifer Lanteglos came into the room where my Nancy and I sat alone together, save for the presence of Molesworth, who crowed mightily as he lay in his cradle. "Please, sur, an old man is at the door asking if he may come in and tell tales." "Let him come in, Jennifer," I said. "In the kitchen, sur?" "No, in here," for a great hope was in my heart. A few seconds later an old man entered the room bearing a harp. "Welcome home, Uncle Anthony," I said. "No, not home," he said tremblingly, "but I will stay one night if you will let me." "No, always," said my dear Nancy, "stay for the sake of my mother, the other Nancy." He is with us still, and is much respected in our parish. No one knows the part he played in the days before Nancy became my wife, and although I believe Hugh Boscawen hath his suspicions, he says nothing. THE END. End of Project Gutenberg's Mistress Nancy Molesworth, by Joseph Hocking