"But," said he, "our feelings must not interfere with business. This confession, verified by you, Mr. Rereworth, ought to carry us to the bottom of the matter. I wish we could get at the true circumstances of the marriage. You see the real insinuation is, that the late Mr. Trevethlan was privy to the death of Ashton, and the spiriting away of the witness. I wish, with all my heart, we could clear up the mystery." And Randolph felt that there could be no rest for him until the entire groundlessness of so dark an impeachment was made clear to all the world. CHAPTER XIII. From house to house, from street to street, The rapid rumour flies; Incredulous ears it finds, and hands Are lifted in surprise; And tongues through all the astonished town Are busier now than eyes. Southey. "So, Mistress Miniver, the old house is like to wear a new sign before many days. There'll be a change in the arms, methinks." "Not while my name's Miniver, Master Colan," answered the plump hostess of the Trevethlan Arms. "Maybe you'd not object to change that, dame," suggested the farmer. Mrs. Miniver played with a well-sized bunch of keys that hung from her girdle. "Ay, ay," said Colan-- "'The key of the locker the good-wife keeps, The good-wife's busy, the good-man sleeps.' "I fancy you sat in St. Michael's chair the day you were married, Mistress Miniver." "I'll tell you one who did, farmer," said the hostess, laughing merrily; "and that's the lady of Pendar'l. God forbid I should ever say of Trevethlan! And d'ye mind what I said, Master Colan? Didn't I foretell what would happen if ever Squire Randolph and Miss Mildred came together? And you see they're wooed and married and all." "There's not much good like to come of it for Trevethlan," observed the farmer. "They say the mother's as cold as stone." "Mayhap some folks wouldn't care if she were," said Germoe the tailor, who had come up during the last few words. "Oh, neighbours," cried the light-hearted hostess, thrusting her hands into the pockets of her white apron, "take my word, it'll all come right in the end. It's natural to fret and fume a little, but it all blows over. The squire'll bring home his bride by furry-time, I warrant." "'Twill be time he did," quoth Germoe; "for the castle's getting awful lonesome and dismal. How Mr. Griffith and his dame can bide there, is more than I can tell; and, as for old Jeffrey, he's as dumb as any of the ghosts they say walk there." "Tales to quiet babes, friend Germoe," said Mrs. Miniver. "Old Jeffrey'll run up our flag again before the oak's in leaf." "You were always so comfortable, dame," remarked Colan. "But how'll they get over the trial at Bodmin yonder? There's an uncommon mystery about that marriage, Mistress Miniver." "Tell you what, farmer," quoth the hostess more gravely, "I care a deal more for our poor folks that are in the jail at Bodmin. Do you know, they say it's a hanging matter?"