But what about our storm, Joan; the
storm of love that's burst in my heart for you--what follows that?"
His question frightened her. She had asked herself the same and been well
content to leave an answer to him. Here he was faced with a like problem
and now invited her to solve it.
"I dunnaw. I thot such love never comed to no end, Mister Jan. I thot
'tweer good to wear; but--but how do I knaw if you doan't?"
"You trust me, Joan?"
"Why, who should I trust, if 'tweern't you? I never knawed any person else
as set such store 'pon the truth. I doan't s'pose the cherrybims in heaven
loves it more'n what you do."
"Here's the rain on the back of the wind," he said.
A few heavy drops fell, cold as ice upon his burning face, and Joan laughed
as she held out her hand, on which a great splash as big as a shilling had
spread.
"That be wan of Tregagle's tears," she said, "an' 'tis the voice of en as
you can hear howlin' in the wind. He's allus a bawlin' an' squealin', poor
sawl, but you can awnly hear en now an' again 'fore a storm when the gale
blaws his hollerin' this way."
"Who was Tregagle?"
"He was a lawyer man wance, an' killed a many wives, an' did a many
shameful deeds 'fore he went dead. Then, to Bodmin Court, theer comes a law
case, an' they wanted Tregagle, an' a man said Tregagle was the awnly
witness, and another said he wadden. The second man up an' swore 'If
Tregagle saw it done, then I wish to God he may rise from's graave and come
this minute.
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