CHAPTER XXXVII.

PHILIP FULLER BOLDLY MEETS HIS FATE.

“He says he loves my daughter; I think so too; for never gazed the moon Upon the water, as he’ll stand, and read, As ’twere, my daughter’s eyes; and, to be plain, I think there is not half a kiss to choose Who loves the other best.”

_Shakespeare_.

The short winter’s day was over, and night had closed around Waverdale Hall, when Squire Fuller joined his son by the cosy fire in the library, after his affecting and successful interview with Nathan Blyth and Adam Olliver.

“Well, Master Philip,” said the squire; “what will you give me for my news to-night?”

“My best attention and my warmest thanks,” said that young gentleman, who divined that the intelligence hinted at was of a pleasant nature by reason of the glow on his father’s countenance, and the tell-tale tone in which he spoke.

“Hadn’t you better reserve your thanks until you know whether or not my information will be welcome?” said the squire, evidently enjoying the parley, and willing to prolong it.

“I’ll risk it, father mine, for from that happy face of yours I augur something pleasant, and you couldn’t, if you tried, introduce bad news by asking for a reward for bringing it.”

“Well, then,” said the squire, with mock seriousness, “prepare yourself for a dread calamity. Nathan Blyth has withdrawn his opposition, and if you can gain Lucy’s consent, you and I may obtain our heart’s desire.”

True prophet as he was, Philip was hardly prepared for news so good and so direct as this. He was touched to the quick with the way in which his father spoke of their interests in this all-engrossing subject, as being one and indivisible. His face lighted up with hope as he said,--

“Thank God for that. I’ll soon ask for her verdict. But how have you managed to overcome an opposition so determined as Nathan Blyth’s?”

“Why, to tell the truth, it is not so much my doing as it is Adam Olliver’s. That fine old Christian wields a marvellous influence both with God and man.”

The squire then told of his visit to the old hedger: how he found him and Nathan Blyth upon their knees, how he opened his heart to both of them, how Adam Olliver had said the very wisest words in the most impressive way, and finally how Nathan Blyth was unable any longer to withstand the strong appeal, and had promised not to put a straw in the way, but to leave Lucy to decide the matter for herself.

“Dear old Adam,” said Philip, earnestly, “my debt to him is such as I never can repay. Lucy’s decision I shall get to-morrow, and I will not for a moment doubt that she will be true to the pleadings of her own heart, and those, I know, are in my favour.”

“Go, my boy, and God prosper your errand, and I believe He will. And now, if you can stoop to anything more prosy and less interesting, what about this new chapel? I am inclined to build it myself, and present it to the Methodist society as a token of my admiration of their work, and a thank-offering to God. What do you think of it?”

Philip sat thinking for a little while, and then said, “No, I wouldn’t do that. They have already obtained a considerable sum, and many will be eager to give and to work now that the land is secured, and it would be a pity to deprive them of what will be a pleasure and delight. Besides, it will do the people good to receive their offerings, and so to let them feel that it is the outcome of their own zeal. You can give a contribution such as the case may need, and what will be much better, you can offer something handsome towards the maintenance of a third minister to reside in Nestleton, and so to secure the more effective working of this side the Kesterton Circuit.”

With this advice the squire heartily coincided, and ere long the two retired to rest, the one to plan and contrive for a preacher’s house at Nestleton, the other to dream of Lucy and the morrow, which should, as he dared hope, seal her his own for ever.

* * * * *

Though the little sitting-room of Nathan Blyth was neither so large nor so imposing as the spacious library of Squire Fuller, the fireside was just as cosy, and the two who sat beside it were just as loving and true-hearted as the pair we have just left. Lucy was seated by her father’s side; with one hand he was stroking her dark hair, the other was cast lovingly round her waist.

“Lucy, darling, can you guess who has been to see me and Adam Olliver to-night?”

If Lucy had uttered the name that was uppermost in her heart, and the first on her tongue, she would undoubtedly have said “Philip,” and nothing else; for still, as when she mentioned his name as her rescuer from the unwelcome attentions of Black Morris, there was no other Philip in the world to her, but unwilling to hint at what she regarded as a forbidden and unwelcome subject, she heaved a sigh, and said,--

“I can’t tell, daddy; perhaps the squire has been about the plot of land.”

“No, my dear, but you need not sigh about it; sighing doesn’t suit those sweet lips of yours. Squire Fuller it was, but he came about another ‘plot,’ by which he means to steal my daughter from her father’s heart and home.”

Lucy’s fair head drooped upon his bosom, as she blushed a rosy red, and softly said,--

“Never from his heart, my father, whatever else might happen, and, without his permission, never from his home.”

“Aye,” said Nathan, with a tearful smile, “but _with_ his permission, light of my life, what then?”

Closely nestled the head upon the manly bosom in which the heart of as true and good a father as ever bore the name was loudly beating, and then she looked, with all her soul in her eyes, and said,--

“What is it, father? Do not try me more than I can bear.”

“My glorious girl,” said Natty; “it is that, at last, Philip Fuller’s welcome here on whatsoever errand he may come. I’ve had no thought, felt no emotion, entertained no wish, but for my darling’s happiness. I believe that happiness is in Philip Fuller’s keeping, and I believe with all my heart that now and ever he will loyally and lovingly fulfil the precious trust. Kiss me, sweet, and be sure that your decision will willingly be mine.”

For all answer, Lucy kissed him again and again, then flung her arms around his neck and burst into tears--tears which had no sorrow in them, only a wealth of happiness and love.

* * * * *

Whoever overslept themselves next morning, be sure that Philip Fuller was up betimes. Old Father Time, whose fingers force the hands around the dial at such relentless speed, appeared to our eager lover to be smitten with paralysis, or to have forgotten the awful cunning of his usual despatch. But no sooner did the laggard timepiece point to a reasonable hour for paying a morning call, than Philip turned his steps toward Nestleton Forge. It was a glorious winter’s morning; the clear, bracing air was quite in harmony with Philip’s buoyant spirit, as he rapidly sped along the frost-bound road. Long before he could see the home where dwelt the “damsel sweet and fair,” whose “soft consent he meant to woo and win,” he heard the musical ring of Nathan’s anvil; but this time he did not pause even to look through the open door, much less to listen to Nathan’s song. Had he done so, however, he would have heard strains of good omen, for Blithe Natty was in good feather and chanted a hopeful strain, which might well have inspired the listener with even a more gladly expectant spirit than that which he undoubtedly possessed. Stop a moment, Master Philip, and hear the oracle:--

Came Love one day across my way, And with inviting finger, Enticing smile, and subtle wile, Said, “Follow me, nor linger.

“I offer joy without alloy, A ceaseless round of pleasure-- A vision bright of sweet delight, And bliss that knows no measure.

“Within my bowers the fleeting hours Are always bright and sunny; From rosy lip come thou and sip The nectar and the honey.”

“O Love!” I cried, and swiftly hied To follow, as she bade me; Across my path, in sturdy wrath, Stood Duty, and he stayed me.

Quoth Duty, “Stay! That’s not the way; Rash youth, beware her wooing! Her magic spell, O mark it well, May be thy soul’s undoing.

“Her beauteous things have hidden stings, And though she proffers nectar, The poisoned cup will conjure up A dread, life-haunting spectre.

“Whom she leads on, they find anon Her beauty swiftly dying; Like bird on wing, the gleaming thing From singing takes to flying.

“Turn, gentle youth, and mark this truth-- True love is linked with duty; Come then with me and thou shalt see A richer, rarer beauty.”

“Lead on,” I cried, and by the side Of Duty forth I sped me; Resolved to go, for weal or woe, Wherever Duty led me.

I followed still, for good or ill, Through thorny brake and briar; Or up the steep, or down the deep, Through water or through fire.

And now at last, the testing’s past, And Duty sits beside me; Quoth Duty, “Once, and for the nonce, Thy Love was quite denied thee.

“That tempting elf was ‘Love of Self,’ And ’neath her smile lay lurking An aspish sting--a deadly thing-- Dire, deathless evils working.

“Now Love once more stands thee before, To fill thine eyes with glamour; This gift of mine is love divine, And shall thy soul enamour.”

He waved his wand, gave his command,-- “True Love, come forth,” said Duty; Before my eyes she did arise, _My_ love, of rarest beauty.

My youth’s ideal! Now mine and real; O Love, how long I sought thee! Cries Love, “I come; Thy heart’s my home! ’Twas Duty, love, that brought me.”

Thrice happy I to testify Whate’er the wind and weather, ’Tis mine to prove that truest Love And Duty dwell together.

No more I roam, for here at home, My love and I, united, Blessing and blest, know perfect rest, And Duty is delighted.

And when at last our lives are past, And we become immortals; Through heaven’s door we two shall soar When Duty opes the portals.

Had Natty Blyth known of Philip’s morning call, he could not have been more wise in his choice of a song, and I have every reason to believe that Lucy had heard the rehearsal, for Nathan Blyth knew how to make his muse the channel alike of counsel and of cheer. Philip Fuller, however, as I have said, had no time or will this morning to listen to Blithe Natty’s song. Love is royal, and the king’s business requireth haste. Now I might stay to descant on the music of Philip’s “tap, tap, tapping at the” blacksmith’s door, for, depend upon it, there was a tremor of excitement in the hand that did it, and another tremor of excitement in the ear that heard it, that put it altogether beyond comparison with ordinary tappings, even the postman’s knock, though probably the mystic tappings of a table-haunting spirit may have something of the same expectancy in it, but certainly not the same delight. Lucy Blyth was never above opening the door herself, either to visitor or shop-boy, but on this occasion she sent her little serving-maid to the door, as the damsel Rhoda was sent to answer Peter’s knock; and so it came to pass that Philip was ushered into the little sitting-room to wait, and perhaps to whistle to keep his courage up, while our little bird flew upstairs to preen her feathers for a minute or two, and hush down the flutterings of her heart. By-and-bye comes in Miss Lucy, and sure I am no fairer vision ever fell on mortal sight. The tell-tale blush that mantled on her cheek, did only lend a new and witching grace, and as Byron has it,--

“To his eye There was but one beloved face on earth And that was shining on him,”

and Byron is, of course, the apostle of love, though Moore perhaps successfully disputes his primacy. The Irish bard, with true Hibernian fire, sings,--

“Oh, there are looks and tones that dart An instant sunshine through the heart; As if the soul that minute caught Some treasure it through life had sought.

As if the very lips and eyes, Predestined to have all our sighs, And never be forgot again, Sparkled and spoke before us then!”

So Philip’s eyes “sparkled and spoke” as he advanced to meet the idol of his heart, and as for Lucy, why, as dear old Dan Chaucer puts it,--

“No lesse was she in secret heart affected, But that she maskèd it in modestie.”

“Lucy!”

“Philip!”

His arms were open, her blushing face was buried on his shoulder, and at last, long last, the two loving hearts were one. I am very sorry that I am not able to enlarge upon this tender scene. The two words of conversation which I have here recorded, contain really the core and marrow of the whole interview. Doubtless, many of my readers understand it thoroughly, and the rest of them will do so, if they be good and patient. _Multum in parvo_ is very true in declarations of mutual love, and as I am in a quoting vein, I’ll e’en quote from Tupper, so oft the butt of “witlings with a maggot in their brain;” his writings will at any rate bear favourable comparison with those of the sibilant geese who hiss at him. Quoth he,--

“Love! What a volume in a word! An ocean in a tear! A seventh heaven in a glance! A whirlwind in a sigh! The lightning in a touch!--A millenium in a moment!”

Well, the “millenium” had dawned on Philip and Lucy; they remained long in close and peculiarly interesting conversation, but the door was shut, and all I know about it is, that Nathan Blyth thought Lucy unconscionably late with dinner. All things, however, have an end, and at length Master Philip was ruthlessly expelled from Paradise, and betook himself to the blacksmith’s shop. The gallant and noble knight of the anvil laid down his hammer to greet his visitor, but Philip was beforehand with him,--

“Nathan Blyth! Lucy has consented to be my wife.”

“Philip Fuller, you’ve loved her long, you’ve wooed her honourably, you’ve won her heart, and in my soul, I believe you deserve her, and that’s more than I could say of any other man on earth.”

A warm and hearty hand-grasp sealed the covenant. Philip Fuller hasted to his ancestral Hall to gladden the heart of his father with the welcome news that Lucy Blyth was his affianced wife. So Lucy Blyth’s filial love and duty were at length rewarded, and Philip Fuller’s loyalty to God, his father, and his love, obtained their well-won prize.