LUCY BLYTH HAS AN EYE ON “LANDED PROPERTY.”
“Avaunt all specious pliancy of mind
In men of low degree, all smooth pretence!
I better like a blunt indifference
And self-respecting slowness, disinclined
To win me at first sight:--and be there joined
Patience and temperance with this high reserve,--
Honour that knows the path and will not swerve;
Affections which if put to the proof are kind;
And piety towards God.”
_Wordsworth._
It will be necessary to retrace our steps a little, and turn our
attention to Lucy Blyth and the heir of the House of Waverdale. Lucy’s
hasty and unexpected departure from Waverdale Hall and Squire Fuller’s
compulsory absence on county business, had prevented that grateful
recipient of her services and hearty admirer of her character from
rendering her at once the thanks to which she was entitled, and from
bestowing on her such reward as was in any sense commensurate with the
exceeding value of the good work she had wrought. Eventually he wrote
her a letter full of unstinted gratitude, and stated therein that he
should count it an honour and a privilege to oblige her in any way
that was in his power. He avowed that she had saved his son’s life
from the fever, and his own from the burglar; that she had been the
means of bringing to him thoughts and feelings concerning religion to
which he had long been a stranger; and that, though he felt such
services were priceless and beyond compensation, he entreated her to
test his sincerity and regard in any way she chose. The answer he
received was couched as follows:--
“DEAR SIR,--God has enabled me to do my duty under very trying
circumstances. That duty would have been more willingly
performed for the poorest family in Nestleton. Your thanks, and
the sense of having done what was right, fully repay me. I am
thankful to God that Master Philip is spared to you, and if my
short stay at Waverdale Hall has enabled me in any way to alter
your views and feelings about religion, I am thankful all the
more. As you so earnestly press me to receive some
acknowledgment at your hands, I will not refuse so generous an
offer. If you will give a plot of ground on which to build a
Methodist chapel so that the Methodists of Nestleton may be able
to worship God in comfort under their own vine and fig-tree, you
will not only confer the greatest favour upon me, but will win
the lasting gratitude of a poor and worthy people, who will
richly repay you in their prayers for your happiness and
prosperity.
“I remain,
“Yours most respectfully,
“LUCY BLYTH.”
This missive was placed by the butler in the hands of the squire as he
sat in his customary chair by the library fire; his son and heir, now
quite recovered from the trying ordeal through which he had passed,
though still somewhat pale of countenance, sitting opposite. Mr.
Fuller could not help smiling with satisfaction at Lucy’s unselfish
response to his letter of inquiry, and at the admirable persistency
with which she pleaded the cause of her people.
“Your correspondence amuses you, father,” said Philip, as he noted the
smile on the old man’s face.
“Amuses me, you think, do you?” said the squire, assuming a serious
air. “I wonder whether it will amuse you. Here’s a pretty effusion
from your model young lady!”
“What, Lucy?” said Philip, with an honest blush and such a manifest
interest, that it was not hard to see that our youthful lover was
quite as much enchained to that young lady’s chariot wheels as ever;
“May I ask what it is?”
“Why, I wrote to convey to her our hearty thanks for the
unquestionably important services she has rendered, and I foolishly
promised to account myself her debtor for any reward she might name,
and this is the advantage she takes of my unguarded offer!”
“No unfair advantage, I’ll be bound,” quoth Philip, stoutly; “she is
altogether too good for that.”
“Oh, you think so? Well, then, let me tell you; the covetous little
minx has had the audacity to ask for a portion of my estate.”
“Estate!” said Philip, in blank amaze. “I’ll never believe it. Never;
no, not if I saw it in her own handwriting.”
“Well,” said the squire, inwardly amused and strongly impressed with
his son’s unswerving loyalty to the village maiden, but looking at the
same time sufficiently serious, “Then it’s no use showing you the
letter; but I tell you, here it is, in black and white, and signed
with her own name.” The squire here placed the precious little
signature beneath his eyes. “Won’t you believe it now?”
“No,” said Philip, stoutly; “nothing in the world will make me believe
anything other than that Lucy Blyth is as free from self-seeking and
greed as the sunlight that flows out of heaven; and, what is more, I
believe my father is of the same opinion.”
“Well, then, take and read it for yourself, you sceptic, and you will
see that the charge I bring against her is absolutely true; so you
may prepare your mind for a definite diminishing of your own
inheritance, thanks to my thoughtless promise, which, on the honour of
a Fuller, may never be withdrawn.”
Philip read the letter, and lifting a bright and hopeful glance at his
father, said,--
“And you will grant this request?”
“Certainly, Master Philip; when did your father ever break his promise
or shirk his word?”
Quick to perceive the underlying willingness of his father’s somewhat
ostentatious reverence for a promise, Philip rose from his seat,
exclaiming, “Father, you are doing this for Lucy’s sake!”
“Master Philip, don’t under-estimate my fidelity to a pledge,” said
the father, with a happy smile; “and now that you are fairly given
back to me, I feel bound to offer you the same privilege. ‘What is thy
request, and I will give it to thee, even to the half of my kingdom?’”
“Give me Lucy,” said Philip, with his heart upon his lips.
“That’s beyond my power, and rests with the excellent blacksmith and
his glorious girl. But I’ll give you permission to make the
application, and from my heart, my boy, I hope your request will not
be made in vain.”
Overpowered with love, gratitude, and joy, Philip stood silent, with
his heart too full for speech; but nothing could be more eloquent than
the look which sent an exquisite thrill of gladness through his
father’s heart.
“Philip, my son,” said the squire, “My eyes are open at last, thank
God! God’s dealings with us have been wonderful, and I am bound to say
that His providential guidance has all the while been answering Adam
Olliver’s prayers. Your own and Lucy’s conduct, under circumstances of
the most trying kind, had furnished proof which there is no
gainsaying, of the great and holy power of real religion. The
beautiful loyalty to duty, the ungrudging self-sacrifice, the
elevated motives which actuate Lucy Blyth, led me to study
Christianity from a new stand-point; and your own clear, triumphant
testimony of the saving grace of God, compared so grandly with the
cold and heartless scepticism I had largely imbibed, that my
prejudices were compelled to give way, and at length beneath the
shadow of the Cross I found ‘rest to my soul.’ As for Lucy Blyth, good
and pure and beautiful in every relation of life, I will not, do not
wish, to place a straw in the way of her becoming your wife, and I
believe her to be singularly fitted for the high station she will be
called upon to fill. Strange to say, I have now doubts which tend to
sadden me, that she will not be induced to accept the alliance which
once I opposed with all the bitterness of prejudice and pride. This
one thing I know, that if you can but win her consent, I will welcome
her to my house and heart, as a daughter, with as warm a love as I
give my son.”
We draw the curtain on the scene, and leave the two, now one in a
higher, holier, happier sense than they had ever been before.
* * * * *
As may be imagined, Philip did not permit the grass to grow under his
feet, but speedily made his way to the village Forge.
Nathan Blyth had regained his old cheerfulness. The light of his
hearth had been re-lit by Lucy’s return, and so, as of old, he was
singing the songs of Zion, as his hammer rang on the anvil, making
merry music because his heart was glad. The red forge fire sent its
inviting glow in long ribbons of rosy light athwart the December
gloom, crimsoning the light snow-flakes which besprinkled the frosty
ground, tinging the hedgerow and the tall poplar boles with its
radiant hue, and gilding the implements of husbandry which were
gathered for repairs outside the door. When Philip approached the
smithy door, Blithe Natty’s voice was heard above the ringing anvil,
and this was the harmonious blacksmith’s song,--
THE RIVER OF THE WATER OF LIFE.
_Ezekiel_ xlvii, 9.
O glad proclamation!
The stream of salvation
Is flowing from Calvary’s Cross-crownèd hill;
Is flowing for ever,
And faltereth never,
And every sinner may drink to his fill.
From Satan’s enslaving,
These waters are saving--
From sin and corruption it washeth us free;
Peace, pardon, and blessing,
And joys without ceasing,
It bears on its bosom for thee and for me.
Temptations which harass,
And doubts which embarrass,
The soul as it travels this region below;
These waters shall banish;
All sorrow shall vanish--
Borne away on its bosom, as onward they flow.
All sorrow it chaseth,
All pain it eraseth,
The soul of the drinker it filleth with good;
For trouble and sadness
It bringeth us gladness,
And comfort and soothing roll in like a flood.
When the body is dying,
When the spirit is flying,
And the night cometh in at the close of the day;
Then on Jesus believing--
These waters receiving--
The soul of the Christian passeth away.
This river so precious,
So healing and gracious,
Is flowing for ever, unbounded and free;
Then come and possess it,
And drink it and bless it,
For none are more needy, more welcome than we.
O earth’s sons and daughters!
Come, drink of the waters--
With healing and blessing and joy they are rife;
Then come to the river,
And, thanking the Giver,
Drink! Drink, weary sinner, the Water of Life!
“Good morning, Mr. Blyth,” said Philip. “I am glad to hear you sing so
merrily. It promises well for the errand on which I come.”
“Good morning, Master Philip. I’m heartily glad to see you strong and
well again. That would be quite enough to set me singing. There’s many
a heart in Nestleton that thanks God for that.”
“I’m very much obliged to them,” said Philip heartily. “There are few
things in the world better worth winning and holding than the
affection and esteem of honest neighbours. This morning, however, I
own that there is something nearer my heart than that; and as nobody
can help me in it as well as you can, I say again, I am glad you are
in so pleasant a mood. Will you help me?”
“Anything in the world that I can do for you, Master Philip, I shall
be glad to do--at least anything but one,” and this with a meaning
look that his hearer clearly understood.
“And that one, Mr. Blyth?”
“Nay, I need say no more, sir. ‘That one’ is an impossibility, and
need not be mentioned.”
Philip stepped forward, and, taking Nathan by the hand, said,
seriously enough,--
“And why impossible? My dear friend--for friend you have always
been--that _is_ the errand on which I come.”
Nathan lifted an astonished eye to the eager and anxious youth, who at
that moment, at any rate, wore his heart upon his sleeve.
“Because my word is given to your father, and because that promise
coincides fully with my own judgment. I will never encourage any
special attention of yours to Lucy, nor favour any such tendency in
Lucy herself.”
“But, Nathan Blyth,” said Philip, “my father’s views are changed, as,
thank God, he himself is changed, and it is with his permission and by
his wish that I am here this morning, and that I ask you, beseech you,
to give me Lucy for my wife.”
It is not too much to say that Nathan Blyth was surprised almost out
of his senses. He had never in any remote degree expected this. His
own manly sense and sturdy independence were fully opposed to the idea
of such a thing. Lucy’s confession of her love for Philip was an
unmixed source of sorrow to him, and all his wise and gentle policy
had been directed towards weaning his darling from a love so hopeless
and unwise. Her brief stay at the Hall had been a trouble of no
ordinary kind. But when Lucy returned promptly and at her own request,
and had shown in unmeasured terms her joy at being once more under her
father’s roof; when he heard her merry voice singing by his hearth
stone, as though she had left no hopeless love behind, he had gladly
argued that the spell was broken, and that Lucy, heart-whole and
happy, had cast aside the dangerous dream for ever. Though he was
wrong in thinking that Lucy’s love for Philip was any the less, he was
also wrong in thinking that union with him had ever been any dream of
her’s. With Lucy duty was paramount, and the grace of God was
omnipotent, and so she had been able to accept the inevitable, and not
to pine or sigh for what was as utterly unreachable, to her thinking,
as the moon. Nathan saw in Squire Fuller’s consent the result of a
grateful impulse, or an unwilling consent for his son’s sake, certain
to be followed by an ultimate though distant repentance. The idea of
such an event ever dawning to distress his darling, stirred his soul
to the depths.
“No, Mr. Philip; it cannot be. My mind was one with your father’s on
this point, and though his may change, mine has not changed, and I
say, now and ever, Keep away from Lucy. Your path and her’s lie wide
apart.”
Thrusting a bar of iron into the smithy fire, Blithe Natty laid hold
of the bellows-handle, and worked it as one who has uttered a fiat
against which there is no appeal. In vain did Philip urge his suit; in
vain he sought permission to come again.
“Mr. Philip, I love and esteem you as much as any living man,” said he
at last, “and I cannot bear your entreaties. I know I’m right, and I
shall stand to it. Yes; though your father himself should come, my
answer will still be ‘No,’ and if nothing else will do, I’ll sell my
business, and go away with my girl to some distant place.”
Philip was roused and somewhat angry. “Nathan Blyth,” said he, “I’ll
follow her to the world’s end,” and like a man at his wits’ end, he
turned round and left the Forge.