The concluding words only served to deepen and prolong the ingenuous blush which now dyed the face of Lucy with a rosy red.
“Well, father,” said Lucy, laughing, “I own I liked the bright open-hearted boy, who brought me flowers from his papa’s conservatory, and gave me many a ride on his long-maned pony, but I was only a little girl then”——
“And now you are a big woman, and as old as Methusaleh, you withered little witch,” said Blithe Natty, as he drew his heart’s idol to his side, and planted a kiss upon her brow. “Well, Master Philip went to college soon after you went to school, and his visits to Nestleton have been few and far between. He has grown into a fine young man now, and they tell me that he has borne off all the honours of the university. The old squire is as proud of his son as a hen with one chick, and small blame to him for that. He has just returned home for good; but,” said he, in a tone so serious as to surprise the unconscious maiden, “my little lassie must not expect any more pony rides or accept hothouse flowers from his hands again.”
“Of course not,” said my lady, arching her neck and fixing her dark eyes on her father in innocent amaze, “I don’t think Lucy Blyth is likely to forget herself or bring a cloud on ‘daddy’s’ face.”
“Neither do I, my darling,” said Nathan, as another and still another osculatory process proclaimed a perfect understanding between the doting father and his motherless girl.
Master Philip, the subject of the foregoing conversation, was the only son and heir of Ainsley Fuller, Esq., of Waverdale Park, who owned nearly all the village of Nestleton, many a farm round, and half the town of Kesterton into the bargain. The squire, as he was called, was rich in worldly wealth, but poor in human sympathies and the more enduring treasures of the heart. In early life he had essayed to run a political career; but his first constituency turned their backs upon him, and on the second he turned his back, disgusted at the pressure brought to bear upon him by a predominant radicalism. Unfortunate in his wooing, his first and only true love was taken from him by death, and a lady to whom he was subsequently betrothed was stolen from him by a successful rival on the eve of the bridal day. After living to middle age, and developing a disposition half cynical and accepting a creed half sceptical, he had suddenly and unwisely married a youthful wife, whose tastes and habits of life were altogether foreign to his own. A brief span of unhappy married life was closed by the death of that lady, leaving the new-born babe to the sole guardianship of the seemingly cold and irascible father, whose whole affection, small in store apparently, was fixed on the infant squire—the Master Philip of this story.
Those, however, who depreciated the measure of Squire Fuller’s love for his only son were much mistaken. His immobile features and piercing eyes, peering from beneath the bushy brows of silver grey, told nothing of the mighty love that lurked within. Nor did Philip himself, for a long time, at all discern, beneath his father’s cold exterior, how the old man really doted on his boy. That remained to a great extent a secret, until a strangely potent key was inserted among the hidden wards of the parental heart, and a rude wrench flung wide the flood-gates, and set free the imprisoned stream.
