“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diminishing of your own inheritance, thanks to my thoughtless promise, which, on the honour of a Fuller, may never be withdrawn.”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?”