“Lucy, dear!” said Philip, “who is this fellow?” and his attitude betokened such vengeance as his indignant soul and well-knit frame made possible. Other voices were heard and other feet approaching.
“Ho, ho, Master Fuller! ‘Philip,’ and ‘Lucy, dear!’ eh? Sits the wind in that quarter? Then look out for squalls!” said Black Morris, and so saying he sped rapidly away.
“Who’s that?” said Philip, as he walked by the side of the panting girl on the way to her father’s door.
“His name’s Morris, Black Morris,” said Lucy, “and for months past he has followed me about in spite of all that I could say, but he never behaved so rudely as he did to-night. The man terrifies me almost to death.”
Philip bade her not to fear, and expressed his intention of having an early interview with Black Morris, to put an end to his unwelcome and distasteful advances.
“There will be war,” said he, “between him and me. The bully must be taught to know his place.”
“Philip,” said Lucy, “do not quarrel with that man. I always feel when I see him as though he is doomed to bring me misery and sorrow. Don’t go near him! Promise me you won’t.”
What would he not promise her? He did his best to reassure the anxious girl, and promised her he would not seek a quarrel; “but,” said he, “you must be protected at all hazards. Lucy, give me the right to protect you! Only say that you love me, and I’ll soon make it impossible for Black Morris or anybody else to fling a shadow on your path! Lucy, can’t you see that I cannot live without your love?”
Philip’s earnest tones, instinct with a yearning that could not be mistaken, found an answering chord in Lucy’s heart; but, summoning her self-command, she replied, “No! no! no! It is you that distress me now. It cannot, cannot ever be. For your own sake as well as mine, I beseech you, say no more; such a thing would rob you of your father’s love for ever. I thank you with all my heart for coming to my help—Good-night,” and straightway opening the garden gate she swiftly ran along the path and entered the house without one backward look.
Philip’s ponderings were of a varied character as he entered the narrow lane which led to Waverdale Hall, and slowly trod the light and springy turf in silence. He felt half inclined to forgive Black Morris for unwittingly securing him the delicious interview. “She loves me,” thought he, “she loves me, I am sure; and if I can get my father’s consent, my darling Lucy will yet be mine.”