When Nathan Blyth had read the letter twice through, he bade the messenger to wait, and speedily sent the following missive in return:—
“Sir,—You cannot be more glad than I am that Master Philip has made the promise to which you refer. Nothing is more contrary to my desire than that he should ever speak to her again. And permit me respectfully to assure you that my daughter has given him no encouragement; and, without the exertion of any authority of mine, will not only not seek, but will repel any advances on his part. Both she and I are agreed that nothing could be more lamentable than to suffer any such forgetfulness of the difference between his position and ours. You may rest assured that no encouragement, but the direct opposite, will always be given to such an act of folly.
“I am, Sir, yours respectfully,
“Nathan Blyth.”
Squire Fuller could hardly believe his own eyes as he read the letter, couched in such fitting language, so eminently respectful, and especially so gratifying in its contents. He had imagined that Nathan and his daughter would have regarded Philip as a prize to be hooked, if possible, and had written his note with a view to crush out the faintest hope of success in their plot for Lucy’s aggrandisement. He felt such a sense of satisfaction and relief that he resolved to ride over to the forge and express his thanks and pleasure to the writer.
The next morning, therefore, the stately squire bestrode his favourite grey mare, and took his morning ride in the direction of Blithe Natty’s house. That cheerful knight of the hammer was busy at his post, and the ringing anvil, as usual, was accompanied by his musical and sonorous song.
Wherever my fortune may lead me,
Whate’er sort of hap it may bring,
The blessing of God will still speed me,
And this is the song I will sing—
Away with all fear and repining,