Mr. Archer turned abruptly and resumed his former walk; only that he was now more steady, kept better alongside his young conductor, and had fallen into a silence broken by sighs. Nance waxed very pitiful over his fate, contrasting an imaginary past of courts and great society, and perhaps the King himself, with the tumbledown ruin in a wood to which she was now conducting him. ‘You must try, sir, to keep your spirits up,’ said she. ‘To be sure this is a great change for one like you; but who knows the future?’ Mr. Archer turned towards her in the darkness, and she could clearly perceive that he smiled upon her very kindly. ‘There spoke a sweet nature,’ said he, ‘and I must thank you for these words. But I would not have you fancy that I regret the past for any happiness found in it, or that I fear the simplicity and hardship of the country. I am a man that has been much tossed about in life; now up, now down; and do you think that I shall not be able to support what you support—you who are kind, and therefore know how to feel pain; who are beautiful, and therefore hope; who are young, and therefore (or am I the more mistaken?) discontented?’ ‘Nay, sir, not that, at least,’ said Nance; ‘not discontented. If I were to be discontented, how should I look those that have real sorrows in the face? I have faults enough, but not that fault; and I have my merits too, for I have a good opinion of myself. But for beauty, I am not so simple but that I can tell a banter from a compliment.’ ‘Nay, nay,’ said Mr. Archer, ‘I had half forgotten; grief is selfish, and I was thinking of myself and not of you, or I had never blurted out so bold a piece of praise. ’Tis the best proof of my sincerity. But come, now, I would lay a wager you are no coward?’ ‘Indeed, sir, I am not more afraid than another,’ said Nance. ‘None of my blood are given to fear.’ ‘And you are honest?’ he returned. ‘I will answer for that,’ said she. ‘Well, then, to be brave, to be honest, to be kind, and to be contented, since you say you are so—is not that to fill up a great part of virtue?’ ‘I fear you are but a flatterer,’ said Nance, but she did not say it clearly, for what with bewilderment and satisfaction, her heart was quite oppressed. There could be no harm, certainly, in these grave compliments; but yet they charmed and frightened her, and to find favour, for reasons however obscure, in the eyes of this elegant, serious, and most unfortunate young gentleman, was a giddy elevation, was almost an apotheosis, for a country maid.