“Pardon me,” said Nathan, “I neither hope so nor think so, and have no wish--indeed I must ask you not to refer to that subject again. My daughter knows her duty as I know mine, and you need be under no apprehension that”---- “Don’t be angry, if you please,” said the squire, in a strangely humble and deprecating voice, for Nathan had spoken with some degree of spirit. “I have no such suspicion. Let me come to the point, Nathan Blyth. My only son is dangerously ill,”--here his voice faltered, and his face assumed a deathly pallor--“and I have a thousand fears for his life. He has had a malignant attack of brain fever, and though, thanks to the skill of Dr. Jephson, the fever has subsided, it has left him at the very door of death.” Again the agonising truth was too much for the speaker, and he laid his white head in his hands in silent grief. Nathan’s heart was always near his lips; with a swimming in his eyes he said with deep feeling, “From my heart, I’m sorry.” “Dr. Jephson,” said the squire, recovering his self-command, “declares that medical skill is powerless to do more for him, and he commands me to ask that your daughter, who, he says, is the most effective sick-nurse in the district, will come and help to bring him back to life.” “My daughter, Squire Fuller? You must know that that is impossible. How can she, how can he, be subjected to a test and trial like this, after all that they have done to show their filial obedience--after all that we have done to keep them apart? It cannot be. Besides, think what would be said by those who are only too ready to impute motives and suspect evil. The fair fame of my girl is dearer to me than life. Mr. Fuller, nobody esteems Master Philip more than I; nobody can pray for his recovery more earnestly than will I. But the thing you ask is quite impossible, and can’t be done.” “I know it all, Nathan Blyth. I feel the force of all that you have said. On the other hand, my boy is dying. Like a drowning man I am catching at a straw; and I beseech you, I who never asked a favour of a living man, I beseech you do not deny me my request. If you can trust your daughter, I can trust my son, and as for the gossip of little minds, that will die away as soon as it is born. Nathan Blyth, for the sake of a life more precious than my own, grant me my request.” Nathan Blyth was in a quandary, he was grievously perplexed, and could not see his way out of the difficulty. Then the thought suddenly struck him that, after all, this was a case in which Lucy herself ought to be consulted. “If you will excuse me a few moments,” said he, “I will consult my daughter.” “Let me see her, Nathan Blyth!” said the squire, eagerly, and stretching out his hands in strong entreaty.