Philip sat thinking for a little while, and then said, “No, I wouldn’t do that. They have already obtained a considerable sum, and many will be eager to give and to work now that the land is secured, and it would be a pity to deprive them of what will be a pleasure and delight. Besides, it will do the people good to receive their offerings, and so to let them feel that it is the outcome of their own zeal. You can give a contribution such as the case may need, and what will be much better, you can offer something handsome towards the maintenance of a third minister to reside in Nestleton, and so to secure the more effective working of this side the Kesterton Circuit.” With this advice the squire heartily coincided, and ere long the two retired to rest, the one to plan and contrive for a preacher’s house at Nestleton, the other to dream of Lucy and the morrow, which should, as he dared hope, seal her his own for ever. * * * * * Though the little sitting-room of Nathan Blyth was neither so large nor so imposing as the spacious library of Squire Fuller, the fireside was just as cosy, and the two who sat beside it were just as loving and true-hearted as the pair we have just left. Lucy was seated by her father’s side; with one hand he was stroking her dark hair, the other was cast lovingly round her waist. “Lucy, darling, can you guess who has been to see me and Adam Olliver to-night?” If Lucy had uttered the name that was uppermost in her heart, and the first on her tongue, she would undoubtedly have said “Philip,” and nothing else; for still, as when she mentioned his name as her rescuer from the unwelcome attentions of Black Morris, there was no other Philip in the world to her, but unwilling to hint at what she regarded as a forbidden and unwelcome subject, she heaved a sigh, and said,-- “I can’t tell, daddy; perhaps the squire has been about the plot of land.” “No, my dear, but you need not sigh about it; sighing doesn’t suit those sweet lips of yours. Squire Fuller it was, but he came about another ‘plot,’ by which he means to steal my daughter from her father’s heart and home.” Lucy’s fair head drooped upon his bosom, as she blushed a rosy red, and softly said,-- “Never from his heart, my father, whatever else might happen, and, without his permission, never from his home.” “Aye,” said Nathan, with a tearful smile, “but _with_ his permission, light of my life, what then?” Closely nestled the head upon the manly bosom in which the heart of as true and good a father as ever bore the name was loudly beating, and then she looked, with all her soul in her eyes, and said,-- “What is it, father? Do not try me more than I can bear.”