“My glorious girl,” said Natty; “it is that, at last, Philip Fuller’s welcome here on whatsoever errand he may come. I’ve had no thought, felt no emotion, entertained no wish, but for my darling’s happiness. I believe that happiness is in Philip Fuller’s keeping, and I believe with all my heart that now and ever he will loyally and lovingly fulfil the precious trust. Kiss me, sweet, and be sure that your decision will willingly be mine.” For all answer, Lucy kissed him again and again, then flung her arms around his neck and burst into tears--tears which had no sorrow in them, only a wealth of happiness and love. * * * * * Whoever overslept themselves next morning, be sure that Philip Fuller was up betimes. Old Father Time, whose fingers force the hands around the dial at such relentless speed, appeared to our eager lover to be smitten with paralysis, or to have forgotten the awful cunning of his usual despatch. But no sooner did the laggard timepiece point to a reasonable hour for paying a morning call, than Philip turned his steps toward Nestleton Forge. It was a glorious winter’s morning; the clear, bracing air was quite in harmony with Philip’s buoyant spirit, as he rapidly sped along the frost-bound road. Long before he could see the home where dwelt the “damsel sweet and fair,” whose “soft consent he meant to woo and win,” he heard the musical ring of Nathan’s anvil; but this time he did not pause even to look through the open door, much less to listen to Nathan’s song. Had he done so, however, he would have heard strains of good omen, for Blithe Natty was in good feather and chanted a hopeful strain, which might well have inspired the listener with even a more gladly expectant spirit than that which he undoubtedly possessed. Stop a moment, Master Philip, and hear the oracle:-- Came Love one day across my way, And with inviting finger, Enticing smile, and subtle wile, Said, “Follow me, nor linger. “I offer joy without alloy, A ceaseless round of pleasure-- A vision bright of sweet delight, And bliss that knows no measure. “Within my bowers the fleeting hours Are always bright and sunny; From rosy lip come thou and sip The nectar and the honey.” “O Love!” I cried, and swiftly hied To follow, as she bade me; Across my path, in sturdy wrath, Stood Duty, and he stayed me. Quoth Duty, “Stay! That’s not the way; Rash youth, beware her wooing! Her magic spell, O mark it well, May be thy soul’s undoing. “Her beauteous things have hidden stings, And though she proffers nectar, The poisoned cup will conjure up A dread, life-haunting spectre. “Whom she leads on, they find anon Her beauty swiftly dying; Like bird on wing, the gleaming thing From singing takes to flying.