Had Natty Blyth known of Philip’s morning call, he could not have been more wise in his choice of a song, and I have every reason to believe that Lucy had heard the rehearsal, for Nathan Blyth knew how to make his muse the channel alike of counsel and of cheer. Philip Fuller, however, as I have said, had no time or will this morning to listen to Blithe Natty’s song. Love is royal, and the king’s business requireth haste. Now I might stay to descant on the music of Philip’s “tap, tap, tapping at the” blacksmith’s door, for, depend upon it, there was a tremor of excitement in the hand that did it, and another tremor of excitement in the ear that heard it, that put it altogether beyond comparison with ordinary tappings, even the postman’s knock, though probably the mystic tappings of a table-haunting spirit may have something of the same expectancy in it, but certainly not the same delight. Lucy Blyth was never above opening the door herself, either to visitor or shop-boy, but on this occasion she sent her little serving-maid to the door, as the damsel Rhoda was sent to answer Peter’s knock; and so it came to pass that Philip was ushered into the little sitting-room to wait, and perhaps to whistle to keep his courage up, while our little bird flew upstairs to preen her feathers for a minute or two, and hush down the flutterings of her heart. By-and-bye comes in Miss Lucy, and sure I am no fairer vision ever fell on mortal sight. The tell-tale blush that mantled on her cheek, did only lend a new and witching grace, and as Byron has it,-- “To his eye There was but one beloved face on earth And that was shining on him,” and Byron is, of course, the apostle of love, though Moore perhaps successfully disputes his primacy. The Irish bard, with true Hibernian fire, sings,-- “Oh, there are looks and tones that dart An instant sunshine through the heart; As if the soul that minute caught Some treasure it through life had sought. As if the very lips and eyes, Predestined to have all our sighs, And never be forgot again, Sparkled and spoke before us then!” So Philip’s eyes “sparkled and spoke” as he advanced to meet the idol of his heart, and as for Lucy, why, as dear old Dan Chaucer puts it,-- [Illustration: NATHAN AT DINNER.--_Page 265._] “No lesse was she in secret heart affected, But that she maskèd it in modestie.” “Lucy!” “Philip!”