Hearts may be heavy and hope may be low, Pluck up your spirits and sing as you go. Hope now, hope ever, though dark be the sky, Night brings the stars out to glitter on high. Cheerily, merrily, sing the refrain, Setting suns ever are rising again. Larks fold their wings when daylight is done, Spread them to-morrow again to the sun. Gloomiest shadows shall lift by-and-bye, Smiles of contentment shall follow the sigh. Cheerily, merrily, sing the refrain, Setting suns ever are rising again. “Good morning, Mr. Blyth,” said Philip; “I’m glad to have the chance of hearing your merry voice again. I’ve been intending to ride round ever since my return from college, but my father has managed to keep me pretty much by his side.” “I’m heartily glad to see you, sir,” said Nathan, “and mighty pleased to see that college honours and gay company have not led you to forget your poorer neighbours. You know the old proverb, ‘When the sun’s in the eyes people don’t see midges.’” “Why, as for that,” said Philip, with a laugh, “I am not aware that the sun _is_ in my eyes. At any rate I can see you, and you are no midge by any means. ‘Should auld acquaintance be forgot?’ As for gay company, that is not at all in my line. By-the-bye, what’s become of your little daughter? I hope I may have the pleasure of seeing her, too. I suppose she has grown altogether too womanly to accept a ride on Harlequin, the pony, even if I brought him. Is she at home?” Now, I am quite sure that Nathan Blyth would much rather have preferred that Master Philip should not resume his acquaintance with Lucy. On the other hand, he had the most unbounded confidence in her, while he had no shadow of reason for suspecting Philip of any ulterior motive; hence he could scarcely avoid calling his daughter to speak with the young squire. That young lady soon appeared in graceful morning garb, and the impressible heart of the youthful lover was bound in chains for evermore. There was neither guile nor reserve in his greeting. The light that beamed in his eye and the tone that rung in his voice, could scarcely fail to betray to far less observant eyes and ears the unmeasured satisfaction with which he renewed his acquaintance with the charming girl. Lucy, however, seemed to have retired into herself; her words were few, constrained, and inconsequent, but the tell-tale blush was on her cheek, and there was a singular flutter at her heart, as she saw the ardent admiration which shone in the eyes of her quondam friend. It was with a profound sense of relief that she was able to plead the pressure of domestic duties as a reason for shortening the interview and retiring from the scene. After a brief conversation with Nathan on trivial matters, Philip mounted his horse and rode homewards, in that frame of mind so admirably depicted by Otway:--