“What, Master Philip, d’ye meean? What’s matter wiv ’im, Adam?” “Why, ah’s freetened ’at he’s settin’ sheep’s e’en at Lucy Blyth. Thoo knoas she’s parlous pratty. Ah’ve seen him efther ’er ’eels three or fower tahmes latly. Te-neet my lord was talkin’ tiv her doon t’ park looan, an’ as seean as sha’ saw me sha’ shot awa’ frev him like a ‘are, an’ comm wi’ ma’ all t’ way yam. He steead an’ leeak’d hard, a goodish bit dumfoonder’d, an’ then wheel’d roond an’ went tow’rd t’ park.” “Hey, but that’s a bad ’earin’, Adam,” said Judith. “Lucy Blyth’s a gell ’at would tonn ony yung fellow’s head. But ah don’t believe that she’ll do owt wrong, won’t Lucy.” “_She_ deea owt wrang? Nut she,” said Adam; “bud ah’s vastly misteea’n if _he_ weean’t; an’ ah deean’t think it’s right nut te let Nathan knoa.” “Nay, ah hoap there’s nowt in it, efther all, Adam. Lucy’s a lass ’at ’ll allus tak’ care of hersen, an’ ah’s sure t’ young squire’s as nice and fine a young fellow as you can finnd atween here an’ York.” Judy was a true woman, it will be seen, and the possible loves of two young people found a certain favour in her eyes. As for Lucy Blyth, she went home the subject of feelings very difficult to describe, and for many days the struggle between love and duty was very severe. She found herself utterly unable to “cast his image from her heart,” and, like the fair maiden described by Dryden, she might have said-- “I am not what I was; since yesterday My strength forsakes me, and my needful rest; I pine, I languish, love to be alone: Think much, speak little, and in speaking sigh. * * * * * I went to bed, and to myself I thought That I would think on Torrismond no more; Then shut my eyes, but could not shut out him.” Lucy, however, had “strength to worldly minds unknown,” and set herself to “conquer in this strife.” Matters continued thus for several days. Then Adam Olliver again chanced to meet Master Philip, who was walking along with bended head, and with his mind so pre-occupied that he did not hear the old man’s courteous salutation, “It’s a feyn neet, sur,” and passed on without response. Further on he came upon Lucy Blyth, who had just undergone an ordeal similar to the last. Maintaining her usual firmness of denial, she had sent her lover away in such evident sorrow and distress that she was indulging in a quiet little cry of sympathy. Adam surprised her with her ‘kerchief to her eyes, and waxed wroth against the rude offender who had thus distressed his favourite. “Why, Lucy, mi’ lass, what’s matter wi’ yo’? Ah can’t abide to see yo’ like that. Hez onnybody been upsettin’ yo’? ’Cause if they hev, it mun be putten a stop tae, an’ it sall, if ah hev te deea it mysen.” Poor Lucy, dreadfully afraid that Philip’s persistent wooing should be known, hastened to assure him that there was no need to trouble.