Philip Fuller listened in amaze. A bright ingenuous blush tinged his cheek at the mention of Lucy’s name, and as the old man proceeded, in rude, homely eloquence, to plead, as he thought, the cause of injured innocence, the colour deepened until it might easily have been misread as an evidence of conscious guilt. Not the slightest shadow of anger, however, rested on his features, as he looked into the gleaming eyes of the “old man eloquent.” On the contrary, his clear perception showed him in Old Adam the true and knightly sympathiser with innocence and beauty; the chivalrous knight in corderoy and hodden grey, who, if needs be, would peril life and limb to champion his darling against all comers suspected of unrighteous intent. “Deean’t be vexed, Maister Philip,” he proceeded. “Ah meean neea harm, you knoa ah deean’t, but ah can’t abide te see lahtle Lucy pinin’ away i’ sorro’, an’ ’er fayther gannin’ aboot like a man iv a dreeam. She’s nut the lass for you, yo’ knoa. A lennet an’ a eeagle’s ill matched, an’ ah want yo’ te promise mah ’at yo’ll let her alooan, weean’t yo’?” “Vexed! No,” said Philip; “on the contrary, I esteem you for your love to Lucy, and I respect you for your candour; but you are under a great mistake. God is my witness, Adam Olliver; I mean no harm to Lucy Blyth, and would rather suffer the loss of my right arm than bring a tear to her eye, or sorrow to her father’s hearth.” “God i’ heaven bless yo’ for that wod,” said Adam, with deep feeling; “you lahtle knoa hoo it releeaves mi’ mind, an’ ah’s sorry ’at ah’ve judg’d yo’ hardly, but ah’ve seen yo’ mair than yance or twice, when ah thowt ’at there was room te fear.” “Well, well,” said Philip, with a smile, “you need be under no concern of that kind, for, on the honour of a gentleman, and the faith of a Christian, I mean all that I have said.” “Prayse the Lord!” said Adam. “As for t’ honour ov a gentleman, sum gentlemen hae queer nooations aboot that, an’ ah wadn’t trust ’em as far as ah could fling ’em on t’ strength on’t. Bud t’ faith ov a Christian’s anuther thing, an’ if yo’ hae _that_ it’ll keep beeath you an’ hor an’ ivveryboddy else oot o’ harm’s way. The blood ov Jesus Christ cleansis frae all sin, an’ ah pray ’at yo’ may knoa it an’ feel it all t’ days o’ yer life. Excuse mah for makkin’ sae free wi’ yo’, sor,” said Adam, again touching his time-worn hat, “bud you’ve teean a looad off my heart as big as Kesterton Hill.” With mutual “Good-mornings” they separated; the one to ply his slashing-knife on Farmer Houston’s quick-wood, the other to pursue his homeward way to Waverdale Hall, with a new subject for study and new material for thought. Leaving Adam Olliver to jog along the grassy lane on the back of patient and unwitting Balaam, let us accompany the handsome scion of the house of Fuller, and listen to his communings, stirred as he was by his interview with Lucy’s rustic friend and champion.