“Why, that’s the old man who came the other day on some wild-goose errand about a Methodist meeting-house. I confess I was greatly taken with him, and when Gregory Houston told me that he had been a faithful servant of his and of his father before him, for over fifty years, I certainly felt as though I owed him some reverence and respect.” “Aye, and well you might; for rough and uncouth as he is, he is one of Nature’s nobles, and if the new Methodist chapel will give us a village peasantry of that kind, it is a pity that there should not be one in every village in the land.” “But,” persisted the squire, “Adam Olliver is evidently a ‘character,’ and must therefore be regarded as an exception to the rule.” “No, he isn’t,” said the doctor, “his good wife Judith is a fitting match for him, and Nathan Blyth, the blacksmith, is as high principled and as good a hater of meanness as anybody in the land. As for that glorious girl of his, there is not her equal in Yorkshire. She is the Lady Bountiful of the village, for though her resources may be small, as far as money is concerned, that is more than compensated for by the energy of her character, her untiring self-sacrifice, and the magic of her sympathy is felt in every house in Nestleton where sickness or sorrow has found a place. I tell you she is the good genius of the village, which could far better spare Squire Fuller than Lucy Blyth.” “I tell you what, Doctor Jephson,” said the squire, with a sardonic smile, “I’ll make it worth your while to marry her. You are evidently over head and ears in love with this village Venus, and if she is all that you say, could you do better than take her for your own wife? I should be much relieved if you did.” “Take her I would with all my heart,” said the doctor, warmly, “with the certainty that I had got a prize without a parallel; but I am growing grizzly and old, and she would no more mate with me than the fawn of a summer’s growth would accept the caresses of a polar bear. I should propose with the certainty of being rejected; but were I twenty years younger, I would make the venture, Squire Fuller. But, pray, how would it relieve you?” “Why, that foolish boy of mine has taken it into his head to entertain a passion for this paragon of virtue and beauty, which has not only turned his brain, but is undermining his health. He knows, of course, that any such ill-omened union is out of the question, and I can see,” quoth the squire, warmly, “how bravely he tries to resign himself to the inevitable; but the struggle is stealing the light from his eye, the colour from his cheek, and the nerve from his limbs. If some kind fellow, fairy or fetch, would spirit her away, it would be an unspeakable relief.” Here the squire heaved a sigh which told of the perturbation of his soul. Dr. Jephson received the information in silence, but with a considerable amount of surprise.