What’s more I won’t have nothin’ of it.  She be my gal.  She were left to my protection.  And she’s a lady, sir.  Let me tell ye, ye won’t find many on ’em so well looked to as she be—­my Luce!  Well, Mr. Fev’rel, it’s you, or it’s her—­one of ye must be out o’ the way.  So we’re told.  And Luce—­I do believe she’s just as anxious about yer education as yer father she says she’ll go, and wouldn’t write, and’d break it off for the sake o’ your education.  And she’ve kep’ her word, haven’t she?—­She’s a true’n.  What she says she’ll do!—­True blue she be, my Luce!  So now, sir, you do the same, and I’ll thank ye.”

Any one who has tossed a sheet of paper into the fire, and seen it gradually brown with heat, and strike to flame, may conceive the mind of the lover as he listened to this speech.

His anger did not evaporate in words, but condensed and sank deep.  “Mr. Blaize,” he said, “this is very kind of the people you allude to, but I am of an age now to think and act for myself—­I love her, sir!” His whole countenance changed, and the muscles of his face quivered.

“Well!” said the farmer, appeasingly, “we all do at your age—­somebody or other.  It’s natural!”

“I love her!” the young man thundered afresh, too much possessed by his passion to have a sense of shame in the confession.  “Farmer!” his voice fell to supplication, “will you bring her back?”

Farmer Blaize made a queer face.  He asked—­what for? and where was the promise required?—­But was not the lover’s argument conclusive?  He said he loved her! and he could not see why her uncle should not in consequence immediately send for her, that they might be together.  All very well, quoth the farmer, but what’s to come of it?—­What was to come of it?  Why, love, and more love!  And a bit too much! the farmer added grimly.

“Then you refuse me, farmer,” said Richard.  “I must look to you for keeping her away from me, not to—­to—­these people.  You will not have her back, though I tell you I love her better than my life?”

Farmer Blaize now had to answer him plainly, he had a reason and an objection of his own.  And it was, that her character was at stake, and God knew whether she herself might not be in danger.  He spoke with a kindly candour, not without dignity.  He complimented Richard personally, but young people were young people; baronets’ sons were not in the habit of marrying farmers’ nieces.

At first the son of a System did not comprehend him.  When he did, he said:  “Farmer! if I give you my word of honour, as I hope for heaven, to marry her when I am of age, will you have her back?”

He was so fervid that, to quiet him, the farmer only shook his head doubtfully at the bars of the grate, and let his chest fall slowly.  Richard caught what seemed to him a glimpse of encouragement in these signs, and observed:  “It’s not because you object to me, Mr. Blaize?”

The farmer signified it was not that.