Part 12 (2/2)
CHAPTER XVII.
DOCTOR JEPHSON GIVES AN UNPROFESSIONAL OPINION.
”Be thou clad in russet weed, Be thou decked in silken stole, Grave these counsels on thy soul; Say man's true genuine estimate, The grand criterion of his fate, Is not, art thou high or low?
Did thy fortune ebb or flow?
Tell them, and press it on thy mind, As thou thyself must shortly find, The smile or frown of righteous heaven, To virtue or to vice is given.”
_Burns._
At the turn of the road where Nathan Blyth's forge and homestead stood were three cottages, tenanted by farm labourers and their families. In one of these lay sick unto death the mother of a household of small children; and Lucy Blyth, whose heart was full of tenderness and all kindly charities, used to go every day to succour the poor invalid, and to tend and nurse the hapless babes who were soon to be left motherless and alone. Not only as an angel of mercy did the fair girl go on this loving errand, but as a Gospel messenger, and in winsome ways she led the ailing woman to the Cross. Through her instrumentality the sinner's Friend had been revealed to her anxious heart, and now, blest with the hope of a heavenly inheritance, and enabled to confide her infants to the sure care of the orphan's G.o.d, she was waiting with a calm content and a peaceful joy the moment of her crowning.
Doctor Jephson, who had ridden daily into Nestleton to attend the dying woman, had been a wondering witness of Lucy's gentle care and her G.o.dly influence over her dying charge. He had come to entertain a very high reverence and deep respect for such a combination of youth and beauty with the clear intelligence, the elevated character, and the nameless charm which won all hearts who came in contact with the blacksmith's daughter.
”She must be a changeling,” he would say, as he left the lowly roof.
”She is as perfect a gentlewoman as was ever born in ducal mansion, and as handsome a woman as ever wore a coronet of pearls.” Nor was this by any means the only place in which that excellent physician met the object of his admiration. There was not a home in the village, into which unwelcome sickness came, but Lucy's welcome and willing visits brought help and sympathy, balm and comfort of the rarest and most useful kind.
Now, it so happened, that just at this time, Squire Fuller was suffering severely from an attack of gout, and the patrician invalid was daily visited professionally by Doctor Jephson. Being one of the very few visitors to Waverdale Hall, whose breadth of intellect and high attainments made his conversation interesting to the imprisoned squire, the doctor spent as much time with him as his engagements would permit, and many and hot were the discussions between the two, as they sat in the cosy library. The doctor was an intelligent believer in revelation, a Christian in faith and character, and so it was never long before he came athwart the half-scoffing scepticism of his patient. He fully knew the value of the patronage he received from the Hall, but his manly independence of opinion was in no wise restrained or compromised by selfish considerations--a feature in his character for which in his heart the stately squire held him, despite his seeming anger, in high and genuine esteem.
Latterly, the exploits of the poaching fraternity, and certain glaring cases of immorality and rural crime had come before him, as a county magistrate. Referring to these, in the course of a hot argument, the squire expressed a doubt as to whether virtue, honour, and uprightness were to be found amongst the poorer cla.s.ses in rural districts.
”Aye, as often as they are to be found in the higher walks of life,”
said Dr. Jephson. ”There are people in your own village, both men and women, whose lives are as n.o.ble and whose characters are as pure and excellent as any that you can find amid the homes of rank and wealth.”
”You can't name them,” said Squire Fuller, with a sneer. ”It's merely a sentimental notion of Arcadian innocence, the dream of an optimist, the delusion of a poet, which vanish like mist when you come into actual contact with them. You can't produce a specimen of the peasant cla.s.s who is superior to the charms of skittles and beer.”
”Yes, I can,” said the doctor, emphatically. ”A finer or more manly character than Old Adam Olliver cannot be found. If you can picture to yourself a Sir Philip Sydney in corduroy, or a Bayard on a donkey, you can sketch Adam Olliver for yourself.”
”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 n.o.bles, 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 Yorks.h.i.+re. 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 pa.s.sion 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.
”I imagine,” continued the squire, ”that this peerless young lady is spreading her net with a good deal of skill and perseverance, in the hope of landing such a very desirable prize.”
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