"In some respects," said Jacob, in a nervous whisper.

"You seem tired," said Lucy; "shall I get you a little ale ?" "Thank you," said Jacob, and Jacob's goddess, his dream, his ideal of all that was lovely, disappeared behind a pantry door, and presently came back with a foaming jug of brown ale. Jacob held his glass while the cottage beauty filled it.

"I am

sure you are very tired," said Lucy, noticing Jacob's unsteady hand.

"Not very, thank you," said Jacob, his face all aglow.

"The beer will do you good," said the fairy, frothing the boy's glass, and showing off to perfection a white round arm that might have been modelled for a study of classic beauty.

Poor Jacob! his heart beat wildly. Lucy, on the contrary, was quite self-possessed. She did not know that Jacob was the little fellow she had noticed sometimes in the garden near the Middleton factory. She knew nothing of the selection he had made among the factory voices, ticketing it in his memory with a motto from her favourite hymn

There is a happy land,
Far, far away.

"Will you excuse me?" said Lucy. "I am going into the garden to gather a few apples."

"Certainly," said Jacob.

He tried to say, "May I come with you?" but found himself altogether unequal to such a courageous flight of familiarity.

Jacob saw Lucy go out. His eyes never strayed away from her. He made up his mind more than once to rush out and assist her, but he still sat in the cottage sipping the foaming ale.

Just budding into womanhood, Lucy was indeed a model of healthy beauty. She might have sat for Hebe, or any other lovely creature. Fair round arms, with dimples at the elbows, and a slight dimple everywhere where there is generally a projection on the hand, it might have been the arm of our first mother that Jacob watched plucking the apples and dropping them into a small woollen apron. The pretty foot and ankle, in grey hose and rather thick shoes, peeping from beneath a white petticoat, were not to be disguised by homely worsted or leather. And the wealth of wavy hair that would come undone and fall in golden ripples over shoulders which, despite the dark print dress that covered them, you might be sure were white as lilies are; and the white and red, vying for the mastery in that sweet fair face, and the bright grey eyes, sparkling with health!--what would not grand city ladies have given to carry such rosy colour and

such natural brightness into their ball-rooms? Why, Lucy Cantrill would have driven a whole city full of young fellows mad, let alone Jacob Martyn, who had heard her sing for years, and was in love with her before he saw her face.

"Ah, bless her, there she be !" said Mrs. Cantrill, her aunt, as she entered the room again with Dorothy, and observed Lucy in the garden. "She grows more beautiful every hour of the day. Lord ha' mercy on her!"

"You make too much of her, mother; you'll spoil her if you don't mind," said Dorothy; but Jacob thought otherwise, and when the apples were dished up at dinner in the shape of dumplings as round and hard as the clouds in some of the old masters, Jacob summoned courage enough to pay Lucy a compliment.

"I did not make the dumplings," said Lucy; "I cannot cook." "You gathered the apples," said Jacob, at which, for the first time, Lucy blushed, while Dorothy and the old woman laughed heartily.

In the afternoon Jacob, and Lucy, and Dorothy walked in the wood, and Dorothy told Lucy about Jacob listening to her singing in the factory, and how she had learnt from him the particulars of his seeing Lucy on the morning when he left home. She even told Lucy how Jacob had described her; and although Lucy laughed and pretended to make fun of it, and although Jacob treated Dorothy's gossip lightly, and pretended that he wished her not to say any more, Jacob felt that Dorothy was placing him under an eternal obligation for telling Lucy how he had fallen in love with her; and Lucy was not displeased either. What pretty girl could have been displeased at such an ingenuous narration?

"How do you get on with Dorothy; don't you find her very cross sometimes ?" said Lucy, changing the subject and putting her arm through her cousin's.

"We get on very well indeed," said Jacob.

"On cleaning days?" asked Lucy, laughing.

"Now none of your impudence, Pussy," said Dorothy; "everybody has their weakness, haven't they, Jacob ?”

Jacob laughed, and said he supposed he had his, and the little rivulet that ran by his side seemed to say it also had its weakness which was to go on for ever chattering over stones and gliding over mosses. Then the path became too narrow for three to walk together; so Dorothy fell behind Jacob and Lucy, and thought " what a nice pair they would make !"

There was something noble in Jacob's appearance, boy as he was. Since his illness he had grown rapidly. He was slightly taller than

Lucy, though of slender build. There was a marked contrast between his dark, thoughtful features, and the fair, hopeful, and merry face of Lucy. She wore a straw hat, and a shawl hung carelessly over one shoulder. The conversation between her and Jacob was very limited, so much so that Dorothy said they seemed afraid of each other, and wished Spen had come all the way with them, whereupon Jacob turned his head and tried to be facetious upon Dorothy's weakness for cleaning and talking. By-and-by he felt more at home, and at length he told Lucy how he had lain in the sun listening to the factory music, and how he had often wished he had been compelled to work in the factory; for it seemed to him that there was such a glory in the rattling wheels, such a freedom about the place, such a pleasure in watching the silk grow into yards and yards of fleecy cloth.

“Ah, you are mistaken, Mr. Martyn," said Lucy; "you might like the factory on cold winter afternoons, when the snow is on the ground; but in the early morning, in the dark, before the stars are out!"

Lucy shrugged her pretty shoulders and looked at Jacob.

"And then," she continued, "in the summer, when the birds are singing, the heat and noise, the stifling, dreadful heat!—not that I was compelled to stay in it always, but I saw those who were." “And yet you sang as if you were very happy," said Jacob. "Larks sing in cages, but I don't think they are happy."

"You often made me happy," said Jacob; "but if I had thought you were not happy I should have been very miserable."

"I was not unhappy," said Lucy; "I did almost what I pleased; the proprietor of the factory was very kind; he is a sort of relation of ours."

"And have you left Middleton for good?" Jacob asked.

"I think so," said Lucy.

"You were glad to come away?"

"Yes, I think so; but sometimes I feel as if I were sorry."

"How strange that you should have left so soon after I left, and that I should come here!"

Very," said Lucy.

Then Jacob looked back into the wood, and Dorothy was nowhere to be seen. The good-natured creature, muttering to herself that "two is company and three none," had quietly slipped home. Jacob made a great effort to use his opportunity bravely.

"It seems as if it had happened purposely," said Jacob. "Do you think so?" said Lucy. "Why?"

"Because I feel as if I had known you ever since I was a little boy."

"You are not so bashful as you were an hour or two ago," said Lucy, smiling.

"You thought me very silly, I know," said Jacob; "and do so now, I dare say."

"I do not, I assure you," said Lucy, gathering her shawl round her, as they stepped forth into the open meadows.

66 Should you be dreadfully offended if I were to call you Lucy?” said Jacob, taking her hand.

Lucy withdrew her hand.

"I knew you would; I am very sorry I asked you; pray forgive me if I have offended you," said Jacob.

"I am not offended," Lucy replied; "here is Cousin Dorothy coming to meet us.".

It was twilight when they returned to the cottage among the trees. They chatted together until it was nearly dark. Mrs. Cantrill sat in her arm-chair near the fire. Dorothy occupied a seat near the open door, and Jacob sat near Lucy against the window. The firelight flickered on the white-washed walls. There was a wholesome smell of tar from the recently blackened fire-grate, which made the place seem very homely. A few bright pans hung over a white dresser, and an old-fashioned clock, in an oak case, ticked solemnly and peacefully in a corner behind Mrs. Cantrill. Outside the house the trees looked dim and shadowy. The cry of the landrail came in at the open doorway, almost keeping time with the clock. The ivy tapped at the diamond-shaped window-panes. A cat purred on the hearth. You could hear the drowsy hum of the beetle, and a robin sat singing on the garden wall.

Lucy knew that Jacob loved her. When she went into her little room that night, she looked into her glass with a smile of satisfaction, and gathered her hair up and tried the effect of wearing it in a band. Then she let it fall in a cluster down her back, brushed it off her face entirely, finally fastening it up with a comb; and, however she dressed those golden tresses, she looked like one of whom the poet could not choose but feel that she had reason to fear her own exceeding beauty.

Heaven shield thee for thine utter loveliness.

CHAPTER XII.

IN WHICH SUNDRY STRAY THREADS OF THE STORY ARE GATHERED UP, AND SOME COMING EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEFORE.

WHEN Jacob returned to Cartown, he found a letter and a newspaper for him, which, by the way, was not an extraordinary circumstance, seeing that he had received many communications from his father containing words of parental kindness and solicitude, besides a Middleton Star every week. This morning both letter and newspaper were more noteworthy than usual. The letter informed Jacob that his father would call for him that day, on his way to Clumberside, which was the seat of Mr. Bonsall, M.P., who had been returned to the Commons House of Parliament for the borough of Middleton, through the instrumentality of Mr. Martyn, of the Star. In the newspaper there were several items of local news, interesting both to Jacob and to the readers of this history. Perhaps a brief description of the journal itself may not be out of place here.

It was a large folio paper, the front page chiefly occupied with advertisements. Several auctioneers monopolised the first two columns, with announcements of forthcoming sales of all manner of extraordinary things, from kitchen chairs to magnificently carved mahogany sideboards, from cottages to family mansions, and from collections of poultry to herds of fat stock. There was a slight error, called by printers "a literal," in the description of the poultry, "twenty-five turkeys" being printed "twenty-five turnkeys;" but this was a mistake that might occur in the best regulated printingoffices. In the third column several grocers, a couple of tailors, and seven or eight drapers struggled with each other for supremacy, and according to their announcements, teas, sugars, dress-coats, silks, ribbons, bonnets, shawls, and cloaks, at Middleton-in-the-Water, had reached the minimum of cheapness, combined with the very maximum of quality. In the fourth column a brace of enterprising druggists announced themselves as the sole agents for certain wonderful medicines; and, beneath these, Dr. Horatio Johnson, beginning with the quotation, "Throw physic to the dogs," and ending with "Moniti meliora sequamur," informed the afflicted of all ages that he visited certain towns on certain days, and that the Oriental remedy had proved its efficacy by the most convincing and extraordinary tests. In the fifth column several persons who wanted situations elbowed sundry others who had situations vacant; while half a dozen announcements headed "To be Sold" made desperate efforts to eclipse in attractiveness an equal number of others under