he best parlour
making tea for master.' This information gave poor Luke a sort of
panic. He trembled, turned pale, and hastily retreated from the
house. Discontented thoughts filled his mind. 'No doubt,' he said
almost aloud, as he walked homewards--'no doubt she'll _not_ consent
when I propose to marry her, though I can keep her. Farmer Modbury
will be a better match for her than a poor hard-working lad like me.
But I'll see about that--it shall be now or never. If she won't marry
me in a week, she never shall!' In truth, Luke had been feeling a
pang of jealousy creep over him ever since Lucy was promoted to be
Modbury's housekeeper; and that she should be admitted alone with him
into the best parlour to make his tea, confirmed what were previously
only suspicions. On entering the cottage, his wild looks almost
frightened his mother; but he was silent as to the cause, and went
sullenly to bed.

Farmer Modbury kept up the good old Devonshire custom of dining with
all the people in his employment; and the day after, when Luke with
the rest of his companions sat at the table, he watched the actions
and countenances of Lucy and her master, to catch new causes for the
tormenting feeling which possessed him. The meal concluded, he
followed the girl to the dairy, as was his custom; for a short and
sweet interview could always be snatched at that time. The present
one was, however, the reverse. In a hard tone of voice, and with an
abrupt manner, Luke inquired if she were ready to have him? The girl
frankly answered, 'Of course I am, Luke; but what should make you ask
the question on such a sudden!'

Luke's jealousy was a little assuaged by Lucy's open and confiding
manner, and becoming more calm, he told her his plans. 'It will never
do, Luke,' she replied.' Besides, my father, whom I must send to
about it, would not consent. No, no, we must wait.'

'Wait! for what, I should like to know? To give master, I suppose,
a chance of--of--'

'Of what, Luke?'

'Why,' said Luke, worked up into a sort of frenzy by the very
thought--' why, of asking you to take poor dead-and-gone missus's
place!'

The colour mounted to Lucy Fennel's face. She cast a reproachful look
on her lover, and seemed ready to cry; but woman's pride came to her
aid, and she left the dairy, as if afraid to hear another of Luke's
terrible words. Had the young man not gone out immediately, he might
have heard ill-suppressed sobs issuing from the room into whi