"I tell you this is folly, mad folly," said Anthony, with violence; "my happiness--my everything depends on you. I have broken with my father. I am too proud to go back to Hall and say to him, 'Urith has cast me off, now she finds that I am penniless.' What am I to do? I cannot dig, to beg I am ashamed, and I have no stewardship in which to be dishonest. If I cannot have you, I have nothing to live for, nothing to work for, nothing, and no one to love." He stamped on the hearthstone. "By heavens, may I be struck dead here if only I get you, for without you I will not live. Let it be as your mother wished, so that I have you." She remained silent, with hands clasped, looking down--her face set, colourless, and resolved with a certain dogged, sullen fixity. "Am I to be the laughing-stock of the parish?" asked Anthony, angrily. "Turned out of Hall, turned out of Willsworthy! My father will have naught to do with me because of Urith Malvine, and Urith Malvine will have naught to say to me because of Squire Cleverdon. This is too laughable--it would be laughable if it concerned another than me--but I am the sufferer, I am the ball tossed about and let drop by every hand. I will not be thus treated. I will not be the generally rejected. You must and you shall take me." "Listen to me, Anthony," said Urith, in tones that hardly vibrated, so complete was her self-control. "If you will not ask your father's pardon----" "What for? I have done him no harm." "Well, then, if you will not, go to your father and say I will not take you, and therefore all is to be as before." "No, that I will not do; I will have you even against your will. You may give me up, but I will not so lightly let you fall." "Hear me out. If you will not do this, go away from this place." "Whither?" "Nay, that is for you to decide. I should say, were I a man, that I could always find a where--in the King's army." Anthony laughed scornfully. "In the King's forces, that on the accession of the Duke of York will be employed to put down the Protestants, and treat them as they have been treated in Savoy and in France? No, Urith, not at your wish will I do that; but if the Duke of Monmouth or the Prince of Orange were----" Urith held up her hand. In at the door came her uncle, red and wine-flushed, carrying his viol. "Halloo!" shouted Mr. Solomon Gibbs, "_in vino veritas_. Hussey, you don't understand Latin. I have learnt something--slipped out unawares from Moorman Ever. To-morrow--What think you? A Drift." "A Drift!" For the moment Urith forgot all about the presence of Anthony, in the excitement of the announcement. "A Drift!" Anthony tossed up his head and clasped his hands, and forgot Urith and all else, for a moment, in the excitement of the announcement. "Ay," said Uncle Solomon; "and Tom Ever would have bitten out his tongue when he said it, he was so vexed." CHAPTER XIX. A DRIFT. A Drift? What is a Drift?