"I say it," answered Luke, with calmness, but with the flame still in his cheek, "only because I am grateful to you for what you did me, and I would bring you to the most blessed, peace-giving, and hopeful state that exists--a state to which we must all come, sooner or later--some soon, some late, if ever we are to pass into the world of Light--a knowledge of self. Do not think that I reproach you for any other reason. You know that I speak the truth, but you will not admit it--bow your head and beat your breast, and submit to the will of God." The Squire folded his arms and glared from under his heavy eyebrows at the audacious young man who presumed to hold up to him a mirror. "You will not refrain from reading these banns?" "Not without just cause." "And you will defy me--and marry them?" "Yes." The old man paused. He was trembling with rage and disappointment. He considered for a while. His face became paler--a dusky grey--and the lines between his nostrils and the corners of his mouth hardened and deepened. Forgetting that he was still in the church, he put his hat on his head; then he turned to walk away. "I have shown all--all here, that I am against this; I have proclaimed it to the parish. I will not be defied with impunity. Take care you, Luke! I will leave no stone unturned to displace you. And as for Anthony, as he has made his bed so shall he lie--in his pigstye. Never--I call God to my witness--never in Hall." As he passed through the richly-sculptured and gilt and painted screen, an old woman stepped forward and intercepted him on his way to the church door. He put out his hand impatiently, to wave her away, without regarding her, and would have thrust past. But she would not be thus put aside. "Ah, ha! Master Cleverdon!" she exclaimed, in harsh tones. "Look at me. Do you not know me--me, your wife's mother. Me, whom you threatened with the stick should I venture through your doors to see my daughter?" Old Cleverdon looked at her with a scowl. "Of course I know you--you old beldame Penwarne." "There is a righteous God in heaven!" cried the old woman, with vehemence--extending her arms to bar his passage. "Now will he recompense to you all the heartache and misery you brought on my child--aye, and through your own child too. That is well! That is well!" "Stand aside!" "I will not make a way for you to go," continued the old woman. "If you venture to go away until I have spoken, I will run after you and shriek it forth in the churchyard where all may hear. Will you stay now?" He made no further attempt to force his way past her.