She answered him gently, but he spoke again in the same peevish, fault-finding tones. He complained that the pewter dishes were hacked with knives, and the mugs bent out of shape and unpolished. If they must eat as do servants in a kitchen, let them at least have the utensils in trim order. Urith sought in vain to dispel the ill-humour that troubled him; this was her first experience of domestic disagreement. The tears came into her eyes from disappointment, and then his ill-humour proved contagious. She caught the infection and ceased to speak. This annoyed him, and he asked her why she said nothing. "When there are clouds over Lynx Tor there is vapour over Hare Tor as well," she answered. "If you are in gloom I am not like to be in sunshine. What ails you?" "It is too maddening that my father should remain stubborn," he said. "You cannot expect me to be always gay, with the consciousness that I am an outcast from Hall." She might have answered sharply, and the lightning would then have flashed from cloud to cloud, had not, at that moment, Luke entered the house. "Come at last!" was Anthony's ungracious salutation. "I have not been here often, certainly," said Luke, "for I did not suppose you wanted me; the parson is desired by those in sorrow and tears, not by those in perfect happiness." "Oh!" said Anthony, "it is not as the parson we want you, but as a cousin and comrade." Urith asked Luke if he would have a share of the meal just concluded. He shook his head; he had eaten before leaving the rectory. He had taken his meal early, so as to be sure of catching Anthony at home before he went abroad. As Luke spoke he turned his eyes from his cousin to Urith, and saw by the expression of their faces that some trouble was at their hearts; but he had the tact not to advert to it, and to wait till they of their own accord revealed the cause. "Have you been to Hall lately? Have you seen my father?" asked Anthony, after a pause, with his eyes on the table. "I have not been there; your father will not see me. He cannot forgive the hand I had in making you happy." "Then you have no good news to bring me?" "None thence. I have talked to Bessie----" "So have I. I saw her yesterday at Kilworthy, and she scolded me instead of comforting me." "Comforting you! Why, Anthony, I do not suppose for an instant that she thought you needed comfort." "Should I not, when my father shuts me out of his house--out of what should be mine--the house that will be mine some day! It is inhuman!" "I can quite believe that your father's hardness causes you pain, but no advantage is gained by brooding over it. You cannot alter his mood, and must patiently endure till it changes. Instead of altering his for the better, you may deteriorate your own by fretful repining." Anthony tossed his head. "You, too, in the fault-finding mood! All the world is in league against me."