"Take my advice," said Luke; "put Hall out of your thoughts and calculations. You may have to wait much longer than you imagined at one time till your father relents; you know that he is tough in his purpose, and firm in his resolution. He will not yield without a struggle with his pride. So--act as if Hall were no more yours than Kilworthy." Anthony winced, and looked up hastily, his colour darkened, and he began hastily and vehemently to rap at the table. "Kilworthy!" Why had Luke mentioned that place by name? was he also mocking him, as Fox had yestereven, for throwing away his chance of so splendid a possession. Luke did not notice that this reference had touched a vibrating string in his cousin's conscience. He went on, "Do not continue to reckon on what may not be yours. It is possible--though I do not say it is likely--that your father may disinherit you. Face the worst, be prepared for the worst, and then, if things turn out better than you anticipated, well!--you unman yourself by living for, reckoning on, dead men's boots; make yourself shoes out of your own hide, and be content that you have the wherewithal to cover your feet." "You think it possible that my father may never come round--even on his death-bed?" "God grant he may," answered Luke, gravely. "But he entertains an old and bitter grudge against your wife's father, and this grudge has passed over to, and invests her. God grant His grace that he may come to a better mind, for if he goes out of this life with this grudge on his heart, he cannot look to find mercy when he stands before the throne of his Judge." Anthony continued drumming on the table with his fingers. "My recommendation is," continued Luke, "that you rest your thoughts on what you have, not on what you have not. And you have much to be thankful for. You have a wife whom you love dearly, and who loves you no less devotedly. You are your own master, living on your own estate, and in your own manor house. So--live for that, care for that, cultivate your own soil, and your own family happiness, and let the rest go packing." "My own house! my own land!" exclaimed Anthony. "These are fine words, but they are false. Willsworthy is not mine, it belongs to Urith." "Anthony!" cried his wife, "what is mine you know is yours--wholly, freely." "Well," said Luke, with heat, "and if Hall had been yours when you took Urith, it would have been no longer mine or thine, but ours. So it is with Willsworthy. Love is proud to receive and to give, and it never reckons what it gives as enough, and accepts what it receives as wholly its own." Anthony shrugged his shoulders, then set his elbows on the table, and put his head in his hands. "I reckon it is natural that I should grieve over the alienation from my father." "You are not grieving over it because it is an alienation from your _father_, but from Hall, with the comforts and luxuries to which you were accustomed there."