passed between them over it, and the more angry thy mother was, the more obstinate became thy father. One day they were terrible bad--a regular storm it was, Urith. Then I took down my single-stick, and I went up to Richard, and said I to him, 'Dick, thou art in the wrong. Give me up the half-token, or, by the Lord, I'll lay thy head open for thee!' He knew me, and that I was a man of my word. He considered a moment, and then he put it into my hand--on one condition, that I should never give it to my sister. I swore to that, and we shook hands, and so peace was made for the time. There"----said the old man, descending from the table. "I will give thee the half-token, maid, for my oath does not hold me now. Thine it shall be; and when thou wearest it, or holdest it, think on this--that there is no married life without storms and vexations, and that the only way in which peace is to be gotten is for the one in the wrong to give up to the other." He put the half-token into Urith's hand. She received it without a word, and held it in her bruised palm. Her face was lowering, and she mused, looking at the coin. Yes, he who is in the wrong must abandon his wrongful way--give up what offended the other. What had she to yield? Nothing. She had done her utmost to retain Anthony's love. She had not been false to him by a moment's thought. She had striven against her own nature to fit herself to be his companion. She loved him--she loved him with her whole soul; and yet she hated him--hated him because he had slighted and neglected her at the Cakes, because he was suffering himself to be lured from her by Julian, because he was dissatisfied with his house, resented against her his quarrel with his father. She could hardly discriminate between her love and her hate. One merged into the other, or grew out of the other. "Come!" said the old man, looking about for his hat. "By the Lord! the boy has gone off with my wet cap. Well, I shall wear his, I cannot tarry here. I will go seek out my friend Cudlip at the Hare and Hounds. I shall not be late, but I want to hear news. There is a wind that the Duke of Monmouth has set sail from the Lowlands. The militia have been called out and the trainbands gathered. Come, Urith, do not look so grave. Brighten up with some of the humours of the maid who sang of winter on Trinity Monday. It cannot be summer-time all the year--why, neither can it be winter." Then he swung out of the house trolling:-- So let not this pair be despised, That man is but part of himself; A man without woman's a beggar, If he have the whole world full of wealth, A man without woman's a beggar, Tho' he of the world were possessed, But a beggar that has a good woman, With more than the world is he blessed. CHAPTER XL. "THIS FOR JULIAN."