He rode, thus musing, towards Peter Tavy, and halted on the old bridge that spanned in two arches the foaming river. The rain that had fallen earlier had now wholly ceased, but the sky remained covered with a dense grey blanket of felt-like cloud. A fresher air blew; it came from the north, down the river with the water, and fanned Anthony's heated brow. His wound began now to give him pain; he felt it as a line of red-hot iron near his heart. It was due to pure accident that he was not dead. If matters had fallen out as Urith desired, he would now be lying lifeless on the hearthstone where he had dropped, staggered and upset by the force of Fox's blow, when unprepared to receive it. Now he recalled that half-challenge offered on the moor when first he met Urith, and had wondered over her bitten hands. He had half-threatened to exasperate her to one of her moods of madness, to see what she would do to him when in such a mood. He had forgotten all about that bit of banter till this moment. Unintentionally he had exasperated her, till she had lost all control over herself, and, unable to hurt him herself, had armed Fox to deal him the blow which was to avenge her wrongs. He could not go back to the house with the girl who had sought his life. No--there was nothing else for him to do than throw in his lot with Monmouth, and, at the moment, he cared little whether it should be a winning or a losing cause. "Anthony?" "Yes. Is that you, Luke?" A dark figure stepped on to the bridge, and came to the side of the horse. "I have been home," said the curate. "Urith is ill; she scarce wakes out of one faint to fall into another. I have sent your grandmother to Willsworthy to be with her." "It is well," answered Anthony. "And, now that we have met here, I wish a word with you, Luke. I am not going back to Willsworthy." "Not--to Urith?" "No, I cannot. I am going to ride at once to join the Duke of Monmouth. You have the Protestant cause at heart, Luke, and wish it well; so have I. But that is not all--I must away now. I do not desire to meet Fox for a while." "No," said Luke, after a moment of consideration; "no, I can understand that. But Bessie must not be left without some one to help her." "There is yourself. What can I do? Besides, Bess is strong in herself. She will never go against what she believes to be right. She will never step into my shoes, nor will she help Fox to draw them on." "You cannot ride now, with your wound." "Bah! That is naught. You said as much yourself." "Tony, there is something yet I do not understand," said Luke, falteringly. "Did you first strike Fox?" "No--no. I had my hands behind me. I stood at the hearth." "But the quarrel was yours with him, rather than his with you. If you did not strike him, why did he aim at you?"