"You cannot choose against my will." "Can I not? I can choose where I list." "Anyhow, you cannot take where I do not allow. I will never allow of a wife to you who is not of good birth and rich." "Of good birth she is--she whom I have chosen; rich she is not, but what matters that when I have enough." "Are you mad?" screamed the old man, springing from his chair and running up and down the room, in wild excitement. "Are you mad? Do you dare tell me you have chosen without consulting me--without regard for my wishes?" "I shall take Urith, or none at all." "Then none at all," snapped old Cleverdon. "Never, never will I consent to your bringing that hussy through my doors, under my roof." "What harm has she done you? You have not heard a word against her. She is not rich, but not absolutely poor--she has, or will have, Willsworthy." "Willsworthy! What is that compared with Julian's inheritance?" "It is nothing. But I don't want Julian, and I will not take her for the sake of her property. Come, father, sit down, and let us talk this matter coolly and sensible." He threw himself into a chair, and laid his hands on the arms, and stretched his legs before him. The Squire stopped, looked at his son, then staggered back to his chair as if he had been struck in the breast. He thought his son must have lost his wits. Why--he had not known this girl, this daughter of his most deadly enemy, not more than a day, and already he was talking of making her his wife! And this, too, to the throwing over of his grand opportunity of uniting the Kilworthy property to Hall! "Come, father, sit down, and keep cool. I am sorry if you prefer Julian to Urith, but unfortunately the selection has to be made, not by you, but by me, and I greatly prefer Urith to Julian. Indeed, I will not have the latter at any price--not if she inherited all the Abbey lands of Tavistock. You are disappointed, but you will get over it. When you come to know Urith you will like her; she has lost her father--and she will find one in you." "Never!" gasped the old man; then with an oath, as he beat his fist on the table, "Never!" Bessie heard that high words were being cast about in the supper-room, and she opened the door and came in with a candle, on the pretence that she desired to have the table cleared if her brother had done his meal. "You may have all taken away," said Anthony. "My father has destroyed what appetite I had." "Your appetite," stormed the old man, "is after most unwholesome diet; you turn from the rich acres to the starving peat bog. By heaven! I will have you shut up in a mad-house along with your wench. I will have a summons out against her at once. I will go to Fernando Crymes for it--it is sheer witchcraft. You have not seen her to speak to half-a-dozen times. You never came to know her at all till you had played the fool with her father's grave, and now----. By Heaven, it is witchcraft! Folks have been burnt for lighter cases than this."