"I will make an end of this affair at once," said Squire Cleverdon. "What is the good of putting off what must be said?—of expecting a change which will never take place. You shall never—never obtain my consent. So give up the hussy, or you shall rue it."
"Nothing is gained, father, by threatening me. You must know that. I have made up my mind." He folded his arms on his breast.
"And so have I mine," answered old Cleverdon, folding his arms.
Father and son stood opposite each other, hard and fixed in their resolves—both men of indomitable, inflexible determination.
"Hear mine," said the Squire; "you give the creature up. Do you hear?"
"I hear and refuse. I will not, I cannot give up Urith. I have pledged my word."
"And here I pledge mine!" shouted the old man.
"No—no, in pity, father! Oh, Anthony, leave the room!" pleaded Bessie, again interposing, but again ineffectually; her brother swept her aside, and refolded his arms, confronting his father.
"Say on!" he said, with his eyes fixed on the old man.
"I swear by all I hold sacred," exclaimed the father, "that I will never suffer that beggar-brat to cross my threshold. Now you know my resolution. As long as I am alive, she shall be kept from it by my arms, and I shall take care that she shall never rule here when I am gone. Now you know my mind, marry her or not as you please. That is my last word to you."