But Anthony remained with head erect; he knew that no objection his father could make would avail anything. He nodded his head to acquaintances, and held out his hand to friends with his wonted confidence; but all showed a slight hesitation about receiving his advances, a hesitation that was so obvious that it angered him. He was at variance with his father, and the father held the purse-strings. All knew that, and none liked to be too friendly with the young man fallen out of his fortune, and out of place.
Fox alone was really friendly. He pushed forward, and seized and shook Anthony's hand, and congratulated him. The young man was pleased.
"Bygones are bygones," said Fox, whose eye was covered with a patch, but no longer bandaged. "My sight is not destroyed, I shall receive it again, the doctor says. As for that affair on the moor, at the Drift—you know me better than to suppose I meant you harm."
"Certainly I do," answered Anthony with warmth. "Just as you knew that when I struck you with the glove, I had not the smallest desire to hurt you. It was—well, what you like to call it—a passage of arms or a frolic. It is over."
"It is over, and all forgotten," said Fox. "You will not be deterred by your father's refusal to give consent to this marriage?"
"Certainly I will not," answered Anthony. "He will come round in time. It is but a question of time."
There was no vestry. Old Cleverdon waited in the church till Luke had taken off his surplice, and then went up to him in the chancel.
"What is the meaning of this?" he asked, rudely. "How dare you—who have eaten of my bread, and whose back I clothed, take the part of Anthony against me?"
Luke replied gravely, "I have done my office; whoever asks me to read his banns, or to marry him, I am bound to execute my office."
"I will send to the rector, and have you turned out of the cure."