"I can quite believe that your father's hardness causes you pain, but no advantage is gained by brooding over it. You cannot alter his mood, and must patiently endure till it changes. Instead of altering his for the better, you may deteriorate your own by fretful repining."
Anthony tossed his head.
"You, too, in the fault-finding mood! All the world is in league against me."
"Take my advice," said Luke; "put Hall out of your thoughts and calculations. You may have to wait much longer than you imagined at one time till your father relents; you know that he is tough in his purpose, and firm in his resolution. He will not yield without a struggle with his pride. So—act as if Hall were no more yours than Kilworthy."
Anthony winced, and looked up hastily, his colour darkened, and he began hastily and vehemently to rap at the table.
"Kilworthy!" Why had Luke mentioned that place by name? was he also mocking him, as Fox had yestereven, for throwing away his chance of so splendid a possession.
Luke did not notice that this reference had touched a vibrating string in his cousin's conscience. He went on, "Do not continue to reckon on what may not be yours. It is possible—though I do not say it is likely—that your father may disinherit you. Face the worst, be prepared for the worst, and then, if things turn out better than you anticipated, well!—you unman yourself by living for, reckoning on, dead men's boots; make yourself shoes out of your own hide, and be content that you have the wherewithal to cover your feet."
"You think it possible that my father may never come round—even on his death-bed?"
"God grant he may," answered Luke, gravely. "But he entertains an old and bitter grudge against your wife's father, and this grudge has passed over to, and invests her. God grant His grace that he may come to a better mind, for if he goes out of this life with this grudge on his heart, he cannot look to find mercy when he stands before the throne of his Judge."
Anthony continued drumming on the table with his fingers.