They received visitors--not many, but some. Urith and her mother had had few acquaintances, and these came to wish the young couple happiness. Those of old Cleverdon kept aloof, or came hesitatingly: they were unwilling to break with the rich father for the sake of the son out of favour. Luke made his formal call. He came seldom; he had not sufficiently conquered his own heart to be able to look on upon the happiness of his cousin and Urith without a pang. When, a month after the wedding, he met Anthony one day, the latter flew out somewhat hotly in complaint of the neglect with which he had been treated.
"I suppose you also, Cousin Luke, are hedging, and trying to make friends with my father by showing me the cold shoulder."
"You say this!" exclaimed Luke, in pained surprise.
"You have rarely been to see me since my marriage. I hardly know what is going on in the world outside our boundary-walls. But it does not matter--I have a world of work, and of content within."
"There is Bessie, too--I thought better of her--she has not been over to us. I suppose she knows on which side her bread is buttered."
"There you wrong her," answered Luke, hotly. "You little have understood and valued Bessie's generous, unselfish, loving heart, if you can say such a word as that of her."
"Because she has been forbidden by your father. You know, if you have any grace in you, Anthony, that this prohibition troubles her, and costs her more tears and heartaches than you."
"She should disobey in this matter. I see neither reason nor religion in blind obedience to irrational commands."
"She may serve your interests better by submission. You may be well assured that your welfare is at her heart; and that she seeks in every way to bend your father's stubborn will, and bring him to a reconciliation with you."
"By the Lord, Luke!" exclaimed Anthony, "I wish you would take Bessie yourself. She would make an admirable parson's wife."
Luke paused a moment before he replied, then he answered, in a constrained voice, coldly: "Anthony, in such matters I follow my own impulse, and not the directions of others. You speak thinking only of yourself, and your wish to be able once more to see your sister makes you suggest what might be distasteful to her and unsuitable to me."