"What did that man mean?" cried I, looking at him straight in the eyes.
We had not spoken to one another frankly and freely for some time, but this had roused me.
"The fellow is a low cur," he said.
"Yes; but what did he mean?" insisted I. "I've always known that; but I want to know what he meant by talking as he did of Squire Broderick."
Trayton Harrod was silent.
"Mr. Harrod, if you know, you must, please, tell me," said I, firmly.
He had looked away from me, but now he turned his face to me again.
"Yes, I will tell you," answered he, simply. "I think it is well you should know. The farm is in a bad way; perhaps you have guessed that. I have not been able to do what I hoped to do when I first came to it. I have not been successful."
He spoke in a heavy, dispirited tone; it roused afresh all the sympathy that had been stifled a while by my bitter passion. "Don't say that," I cried. "You have done a great deal. I am sure father thinks so, and I think so," I added, softly. "But you have been hampered."