When Judith spoke again, her voice was so husky that the old man looked at her inquiringly, and wondered if it was the shadows that made her so pale.
She felt his eyes upon her, and turned away.
"Did you chance to hear the name—I mean her name—the girl he is going to wed?"
"If I did, it has slipped from my mind, but it was some one about 'Norston's Rest.' She is to have a mint of money when some people die who are in the way."
"Did he say this?"
"Yes, daughter."
When Hart looked around, he saw that Judith had laid the loaf of bread on the table, with the knife thrust in it, and was gone. The old man was used to such reckless abandonment whenever Judith was displeased with a subject, or disliked a task; so, after waiting patiently a while for her to come back, he broke off the half-severed slice of bread, and began to make his supper from that.
After a while Judith came into the room. Her color was all gone, and a look of fiery resolve broke through the trouble in her eyes.
"Where has he gone, father—can you tell me that?"
"How can I say? He wasn't likely to give much of an account of himself to an old man like me."