“Aye, it be that—all that.”
The two companions walked for some distance together over the ploughed fields.
Presently Ashbrook glanced at his companion in a furtive manner, and said in a tone of something like commiseration—
“Ye beant looking at all the thing this morning, and seem to ha’ overdone it in the way of exercise. I think ’ee had better go home and see what the missus can do for ’ee. She’ll tackle your complaints better than I can. I know more about physicking horses and dogs than human critters, but she finds all the neighbours in medicine—she do.”
“Oh, I have no desire to return.”
“But ’ee must. Enough’s as good as a feast, and you had more than enough, I guess. Go back, Mr. Fortescue, and keep yourself as quiet as possible.” They walked together as far as the front gate, then Ashbrook pressed his hand warmly, and gave his visitor kind words.
The villain’s conscience, seared as it was, felt a momentary pang, but it was only momentary. He walked slowly till a high hedge hid him from the farmer’s sight; then he ran at full speed towards the house.
He entered through the kitchen. There he found Mrs. Ashbrook standing over a deal table with a rolling-pin in her hand, a heap of paste on one side, and a dish of apples pared and sliced on the other. Her plump white arms were bare above the elbows, and her fair hair was parted across her forehead and gathered up in a thick cluster at the back of her head. She looked more charming and captivating than ever—so her visitor thought.
She started as Fortescue entered.
“So you’re come back, eh? said she.