“It is false,” she cried; “but even if he had, what has it to do with you? Do what you like wi’ me. Pelt me, put me in the pillory, but not a word agen him.”
He went up to her, and said in a soft voice—
“Do not be afraid, Kitty—I will not betray you. I have a secret of yours—you have a secret of mine; let us be friends.”
She did not answer him; he left the kitchen, contented with his morning’s work.
Matters after this went on much the same as usual at Stoke Ferry Farm for some few days after the altercation between Kitty and Fortescue.
One morning, however, there was a change in the aspect of affairs. Richard Ashbrook was moody and discontented. It was easy to perceive that he was ill at ease, and that something troubled him. What this was his wife was at a loss to divine.
“You seem to be out of sorts,” said Patty; “you have scarcely touched your breakfast. Richard, dear, what ails you?”
He did not answer at first. When he spoke it seemed as if there was something in his throat choking him.
“Matter, indeed!” he ejaculated. “To my thinking there’s a deal the matter. I’ve heard bad tidings, and it’s upset me.”
“Goodness me, what is it, then? Tell me all about it. Is anyone ill?”