“Yes,” I answered promptly, “It was on the day Tom Foulds fell from the oat-stack and broke his leg. There was another gentleman with him then. I saw them looking in at the orchard gate, so I asked them if they wanted anything, and the strange gentleman said that he was thirsty and would like some milk, so I took him into the dairy; and I think that mother must have known him before, for she seemed so surprised to see him.
“He gave me half a crown, too,” I went on, “to run away and watch for a friend of his. But the friend never came, although I waited ever so long. He’s been often since; but I don’t like him and——”
I broke off in sudden dismay. Had not my mother forbidden my mentioning these visits to anyone? What had I done? I began to cry silently.
My father rose from his chair and leaned against the oaken chimney-piece, with his back turned towards me.
“It’s he, sure enough!” he gasped. “Heaven forgive her! But him—him——”
His voice seemed choked with passion and he did not finish his sentence. I knew that I had done wrong, and a vague apprehension of threatening evil stole swiftly upon me. But I sat still and waited.
It was long before my father turned round and spoke again. When he did so I scarcely knew him, for there were deep lines across his forehead, and all the healthy, sunburnt tan seemed to have gone from his face. He looked ten years older and I trembled when he spoke.
“Listen, Philip, lad!” he said gravely. “Your mother thinks I be gone straight away to Farmer Woods to see about the colt, don’t she?”
I nodded silently. We had not expected him home again until late in the evening.
“Now, look you here, Philip,” he continued. “She’s gone to bed wi’ a headache, you say? Very well. Just you promise me that you won’t go near her.”