Tim eyed him narrowly, and then, rolling over, gripped Dan's hand in his own huge paw. It was his way of apologizing for his unjust suspicions.
"I trust ye! I trust ye! A man who can use his mauleys like you ain't a cur to play tricks on women. If I've offended you----"
"You haven't offended me, friend. Say no more about it."
So speaking, he rose abruptly and walked to the other side of the dell. Though he denied being angry, he was in reality rather indignant at Tim's imputation of libertinism. No man likes to be thought a scoundrel, and Dan did not like it. Yet he saw that the warning was dictated in a friendly spirit, so his wrath evaporated by the time he returned to the fire. At once he began to speak on a different subject, and Tim, seeing he was annoyed, gladly fell in with his humour.
"I must come over to your camp, Tim. Where is it?"
"Down yonder on the edge of the moor. We'll make ye as welcome as the dawn."
"I'll come over, if only to find out why Mother Jericho coupled my name with that of this girl."
"It wasn't Mother Jericho, but Fate," said Tim, with great simplicity. "If it be as she's to be your wife, there's no way out of it."
"Pish! I'll never set eyes on her again, Tim. I leave this place to-morrow."
"Not if Mother Jericho read your hand truly."