They had stopped and were standing facing each other. They could not walk and talk as they were talking.
"Yet, but," she exclaimed, her face pale and her eyes fixed steadfastly upon him, "but what of that—"
"There are no yets and buts," he exclaimed, half angry with her that she hesitated. "I know what you were going to say, but that woman you have heard of is nothing to him. He hates her worse than you hate her. She has imposed upon you; how I know not; but she is an impostor."
At this instant she seized him by the arm. "Mr. Easterfield," she cried, and as she spoke the tears were running down her cheeks, "please let me have a carriage—something covered! I would go on my wheel, for that would be quicker, but I don't want anybody to speak to me or see me! Will you have it brought to the back door, Mr. Easterfield, please? I will run to the house, and be waiting when it comes."
She did not wait for him to answer. He did not ask her where she was going. He knew very well. She ran to the house, and he hurried to the stable.
Having given his orders, Mr. Tom went in search of his wife. The moment had arrived when it was absolutely necessary to let her know what was going on.
He found her in her own room. "Where on earth have you been?" she exclaimed. "I have been looking everywhere for you."
In as few words as possible he told her where he had been, and what he had done.
"And where are you going now?" she asked.
"I am going to change my coat," said the good Mr. Tom. "After my ride to the toll-gate and back this jacket is too dusty for me to drive with her."