“Pray ask me no more,” she cried, as her uncle started from his seat, thrusting back the chair in the act. She crouched down upon the carpet, weeping bitterly, for she did know now, though no pressure would have torn the secret from her heart.
Part 1, Chapter XXVIII.
Jock Muses.
There was a troubled heart at the rectory as well as at the farm, where Julia Mallow, in spite of having been so far a firm, matter-of-fact girl, had found her meetings with the wheelwright’s big ruffianly brother make so strong an impression that although she made a brave effort to cast it all aside as unworthy of her, she was always living under the idea that this man was at her elbow, ready to meet her with his intent, half-mocking gaze.
Once or twice she had nervously alluded to it when chatting with her sister, but Cynthia had merrily told her not to be so silly, for papa said the man must have just come out of prison, and spoken like that out of spite.
“Depend upon it, Julie, you’ll never see him again.”
Julia said nothing, but went to the window of her room, and sat there reading, and now and then lifting her eyes to gaze out at the pleasant prospect right across the fields to the ridge about a quarter of a mile away, beyond which the land sank at once towards Kilby Farm.
The next moment with a faint cry she shrank back, for even at that distance she seemed to recognise the burly form of the rough fellow, seen boldly standing out against the sky as he appeared to be crossing the ridge. Then as she gazed at the figure with starting eyes it went over the edge of the hill and was gone.