'Well, well, well,' said Lake, uneasily; 'I mean to call to-morrow, or next day, or some day soon, at Redman's Farm. I'll hear it then; this is no place, you know, Tamar, to talk in; besides I'm pressed for time, and can't stay now to listen.'
'There's no place like this, Master Stanley; it's so awful secret,' she said, with her hand still upon his arm.
'Secret! Why one place is as well as another; and what the devil have I to do with secrets? I tell you, Tamar, I'm in haste and can't stay. I won't stay. There!'
'Master Stanley, for the love of Heaven—you know what I'm going to speak of; my old bones have carried me here—'tis years since I walked so far. I'd walk till I dropped to reach you—but I'd say what's on my mind, 'tis like a message from heaven—and I must speak—aye, dear, I must.'
'But I say I can't stay. Who made you a prophet? You used not to be a fool, Tamar; when I tell you I can't, that's enough.'
Tamar did not move her fingers from the sleeve of his coat, on which they rested, and that thin pressure mysteriously detained him.
'See, Master Stanley, if I don't say it to you, I must to another,' she said.
'You mean to threaten me, woman,' said he with a pale, malevolent look.
'I'm threatening nothing but the wrath of God, who hears us.'
'Unless you mean to do me an injury, Tamar, I don't know what else you mean,' he answered, in a changed tone.