"You heard," said Hetty, with a little scream. Then she suppressed it, and gave a little hysterical laugh. "You're welcome to hear," she continued. "There was nothing in it."
"Worn't there? You seemed mighty eager to have a meetin' with 'im; much more set on it, I take it, than he wor to have a meetin' wi' you. Gents o' that sort don't care to be reminded o' the follies o' their youth. I seed a big frown coming up between his eyes when you wor so masterful, and when you pressed and pressed to see 'im. Why did yer say t'was life or death? I've got my clue at last, and look you 'ere, you meet Squire at your peril. There, that's my last word. You understand me?"
CHAPTER XIX.
The next day Vincent got up early. It was his wont to rise betimes. Small as his farm was he managed it well, superintended everything that went on in it, and did, when possible, the greater part of the work himself. He rose now from the side of his sleeping wife, looked for a moment at her fair, flower-like face, clenched his fist at a memory which came over him, and then stole softly out of the room.
The morning was a lovely one, warm for the time of year, balmy with the full promise of spring. The trees were clothed in their tenderest green; there was a faint blue mist near the horizon which would pass into positive heat later on.
Vincent strode along with his hands deep in his pockets. He looked like a man who was struggling under a heavy weight. In truth he was; he was unaccustomed to thought, and he now had plenty of that commodity to worry him. What was the matter with Het? What was her secret? Did Mrs. Everett's queer words mean anything or nothing? Why did Het want to see the Squire? Was it possible that the Squire—? The man dashed out one of his great hands suddenly into space.
"Drat it," he muttered, "ef I thought it I'd kill 'im."
At this moment the sound of footsteps approaching caused him to raise his head; he had drawn up close to a five-barred gate. He saw a woman's bonnet above the hedgerow—a woman dressed in black was coming in his direction—she turned the corner and he recognized Mrs. Everett. He stared at her for a full moment without opening his lips. He felt he did not like her; a queer sensation of possible danger stirred at his heart. What was she doing at this hour? Vincent knew nothing of the ways of women of quality; but surely they had no right to be out at this hour in the morning.
The moment Mrs. Everett saw him she quickened her footsteps. No smile played round her lips, but there was a look of welcome and of gratified longing in her keen, dark eyes.