"To go away?" he cried. He rose from his oak chair and glared at her. Then his feelings found their easiest vent in anger. "What do you mean, girl?" he blustered, "Go away? Go where?"
But she did not quail. Indeed she had her suggestion ready.
"To the Mere Farm in the Forest, sir," she answered earnestly. "They will not look for you there; and Martin says----"
"Martin? The fool!"
His face grew redder and redder. This was too much. He loved order and discipline; and to be advised in such matters by a woman and a fool! It was intolerable!
"Go to, girl!" he cried, fuming. "I wondered where you had got your tale so pat. So you and the fool have been putting your heads together! Go! Go and spin, and leave these maters to men! Do you think that my brother, after traveling the world over, has not got a head on his shoulders? Do you think, if there were danger, he and I would not have foreseen it?"
He waved his hand and turned away expecting her to go. But Petronilla did not go. She had something else to say and though the task was painful she was resolved to say it.
"Father, one word," she murmured. "About my uncle."
"Well, well! What about him?"
"I distrust him, sir," she ventured, in a low tone, her color rising. "The servants do not like him. They fear him, and suspect him of I know not what."