With Jack Bumpstead he played the bully.
"Saddle my nag, Jack. And look you here,—not a word about this—not one word—see."
Nothing could be more ferocious than Jeremy when fierceness was a necessity. Jack Bumpstead wilted before him.
"Sure, Mister Winter, sir. I'll do as ye please."
"By George, you will, Jack; I'll take care of that. Wash the horse's wound, and plaster a little hair over it, and not a word to a living soul."
Jeremy rode out, with pistols in his pockets, and a certain significant tightness about the mouth. He knew the country well, and his conjectures pointed him toward Stonehanger. Jeremy was something of a cynic. Experience had taught him that there was truth in the saying, "Look for the woman." He had his mind's eye on Nance, and his thoughts were none of the kindest.
Riding up the steep lane at the back of Stonehanger, he found himself reining in before the gate at the very moment that a girl appeared between the two stone pillars. The hollies and laurels made a deep shade there. The white anxiousness of the girl's face struck Jeremy at the first glance. The startled way she looked at him provoked his suspicions.
He raised his hat to her.
"Miss Durrell, I believe?"
The eyes that met his were big, and most honestly troubled.